#like she was going to pick up a bed for free this woman was donating but then the woman said she was actually going to sell

[insuke69]

What's in a name? P2

Part I

2/3

☆ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

★ Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩ Warnings: cussing, Some more angst, 'crybaby’ reader, misunderstanding, SMUT

★ smut: P in V, unprotected, pull-out-method, oral (F!receiving), pierced pp.

Rating—M

✩ 7,1k words

______

If one word could describe how the next few days of your life was, It’d be bittersweet.

Bittersweet Because of how sweet Spiderpunk was to you. Or rather, how sweet he was to who he thought was Emily.

So sweet while you couldn’t describe how you felt with him, with your own behavior more open and carefree with that dark mask you bare almost every night when you sneak out and ‘accidentally’ run into him. It makes you grin like an idiot when he stands close or when you see him webbing over to you as you chill around the bench.

That bench where you two met, where you always helplessly cried as a little girl now being a place you look forward to going every day. The second the sun sets you tell Roxy you’re going out and you stay out until any hour of the night with not even Roxy knowing about the special punk that makes your heart pound and your body ease with some kind of feeling that makes you want to be close to him physically and emotionally.

Something about how exhilarating and free you felt around him, his arm around you while you held onto him. You two often webbed some nights, to buildings you know inside out since you helped your dad design some, or some simple spray painting in canals, and if you were lucky: You two would end up on some rooftop talking while looking into the night sky with few stars because of light pollution.

One night you’re bent beside your bed with the collection of pictures with you and Spiderpunk, you’re wondering if you should show him who you are: But that's the bitter part.

Spiderpunk loves and is close to the masked street artist he simply knows by her fake name, Emily.

Bitter because he doesn’t care for the actual woman below the mask, yet he enjoys the mask and the personality below. Spiderpunk seems to despise y/n Osborn. He doesn’t make his rebellious habits too known since he didn’t do that for attention and was always his own unfiltered and blunt self. How the hell will you two ever know each other when he wears his mask for anonymity and you wear yours to not end up getting stabbed at every turn.

“I just.. I feel like she's always trying to act as if she’s so much better than her dad, when she doesn’t even leave her house to avoid the people who see her as she is.” you remember Spiderpunk shrugging since the topic had moved to ‘you’.

“Yeah? What a hot take.” You comment sarcastically with a chuckle. You couldn’t defend yourself/who is the true woman behind the mask since he would likely be offended that you would defend the daughter of such a monster.

Your small memory moment cuts short as you hear your door knock in the way you know exactly who is the one behind the door and quickly shove the shoebox full of pictures of Spiderpunk and you with the art you’ve been putting up on most osborn buildings under your bed and sit on the edge of it while the door opens and Roxy walks in.

“Hey, remember to get ready for the event.” She said as she looks away from you and goes straight to your closet. “This is important to your father, he needs his daughter there and he needs you to behave for it.” Roxy continued as she began picking out an outfit for you.

This was a christmas event where your dad made a whole thing just to show off he donated some money to a cause about homeless and unfed people around in Brazil, meanwhile he hates the needy people down in the city less than a ten minute drive away–and actively keeping them ignored.

“What's the.. Uhm..” You begin before pausing to think of the word,

“Schedule? It's from five to twelve.” Roxy chimed.

“What? Dude! I won’t be able to go out w-” You cut yourself off before rewording your words, “I don’t want to go.” you say as you lean back on your hands before adding with a scoff. “It’s a waste of time and we both know I just have to smile for a camera and look pretty like some display model.”

Roxy didn’t know about Spiderpunk, nobody did. You couldn’t let her know about Spiderpunk, it's one thing to sneak out and arrive home late with spray paint stains and smelling like an unfamiliar cologne and musky scent faintly drafting through the air you walk through–mostly because you have to hold onto Spiderpunk as you two swing through the musty camden air.

“Yes, but you also have to understand how important this is to your father, and I’ve been trying my very best to make sure your Mr. Osborn h-”

“My dad, Norman, I couldn’t care less.” you interrupt with a slight grimace, “You don’t have to ‘Mr. Osborn’ him to me.”

Roxy nods and clears her throat, “Norman,” She corrected, “In shorter words, I’ve trying so damn hard to make sure he doesn’t find anything out about whatever the hell you do when you go out, The least you can do is listen to me and miss what you do just this once.”

Her tone is a bit exasperated while still calm as if it were nothing while she rummaged through your closet and took out a sparkly low cut red dress with black edges along with lace over where cleavage would’ve been visible, along with black stilettos. She places the dress and pair of shoes onto your bed beside where you sat and moved over to your vanity for the jewelry to wear with everything, settling on a pearl necklace and a pair of white gold earrings and placing them in the middle of your vanity for you to put them on before makeup.

“I still don’t get why you have to pick out my outfits, still.” You murmur under your breath with snark as you look over what Roxy had set up for you.

“You are still dependent.” She answered bluntly while grabbing tights for you, fishnets to have below the skirt of the dress.

Still dependent.

You go quiet for a moment. So even Roxy thinks you’re a daddy's girl who can’t think for herself. She’s always picked your outfits for you for events, it always pissed you off how she never wanted to teach you about what colors clash or what is too tacky. How are you supposed to know if nobody has taught you anything?

“Your hair will be half up-half down.” Roxy adds as she gestures to what she had set up for you.

At least you had your own abilities to do your own damn hair, how generous. And with that, Roxy had walked out of your room to leave you get changed and ready for the event.

You roll your eyes and start getting changed, you look at yourself in the mirror and take a breath before testing your fake smile while looking at yourself, partially not really recognizing the reflection behind it.

Some dolled up girl wearing things that cost more than most people can wish for, your money that you don’t earn, you can't earn anything. You’re like some little girl who has to rely on the people who refuse to even teach you anything. Your face just feels as if you’re being forced to enjoy and display everything that holds blood and dirt, almost muddily dragged on your skin and collar bone.

You huff and rip your gaze from the mirror and move back to your bed to take out the balaclava and gloves hastily and shove the shoebox back under your bed and hidden away then moving over to your closet and grabbing a black and white purse–shoving in the gloves and mask before spraying on your usual perfume and leaving your room to start being on your way to the event.

_____

In summary:

The event is shit, the event has loud music, loud overwhelming music, the whole time you have to be stood with a smile that barely reaches your eyes and having to awkwardly hug or shake hands with the most random strangers you have to interact with.

There's good food and catering–but you for whatever reason was told to stay by the big decorative tree and some security guards around you since it's the usual thing at events, your father isn’t really loved by all so it's for your safety to have some random big dude hovering your every move and interaction.

“Hey, what time is it?” You ask the taller man who wore dark sunglasses and a serious look on his face that barely glance at you, almost protecting you like you were some safe that has to be observed because of secrets and riches it held.

“It’s..” He changed his statue-like position and checked his watch, “Seven o’four.” He answered while moving back to his earlier position and staring dead ahead as if you were medusa, he was still and cold as stone anyway.

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest at the time. Five more hours of standing beside some man who doesn’t care to at all speak or interact with ‘the goods’ or the product he's protecting? No. You glance around and see some double doors that are labeled with two signs which indicate a woman's bathroom and the dude bathroom with a smaller sign with some writing that you can’t read all that well.

You take a step to walk in that direction before feeling a hand on your shoulder like a chain around your ankle holding you back.

Oh right, the statue-bodyguard

“Where do you th-” The guy began before you shake his hand off of your shoulder and keep walking in that direction.

“Bathroom! Little lady Osborn has to go to the ladies room.” You say sarcastically while walking over to the doors you saw, the bodyguard letting you go after saying something about not wasting time and five minutes–you tuned him out because you already felt so free without him hovering.

You walk towards the doors and read small instructions that pretty much tell you/the one reading that where the bathrooms are.

Turn left to the second hall and third door to the right, follow the hall where the restroom signs are.

-Oscorp

You push the door and walk through to see some big hall where there are other rooms, an untouched area of the venue that seemed to be rooms to take care of kids, like some daycare or classrooms. The hall has a barely yellowish tint and has a hall that goes to the bathrooms. You explore a bit more to find an exit with a bright green sign to indicate exactly what it is.

You grin and clutch your purse as you head to the emergency exit and push it open–the cold air of the night hitting you immediately and you curse at yourself for leaving your sweater to the guard.

You take a deep breath and let the cool air flood your lungs before taking a few steps away from the building to find what part of the city you’re in and start walking more while taking out your balaclava and gloves then putting them on.

You zone out while taking the refreshing walk away from the loud party your dad- well, ‘oscorp’ has thrown, a wasteful event full of music and food to distract people from the ruined lives caused by this large and overrated company.

You then hear a familiar THWAP appear from behind you.

Oh god.

Not now-

Your mask is over your face along with your gloves but that doesn’t hide your expensive jewelry or dress, or heels or anything of the sort that shows you aren’t the lower middle class woman Spiderpunk should think you are.

“Emi’?”

A voice you always want to hear, whether it's asking or telling you something, whether it's called out or whispered in your ear, you love whenever his deep cockney words are directed at you. The nickname he gave you since he often joked about Emily being too much of a hassle to pronounce.

But right now it feels horrifying, heart full of dread at the possibility of him figuring out you aren’t who you’ve been saying you are- hell- your name isn’t even Emily, you just named yourself after your dead mother.

“Emily.” Spiderpunk said more firmly once he recognised that mask, the same mask he sees most nights–and to little of your knowledge..

Really want to see what's below it.

Really wants to see the face of the woman he's growing to love.

You swallow your pride and turn to face him as if you were a kid whose hand was caught in the cookie jar.

The lenses to spiderpunks masks widen a little as if to represent a bit of surprise once he sees the figure below what he usually sees, a worn out hoodie or random tee and some jeans. But now he's seeing a curvaceous colored figure in a dress that's glamorized with jewelry made of pearls and white gold, shining in the streetlight and faded moonlight.

You expect his expression shift of disgust or something at how you’re dressed, rich girl, looking like a classy brat whether there's a mask and gloves to seal something that's already leaking through your image. You’re ready to blink away tears at the feeling of your sinking heart, hands tensing and feeling like you’re holding the world's problems along with your own chained to your palms.

But to your surprise, he starts to shrug off his iconic leather jacket, before you can get a word in he passes it to you and puts it over your shoulders. “Its cold as hell tonigh’, what the hell are you wearing out here.” He says playfully with a chuckle as he looked over at you so the rhetorical question sinks in.

How the hell are you supposed to answer that?

“Uhhhhhhh..” You try to register the warm jacket now over you that had that lingering punk scent that a part of you wanted to steal genuine sniffs but you knew you couldn’t really other than subtle inhales, that scent so comforting for no reason beside the one who radiates it.

“I was at an.. ‘Important’ event but snuck out like usual.” You summarize as you adjust the jacket so you can put on the sleeves and snuggle into its warmth and scent.

His warmth and scent.

“So d’you wan’ to do the usual bullshi’ on rooftops or do you wan’ to jus’ want to fuck around Osborns buildings some more?” He asks with a grin in his voice as he lazily puts his long lanky arm around your waist like he did every night ‘platonically’, ready to tighten his hold the second you say yes for you two to swing wherever.

You smile and nod “Yeah no, I’m fine with whatever as long as it’s with you.” to which he happily shoots a web and you both begin swinging through the well lit streets of Camden, at least the part of town you both were in. The cold air soon felt a bit heavier, indicating the part of town less taken care of and more polluted. You two glide over several streets but Spiderpunk lowers and slows down around an alleyway, a familiar alleyway..

The Alleyway that started it all.

You could see the same gas station a bit down the street, bright and open. The same station where you had bought food for..

“Squaishy!” Spiderpunk greeted that same person as he let go of your waist and left you to come closer on your own accord instead of dragging you into the space, not knowing at all what has happened here for you. Little did Spiderpunk know that ‘Squaishy’ was the one who caused your tears that night. Squaishy seemed to be doing better but still with the worn out jacket but they were happy and glad to see Spiderpunk as they greeted each other with a handshake and small hug, A smile in Spiderpunk’s lenses. But Squaishy’s eyes darken as he looks over at you and recognizes your mask.

But Spiderpunk follows his gaze, not realizing the tension. “Squiashy! This is my friend, Emily.” he introduced as he put his hands on your shoulders and almost pushing you into the conversation.

A knowing amused smirk falls onto Squaishy’s lips as they raise their eyebrows, “Emily?” He echoed.

Fuck.

“I have to go.” You say abruptly before Squaishy can have a quip or comment about your name..

Or mentions that it isn’t your actual name.

Words couldn’t explain how Spider-punk looked as his head whipped to look in your direction as if you said something so appalling that it insulted his whole bloodline, “Wha’?” He asked as the lenses of his mask widened, looking almost like round ovals–but the important thing is that you suddenly feel his eyes burning into yours, as if he was shifting his attention onto you to not leave so soon. Squiashy’s smug expression shifts slightly when he notices how Spiderpunk when from seeming happy and in a good mood, to worried and uncertain.

“I was out on a walk.. You know, from where I escaped-slash-snuck out from, and I don’t want them noticing I’m gone or anything since I’m an ‘important factor’.” you say awkwardly, trying your best to say everything but nothing at the same time.

Hobie isn’t stupid though, he can always tell when there’s more to the story, especially now since your excuses are getting more vague and sloppy.

“I can take you back?” He offers, either wanting to spend more time with you or curious as to what you do or who you actually are. These half truths are starting to make Hobie more curious of the woman behind the balaclava every night. At his offer, trying to know more about you, not knowing that you aren’t the Emily you’re displaying yourself to be.

Emily is bold, playful, sarcastic, sweet, thoughtful and fun. She's the woman spiderpunk wants to hold close at night and would do anything to see her eyes below the mask smile.

But he didn't know the person who you have to keep hidden from him like how you keep ‘Emily’ from your father.

Y/n is quiet, keeps to herself, diffident, rich and spoiled. The woman who spiderpunk feels indifferent about beyond disdain and a grimace when he hears her, or the Osborn name in general.

“No, no. or.. Can you take me where you found me?” You request awkwardly with a small smile, hoping he’ll say yes, half knowing he will but won’t stop asking things. He’s as curious as a cat.. An adorable, tall, lanky punk-cat.

He nods and says a quick bye handshake with Squaishy and turns back to you, putting his arm around your waist firmly and holding your body against his then shoots a web, soon launching into the air and swinging, your arms and around his neck. Palpable tension beyond your face in the crook of his neck to shield your face from the cold air hitting you both. Tension now because of what even started this relationship..

His unanswered questions, and your half answers.

Once you arrive where Spiderpunk found you, when he sets you down he keeps a hand on your shoulder as if to keep you from leaving/running off. “So, would you mind telling me at least wha’ even’ you’re talking ‘bout?” He prompted as he looked into your visible eyes through the balaclava. It felt like he was looking into your soul, making your mouth go dry.

“..I mind? I’m- I’m sorry but I really do have to g-”

“Don’ start with that!” He cut you off with a scoff as he moves his hand off of your shoulder, letting you be able to go if you really wanted to, “You always have to end up disappearing, I understand your need to have your identity secre’, but at this point it's like you don’ trust me.”

He isn’t wrong but he isn’t right either. You do trust him, there's so much you know you have freedom of doubt in him but.. It's the one thing you can’t tell him about, the one thing that you can’t control and that you doubt he’d understand. The filthy name that comes after your first.

Osborn.

Tears make a glossy layer on your eyes, You’re stuck. On one hand, if you tell the truth, he won’t ever see you the same. On the other hand, If you still avoid it, you may slip up and he’ll find out the hard way.

“Not- not yet.” You whisper, “I’ll tell everything you want to hear, but I just can’t right now.” you murmur as you took off his jacket he lent you and passed it back to him before taking some steps back, as much as you didn’t want this argument to end on this sour note, you couldn’t risk anything going wrong with your father.

Spiderpunk watched with furrowed eyebrows under his mask as you went away, disappearing as you turned a corner. He cursed at himself under his breath as he put the leather jacket back on, a faint lingering fragrance of your perfume, conflicted thoughts and emotions circling his mind like a toy train. On one hand, he knows your boundaries and wants you to be comfortable and able to cry on his shoulder, on the other hand: He won’t let himself be manipulated and lied to, whether he's infatuated or not.

He shook his head and clasped his hands over his face.

“This is a breach of her privacy. This is a breach of her privacy, this is a breach of her-” He repeats in his mind as he shoots a web and runs up a building to arrive at its rooftop. He takes off his mask and stands by the edge as he looks out at the street you went down, his mind screaming at him and his heart telling him it's a bad idea.

“She won’t like that you followed her. She won’t trust you, you can just wait..” “But wait how long? What is so bad that she has to keep it from me? How long can she play me as the fuckin’ fool..” His mind debating against himself, but still looking out for you.

He spots you and jumps over buildings while running, his eyes on you to see where you’re going. What you’re doing. Why you are in such a hurry. Watching as you approach the venue, going towards the door you went out from. Osborn’s charity event.

It was dark but he saw your figure, the way your hands moved to first take off your gloves and shove them into your bag but something fell without you noticing, then your mask. It’s like Hobie was watching it in slow motion, your hands raising to the end of your mask and starting to raise it.

In a flash of awareness, he turned around completely before he saw your face. This wasn’t how he wanted it to happen, this isn't how he wanted to see the woman hidden behind that fabric, but the need to know was almost hurting his mind, but he remembered you dropped something so he put on his mask then jumped and webbed closer to where you were and strained his eyes looking at the ground to see what you dropped.

A gold bracelet with the names “Anne-Marie, Emily, Y/n.”

Spiderpunk read the names and recognized Emily of course, so it was clearly yours, he thought. But he also recognized the name of the offspring of the man he despised. He webbed back up to the building he was on earlier and took off his mask to inspect the bracelet a bit more.

Hobies gaze softened as he gently held the delicate gold bracelet in his hand, for as small and thin it was, it was heavy. It really was gold. Hobie didn’t know what to think. Who are you?

The Event ended eventually and he just watched everyone leave, blankly staring at Osborn and his daughter-

His daughter wearing the same thing you were. The same purse hung on your arm.

Hobie felt his heart almost drop.. The woman he wanted to keep safe and protect was the daughter of the man he wanted to protect everyone around them from. He clenched the bracelet in his hand so hard that he bent the gold ever so slightly with his mutated strength. He wanted to laugh at how badly you didn’t want him to figure anything out yet, scream into the sky until it shattered because of the betrayal, the anger, the hatred brewing, the hatred for the Osborn’s moving to ‘Emily’, a girl who he thought was someone humble, who he wanted to have by his side, in his arms, and in his bed. It hurt. The avoidant truths. The way that he couldn’t think straight anymore as his mind and hands were tense.

The car drove off from the venue where the Osborn’s were going home. Hobie was going to confront “Emily”, He couldn’t recognize them anymore. As if he was going to confront a stranger he used to know. He followed the car from afar until it parked, he waited by the forest beside your house, he was about to climb a random tree to get a better view without being seen, but his hand was met with some rough fabric, his first reaction was to clench and pull it down.

He sees that in his hand, is her backpack. The one he looked through naively having little to no idea that she wouldn’t have to be a drug dealer when she can easily buy whatever she wants whenever she wants.

A bedroom window lights up and it catches his attention, he thwips a web to the outside wall and quietly walks on the wall and peeks into the window to see you kneeling down beside your bed in front of a shoebox.

“How was the event, Emi’?” Spiderpunk asked sarcastically as he let himself in through the window, you flinched and eyes shot immediately towards him with your usually smiley and once gorgeous to him eyes as wide as glass dinner plates.

“What- what do.. Shit- I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you bu-” You began as you stood and began walking closer before he cut you off with his voice raised and clear distaste as he spoke to you. You’ve never heard genuine venom in his tone, he always spoke happily with the lenses of his mask beaming.. That was gone, all gone from his hateful gaze.

“Tell me what? That you’re part of a corporation thats forcing Millions of people in poverty? That you-”

“That I have nothing to do with!” You snap, years of verbal abuse from people who have always assumed the worst from you, and now it was even worse since he supposedly knew you internally. “Aren’t you someone who fights against stereotypes? Who fights against things that are unfair?”

“Don’ you dare. Thats differen’, you were actively Lying- Hiding the damn truth from me, Hearing me say all these things about Osborn- Your dad- Ugh.” He groaned while clasping his hand over his face, trying not to yell since he knew about your sensitivity towards being yelled at. “I have been nothing but caring towards you and it feels like you’ve stabbed me in the back.” he summarized, slowly taking off his mask to show his seriousness.. And to show that he still seems to trust you.

He felt betrayed, lied to, his trust was broken–yet.. He would tell you his plans, he would tell you which ones of Osborns buildings he was going to vandalize and on what days he planned to do it, but he’s never been caught.

He’s never been caught, you’ve never snitched.

You were there most of the time, you’ve had every chance to get him in trouble and caught, that means something.

Your expression softens, now wasn’t the time but he was handsome.. Stunning. His eyes shut and his eyebrows furrowed while pinching the bridge of his nose, the scowl showed that he genuinely felt conflicted and you had to know the actual reason why. It almost hurts that you are being the cause of his frown instead of the reason of his smile.

You shake off the pained thoughts and continue as you step closer so he could look at you, “Can’t you see why I never told you? Look at how you’re reacting. You know me, or you at least know ‘Emily’, so what makes (y/n) any different?” you ask with a gesture of your hand, “I’m still the same girl who would spray paint with you, who’d come with you to put up art over my father’s buildings, the same girl you laughed with and the girl you held as she cried.” You tell him as your voice trembles with tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, vision already blurred from them pooling in your eyes, looking away before he could see the effect all of this is taking on you.

He's silent for a second, he wants to yell, he wants to talk, he wants to sob, he doesn’t know exactly what to do for a moment so he swallows his pride and interrupts you right before you were about to break the silence yourself.

“Because I loved you!” He spat as if he never wanted to admit it himself, “I loved the girl who’d spray paint with me,” Hobie takes a step closer to you this, “I loved the girl whose art I’d put up on Osborn’s buildings, and I loved..” He trailed off for a moment as he put his hand on your chin to force you to look at him gently, “..The same girl who laughed with me and who I held as she cried.”

Loved.

“Loved”..

“So what? Not anymore? Because of an ‘asshole’ who happens to be my father?” You ask as you pull back from his touch, upset at the fact that Hobie was blaming you for your dad’s actions, “it’s fucking unfair.” You added under your breath as the crybaby in you was coming back stronger for ever, now the frustration from that night and every hateful interaction you’ve had coming back full force.

“I.. don’t know.” He answered honestly with an empty chuckle as if his own internal turmoil was funny as he looked into your watering eyes, knowing full well he was causing them, and that knowledge felt like a drill to his heart.

The water in your eyes thickens as you feel like he’s slipping from your hands, the one person who saw you as a person at one point now seeing you like a monster like everyone else did, always compared to your dad by everyone else, it wasn’t new.. But this just hurt so much more. So much more.

And Hobie’s heart is torn, this wasn’t how he wanted to find anything out, this isn’t how anything was supposed to go, he never wanted to make you cry. He closes his eyes and takes a small breath once your face scrunches up while choking back a sob, remembering how affected you probably are in this moment, recognizing your own heartbreak as he thought of your words.

Unfair.

It was unfair what your father was doing, unfair how many innocent people like Squaishy now sleep in cold tents in abandoned areas just to not be killed due to the cold or by other not as nice vagabonds. Nothing was fair in this moment, no stars were aligned, no god that smiled upon them, no luck in a single charm..

At this point you were on the verge of fully breaking down at this, everything just went downhill in a matter of moments. But the second you let out a choke sob, Hobie knew what to do. You suddenly felt his hand on your jaw and he pulled you into a kiss, a passionate yet soft one. His plump lips and warm piercing against your surprised ones, you fully thought everything was over and here he was: Spiderpunk/Hobie brown, kissing you with his neck craned to accommodate your height and his other hand moving to your waist to hold your body flushed against his.

He was beginning to regret having kissed you at all since you weren’t reciprocating but those thoughts were wiped once he felt your hand move to the side of his neck and an eager response from your mouth. This felt right. Whether you were some masked street artist, The daughter of a sadistic sociopath, or simply (y/n) Osborn, and if Spiderpunk was some masked Vigilante, a punk squatter, or simply Hobie Brown, this was right.

Hobie was clearly more experienced with his kissing skills, considering the fact he probably had more than quadruple the social life you did: He at least probably had much more than double the sex life too. And it doesn’t take long for the repressed emotions, repressed love and the electric tension when you two swung through the city catches up to you two. Hobie’s tongue mixing into the kiss tentatively and his hand that was on your jaw snaking into your hair and keeping you close in an intimate yet not-forced way.

This feeling was intoxicating, finally having him close and his lips slotted in yours, fitting together like some kind of perfect pieces from different puzzles. Hobie advanced ever so slightly which made you take some steps back until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he then gently pushed you back and climbed on top of you before pulling you into another deep kiss, but more greedy and ever so slightly wanton, and this change of pace made your heart begin to beat a bit more quickly with your lips hardly keeping up with his, his tongue dancing an expert tango and yours swayed a newbie ballet. He probably thought you had some kind of experience but you really didn’t, nobody dared get close to you emotionally and much less physically.

And its like alarms went off the second his hands lowered to your hips and thighs, close to the edge of the dress you had been wearing earlier at the stupid event earlier. You pulled out of the kiss and your hands almost slapped onto his in a haste to stop him, quickly muttering a quiet “Oh shit, sorry.” Under your breath as you rubbed his hands where your hand had landed on.

“You alrigh’?” He asked as his eyes looked into yours, ignoring your apology and focusing on why you had moved your hands to stop him so quickly, not wanting to move past your boundaries–he's not that kind of man, no matter how upset he was at you moments or however badly he wanted you in that moment. He was ready to put you first, you and your comfort first.[a]

“I.. I haven’t really done anything like this before.” You tell him bluntly yet a bit quietly as you averted your gaze in slight embarrassment, he was obviously a pro and an expert and here you were: Hardly able to know what to do with your tongue while making out with someone. This information clicked into Hobie’s mind and he nodded, “You don’ have to do anything you don’ wanna.” Hobie assured you as he gently put a hand to your cheek and made you look at him, his eyes boring into yours with raw concern and care.

“No no- it isn’t that I don’t want to..” Its that you don’t want to disappoint him or underwhelm him, but how the fuck do you tell him that after crying in front of him and literally disappointed him earlier when he learnt who you really were. “..I do want to, but.. I’m no model either.” You say half-jokingly to try to lighten the intense mood.

Hobie nodded again before leaning in and kissing you again, he didn’t really mind as long as you could express your limit, “Alrigh’, but if you need me t’stop, just say the word.” He reassured you while practically looking in your soul through your eyes.

He then leaned in and began kissing your neck, his hand moving to your waist while the other moved to your back and slowly began pulling down the zipper of your dress, the feeling of his touch and his lips on your neck like a kind of blue electricity that went all through you. The dress soon lowered to your waist, exposing your breasts that simply had nipple pads due to the dress having been one of cleavage, Hobie carefully peeled them off and set them aside onto your nightstand and began kissing down your collarbone with one hand already massaging your tit and pinching your nipple, his other hand working to lower the dress more. Over your abdomen, past your hips, down your thighs, and off your legs and body.

He carefully let his hands lower and gently hold the band of your fishnets and panties, but he paused as he awaited a yes or no from you, everything was going to be on your terms.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, breath slightly shaking and his hands were calloused yet soothing on your soft skin, but you wanted more and so you nodded in approval and soon enough–Your panties were gone too, your cunt fluttering once exposed to the cold air and Hobie’s hungry gaze. In a moment of self-consciousness your thighs press together, or at least you try to before Hobie stops you with his hands on your knees and easing them apart, not at all forcefully but just enough to show what he wanted.

“Do ya trus’ me?” He asked softly, the exact same way that spiderpunk did all those nights ago, his hand once that lingered too long on your hip now on your knees, showing yourself and your vulnerability.

“Never stopped trusting you.” You answered with a small approving nod.

And with that, Hobie began to pepper small kisses into the plushy flesh of your thighs and slowly inching closer to where you felt you needed him most. After what felt like hours, he finally reached the lips of your glistening pussy and his warm breath touching your puffy clit. He kissed it once before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit then latching his mouth suddenly to your bud, blissfully making out with your lips expertly like he was with your upper ones earlier.

“Oh.. shit..” You moan breathlessly with your hand knotting into his hair. His hand moves from holding you by the knee to keep your legs spread towards the hole of your pussy, easing in a finger that entered with not too much effort due to his spit and your wet arousal welcoming him. Yet your hips squirming due to the intrusion, making Hobie slow down his finger and focus on your cunt.

He slowly pumps a single finger in your pussy while licking his name letter by letter on your sensitive bundle of nerves.. H-O-B-I-E B-R-O-W-N. You quickly feel yourself get more sensitive and your hips squirm, unsure of how to react to this new sensation, his fingers reaching places you never could and much less stimulation at the same time in your hole as it is in your bundle of nerves.

You quickly come undone and your thighs almost press Hobie’s head between them, but his hand remains on your inner thigh to keep it open, lapping up your juices with his tongue flat on your cunt and his finger pumping in and out a little more before pulling it out of you and licking it clean. Something about this lewd display makes you clench around nothing, maybe it was the fact that he hardly took his eyes off of you once, studying your expression for any hesitance or regret.

He pulled up to show his raging hard-on, straining his jeans and creating a beautiful bulge. You watch as he fumbles with his belt and lowers his pants and boxers, his cock springing free and leaking beads of pre-cum, proudly standing eight inches at least, a silver Alberts piercing. He lazily strokes it a few times and aligns it lower to your sensitive virgin hole.

“Please.. Be gentle?” You request softly as you put your hand on his abdomen as if to make sure he had stopped and listened. He nodded before leaning down and kissing your lips slowly and passionately as he slowly eased himself into you with his hands moving to your hips. You felt a slight sting or burn while he pushed himself inside, yet his lips stayed on yours for you to be able to keep your focus and sounds averted while tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips come to halt once he’s fully inside, giving you time to adjust as he separated his lips from yours and waited for your green light patiently.

At the second nod of your head, he slowly pulled out and went in once again, creating a steady rhythm with his hips with pretty groans and praises falling from his lips.

“Fuck.. pretty cun’ sucking me in- tigh’ as hell.. Shi’.” He mumbled beautifully into the crook of your neck while his hips began rutting more into you, as if desperately chasing for more with his piercing stroking your spongey G-spot and his high.

You feel yourself clench around him as your orgasm washes over you once again, Hobie quickly following suit, Pulling out and stroking himself a bit more before finishing and cumming on your abdomen, his hands quickly moving to the sides of your head to stop himself from falling onto you and instead falling onto the space on the bed beside you. He laid on his side with a protective arm around your waist and held you close.

“Emily fuckin’ Osborn.” He mumbled almost to himself as he looked up at your fucked out expression, a small layer of sweat on your pretty face, normally he had fantasized of whoever you were under the mask being an expert at everything including dick and cunt, meanwhile here he was laying beside the daughter of the man he always swore to destroy.

“...Is now a good time to tell you that Emily is my moms name?”

“..wha’?”

___________________________

★| Taglist!:

@craziblondi @fodmdk123 @vinxernica @muffinlovesfiction @jane-3043 @coffeeandtealol @alecmores @azuurr3 @nyumei @noharaaa @alisoncdariel @dailyhobiebrown @malatuadimadre @ziarah @i-want-to-be-hit-by-a-car @malyjohn @horrorcore2002 @jess-fae @bluupen

@eyesxxyou

______

I’m really sorry if this is bad/underwhelming/not as good as the last one, I was really rushed and I felt bad for not getting this out sooner :(((

I love y’all so much <3

[inkdaydreams]

Hey, if you like my fics and want to support me please consider donating here and letting me know which one shot you came from. Writing has been my longest standing passion and I want to still be able to afford to make time for it inbetween further education and having to make a living for myself.

Pairing: Ruby Lucas x Fem!Reader

None of my x readers specify race, height, body type, or general appearance.

We're still together.

Brief synopsis: this is just before ruby is supposed to turn, so she comes out about her werewolf condition to reader, who never knew her in the enchanted forest. reader is a teacher btw.

Warnings: angst, crying, kinda breaks the curse's rules a little (the curse is supposed to be the same day repeating itself for 28 years but ruby and reader organically fall in love)

"Is there a reason you're closing up early?" You asked as you walked into Granny's, smiling brightly and kissing your girlfriend's cheek.

You usually never picked Ruby up at the end of her shifts. They were slightly later than yours, you being a school teacher, and you had work to do. You usually spent those couple of hours free between the end of your shift and the end of hers planning your lessons and marking homework, then you cooked some dinner and your girlfriend came in spot on time. It was only by chance Mary Margaret- well, Snow, now that the curse was lifted- invited you over to Granny's in a hurry. You shrugged and followed the frantic woman, thinking she'd treat you to a hot chocolate and figure out how the history syllabus was supposed to look like now the kids knew fairy tales were real. That had been stressing out all the teaching staff recently.

David and Mary Margaret stood at the door awkwardly. Granny joined them and they stepped out, leaving just you and Ruby in the room.

"Mary Margaret? Hey!" You exclaimed, raising an eyebrow as they stood by the windows.

You looked back at Ruby and sighed, "sorry, it's just we had some stuff we needed to discuss, you know what I told you in bed a couple nights ago, teaching the kids about where they're really from and whatnot."

Ruby stayed still, taking your hand in both of hers. It was only then you realised she hadn't even spoken since you'd walked in. In fact, looking back, you realised she had been having a serious conversation with David and Granny before Mary Margaret had marched you in. Your face stilled and your gaze met hers. She had all your undivided attention.

She opened her mouth slightly to speak then stopped. She sighed and pulled you closer, letting go of your hand to wrap her arms around you. A hand on your waist and one in your hair.

"Ruby..." You mumbled, hesitating before returning a reassuring embrace. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry." She breathed, her voice breaking.

"Sorry?" You asked, only to be answered with silence. "Sorry for what?"

Still, nothing.

"Ruby, speak to me." You demanded, pulling away slightly just to look at her but keeping a hand on her shoulder and one on the small of her waist.

"It's about who I was- who I was in the Enchanted Forest- who I am." She stuttered, her face scrunching up as if she was about to cry.

"Oh." You nodded, keeping a hand on her waist and guiding her to sit down at a booth.

You joined opposite her and held out your hands. She clasped them once again, gratefully. You watched as a tear slid down her cheek.

"I'm not who you think I am," she said, a small sob escaping, "sorry- sorry, this is hard."

You nodded and offered a half-smile, "if it helps, I'm not the nerdy elementary school teacher you fell in love with, and it's not your fault either. None of us are who we thought we were. Please don't apologise though."

"I opened with I'm sorry because I should've told you the moment I remembered. It's a deal breaker. We probably won't be in a relationship anymore." Ruby confessed.

You bit your lip, instinctively gripping Ruby's hands tighter. You could feel tears coming on your end now. You looked at Ruby through your blurred vision and thought about everything you knew about her. Her beauty, her charm, her humour. She must have been a princess in the Enchanted Forest. Yes, that's it. She was a princess and you were a lowly midwife in another kingdom. She had been to billions of balls and had many attractive suitors. One of them had charmed her and she was supposed to marry them and share their riches. She'd gotten all her memories back and realised she was in love with someone better than you ever will be, and now she had to break up with you and try to find them again.

"I'm a werewolf." Ruby declared, interrupting your train of thought.

You loosened your grip on her hands, launching her into a state of panic. She interlocked your fingers with hers and began her speech, crying the whole way through.

"Please don't be afraid of me, I understand if you're mad and you don't want to see me anymore. I know you didn't sign up to date a- date a monster like me." She sobbed, tears falling down her cheeks.

You sat back, trying to understand what you were just told.

"Y/N? Y/N? Say something. Please say something." Ruby bawled, facing the table.

"Well," you murmured, beginning to cry just at the sight of her, "why does this mean we have to break up?"

Ruby's faces contorted to one of confusion, "what?"

"You- you said we probably won't be in a- be in a relationship anymore..." You stuttered. "Why do we- we have to break up?"

"Let me get this straight. I could kill you, and you want to stay with me?" She asked, "do you know what you're getting into, Y/N?"

"Could."

"I ate my ex boyfriend."

"We all get angry sometimes." You joked, letting go of her hands to wipe away your tears.

She laughed, wiping hers away too. She took a compact mirror out of the pocket of her work apron. "We look ridiculous." She noted at the mascara running down both your cheeks.

"So... we're still together?"

"If you want to be."

You couldn't put it into words how much you wanted to be. You opted instead to just roll your eyes, and lean forward to kiss your girlfriend. You began to hear some commotion and pulled away, raising an eyebrow.

You and Ruby turned your heads round to look at the window, watching as the three freezing idiots outside cheered for you. Your eyes focused on Mary Margarent and Ruby's on Granny. It was kind of like your first date in a way. They had known the two of you liked each other and they had no clue how to give people personal space or privacy, so they had watched the two of you from afar on your first date here, giving you massive smiles and thumbs up when they thought the other wasn't looking. Ruby had been almost a stranger then, but you had learnt everything you could about her now. It was as if everything was as it always was. You and Ruby together was just so natural.

"We're still together." You said, getting out of your seat, and pulling Ruby out of hers into your tighest hug ever.

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Writing Snippet #10

O Positive

Part 2

Ok so @im-a-wonderling had a FANTASTIC idea for a snippet, but I’m putting the ask below to not cause spoilers lol:)

Special thanks to @im-a-wonderling as well for the beta read, edits, suggestions, and expert medical knowledge to help make this way more realistic than my original draft! You’re amazing!!!

—————————————————

Hero shifted from side to side as she stood in line, fingers clutching a bottle of orange juice.

“Well you’re prepared.” Hero’s head shot up as the attendant waved her forward. “Normally people wait until after to go for the juice.”

She chuckled nervously. “That’s me... prepared.”

“ID?” She scrambled through her wallet, making sure she didn’t grab either of the two aliases she’d already used at different locations that morning.

She would have used the same ID, but last time she’d tried to explain that she healed super fast- a result of her powers- and could donate more, the resulting argument had lasted nearly an hour, with nurses questioning whether her “magic blood” could even be used at all (it was perfectly normal blood thank you very much), and they’d still only let her donate the normal amount.

She handed him the correct ID, and he shoved a clipboard full of paperwork at her. A phlebotomist led her to a reclining chair. Even though she’d filled out the information twice that morning, it still took approximately twelve years to finish the stack of forms. The phlebotomist returned, and began asking her an equally long list of questions. She only half paid attention to the stream of questions.

Have you received any blood transfusions?

No.

Have you traveled in the last 6 months?

No.

Are you free of HIV or any other blood diseases?

Yes.

Have you ever been pregnant?

Yes.

Wait! No!

The phlebotomist chuckled as she snapped on a pair of gloves. “Ok let’s see that arm.” Hero held out her mark-free arm. After the first donation that morning, the needle mark and resulting bruise had been gone in a matter of minutes. After the second, she’d had to wait over thirty minutes before the signs of her deception to fade. The phlebotomist wrapped a tourniquet above her elbow before consulting her paperwork.

“It says here you’d like to do a double donation?”

“Yes.”

“You have to be 150lbs in order to donate that much sweetie.” The older woman eyed Hero dubiously.

Her throat went dry. “I know. I am.”

“I’m just going to take one bag today; you’re looking a little pale, honey.”

“But the other phlebotomist let me—”She cut off and cleared her throat. “I mean, last time I donated. It was fine.”

The phlebotomist shook her head as she felt the inside of Hero’s arm for the vein.

Hero forced a cheery smile. “This is important. I’ll be fine.”

By tomorrow, she added silently. Or the day after that...

Last time she’d only been able to get in one regular and one double donation before she’d gotten called into help with a work emergency. She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, but had woken up fine the next morning. Of course, that was only half the amount of blood...

The woman narrowed her eyes before shaking her head.

“The shortage is the worst it’s been in years, but I’m only going to take one bag today.”

“But—”

“Unless you’d like to go stand on that scale over there?”

Hero blanched, then mutely shook her head.

The woman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I thought not,’ before raising her voice to a normal volume. “And make sure to take it easy and drink that orange juice you’ve got there.” She nodded at the bottle in Hero’s hand as she swabbed her arm with an alcohol wipe and picked up a needle.

“I will.”

————— 30 minutes (or so) later —————

Hero made it ten steps out of the building before she collapsed against the wall, head swimming. She peeled the tape and cotton ball off her arm. Blood immediately began to trickle down her forearm.

She struggled to unscrew the cap of her juice, hands shaking. Finally, she succeeded, the cap slipping through her fingers and bouncing against the sidewalk. She brought the bottle to her lips, but only managed a few sips before her stomach revolted. She clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, willing herself not to throw up.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the curious stares from pedestrians on the crowded downtown street.

She needed to get home.

A quaking boom shook the ground, and Hero cracked open her eyes to see a plume of smoke a few blocks over.

Most likely the bank on main. Or the diamond store next door.

She took a step towards the plume of smoke, but the ground was still rocking, and she had a feeling it wasn’t from the explosion. She closed her eyes as panicked civilians began running to and fro.

Her phone rang out in a pealing tone, sending her a foot into the air, her orange juice falling to the ground with a sticky splash.

The emergency line.

Groaning, she accepted the call.

“Hero! Villain just set off a bomb on Main Street.”

“Diamonds or bank vault?”

“BOTH! You need to get over there now!”

Hero covered her eyes. She wanted to, she really did. If only the ground would stop moving.

“It’s my day off. Send Other Hero.” She cringed at her seemingly callous words, but she didn’t think the Hero Agency would exactly condone what she’d just done.

Even if she was just trying to save lives.

“Other Hero is undercover spying on Supervillain. Your phone shows you are six blocks away. That will take you 12 seconds to get your speedy butt over there.”

A second explosion rocked the ground.

Oh he didn’t. Hero growled, pushing off the wall and taking a hesitant step forward.

The ground was finally still. Much better. She pulled out the spare mask she always kept in her purse and fitted it across her eyes.

12 seconds, she scoffed.

————— 9 (and a half) seconds later————

Hero skidded to a halt in front of the shattered front windows of Pristine Diamonds.

The windows of the bank next door were in a similar condition. She rested a hand against the ash stained wall, gasping as the world spun.

She forced her head up, scanning the scene. A gaping hole had been blown in the wall connecting the two businesses, and smoke was still pouring out of both buildings. She darted into the diamond store, moving without her super speed through the black air. She made it to the back of the store, where the massive safe stood empty, the door hanging drunkenly off one hinge.

She cursed and made her way to the jagged hole. She was halfway across the bank lobby when a figure leapt from the smoke and she was thrown to the side.

She scrambled to her feet as Villain faded back into the smoke. His laughter echoed around her as she spun in desperate circles. The smoke thickened until it was nearly solid around her.

“You’re slow today, Hero.” The voice rang out behind her, and she whirled around, but there was nothing but smoke.

Her vision was truly swimming now. She swiped at her eyes. “And you’re extravagant. You can create smoke from nothing, you didn’t actually need to set off a bomb.”

“I was creating a passage between the businesses. They should thank me.” The voice was to her right, and she spun again. There was no point in super speed if she couldn’t see. Her head was starting to pound.

“And that outfit.” The whisper brushed against her neck, and she whirled around again, only to see the smoke curling in around the place where Villain had just stood.

She glanced down self-consciously at her pink shorts and baggy tie-dye T-shirt.

“You already ruined my day off. There’s no need to mock my clothes as well.” She huffed, taking determined strides in the direction she hoped was the door.

“Who said I was mocking?”

She sensed him behind her the instant before he attacked. She spun. He hit. She flew. Across the room. To the floor. Over chunks of rubble. And into a brick wall.

Her back cracked against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs.

Smoke swirled through the air as Villain emerged, the dark tendrils receding to lap at his heels.

He looked surprised; he’d never actually managed to land a blow that direct before.

Hero forced herself off the ground. It was time to retreat. She summoned her powers, but between her swimming head and the sharp pain in her leg, she made it only a few feet before sinking back to the ground with a quiet whimper of pain.

She forced her blurry gaze up to Villain, who was regarding her with a strange expression on his face.

“I thought you healed as fast as you can run.”

She blinked, and realized he wasn’t looking at her, but at her leg.

She looked down. Blood seeped from a long shallow gash on the outside of her calf, no doubt from a sharp piece of rubble.

Smaller cuts and bruises covered the rest of her body, and none of them were healing.

“That’s strange.” She wiped clumsily at the cut.

Villain’s eyes narrowed. “You seem oddly off your game, Hero. You haven’t lost that much blood.”

She mustered the energy to glare at Villain. “I did tell you this was my day off.”

“I wonder if it’s from the blood earlier.” She mused, floating on a hazy cloud.

The tendrils of smoke scattered as Villain knelt down beside her.

“What blood? You came to fight me when you were already injured?”

His voice sounded as though he was speaking through a tunnel.

“There’s a national blood shortage. Worst it’s been in years.”

“So?”

“So, I donated.”

Villain scoffed as he produced a cloth from somewhere and began wrapping it around her leg. “You have regenerative healing powers, a pint of blood wouldn’t have made you this weak.”

Hero shook her head and weakly held up five fingers.

Villain froze. “FIVE PINTS OF BLOOD!” He roared, smoke dancing angrily around them. “ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY INSANE!? YOU SHOULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW!”

Her head throbbed with every word, and she flinched away.

“I heal fast.” It was barely a whisper, but his fiery eyes met hers.

“I don’t care how fast you heal. No one can survive losing half their blood.” At least now his rage was contained to a low snarl. He grabbed Hero’s hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Your hands are freezing! What were you thinking!? Why would you face me after donating that much blood?!? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He continued to seethe as he swept Hero into his arms and strode through the bank. He paused only to swing a bulging duffle bag onto one shoulder before he swept out through a second gaping hole into a back alley. A dark SUV was waiting in the shadows. He tossed the bag into the back and slid Hero into the passenger seat.

She curled against the warm leather.

“I was just trying to help.” She mumbled, her voice muffled as she spoke into the headrest.

“I know.” A hand ran down her hair. “Close your eyes. Sleep.”

She forced her eyes wider, remembering. “I can’t. I have a job to do.”

Villain shut her door and rounded the car to the driver’s side. Slipping into place, he started the engine.

“Not today.” He managed a small smile even as his eyes crinkled in concern.

“It’s your day off, remember?”

Original request from @im-a-wonderling:

“I started thinking about a story where the hero donates blood and then the villain does something that the hero has to go and face them. The villain notices the hero is off their game, but assumes they’re just tired or something. Then, the hero gets injured. The injury is really minor in terms of blood loss, but the hero is pale and sickly and can’t stand up and the villain gets all protective like “WHY would you come and FACE ME if you DONATED BLOOD today?!” And the hero mumbles “They’re having a blood shortage.” And the villain is ready to wring the hero’s neck for not taking care of themselves. So they just scoop the hero up in their arms and brings them back to their lair to feed them and let them sleep.”

Again thanks so much for the request!! I hope I did it justice:)

[alccaddsccup]

Sensual Sneaking

this was a request from an anon, i hope it lives up to your expectations!

Ina X MC

warnings: heavy smut!!! (this is the most strongly written smut i have made. you have been warned)

tag list: @ikingsley @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @kaitlynliaofanxx @barnibumblr @veenast @livvynka @hellyeah90sbaby @youranonymous42 @itsoverihavethehighground @hey-its-vy @hallowdiamond @sheepmomther-personal

lmk if you want to be added to my tag list!

and don’t forget to donate to my ko-fi if u feel so inclined 😊

————————————————————

In the late hours of the evening, Ina returns home from a hectic day at Belvoire. She had to stay behind to do additional marking as she let Bea return home early; her feelings for Bea were quickly becoming a hindrance to her work. But she didn’t mind the extra hours if it meant she got to witness sights like the one currently before her

Bea was lying flat on her back on Ina’s bed, legs spread wide and face screwed shut. The shaft of her dildo flew in and out of her at a rapid pace and the moans that came from the younger woman sounded heavenly to Ina.

Quickly and quietly, Ina crept over to the bed and covered Bea’s hand with her own. Her eyes flew open and she stopped thrusting the dildo, but Ina picked up the pace instead. Fucking her hard, so hard that within seconds Bea was a shaking mess, screaming Ina’s name. After only a few seconds of bliss, Bea felt wetness erupt from her core and coat the toy in her juices. Ina smirked to herself in self-satisfaction as she removed the toy from Bea slowly and put it aside

“Good girl Bea. You did so well for me”

Bea is still too spent for words so she pats the place beside her on the bed and Ina takes a seat. Bea takes Ina’s hand and licks her own wetness from the woman’s fingers, never breaking eye contact even as she takes one finger deep into her mouth. Ina runs her free hand through Bea’s hair as she continues to lick up the juices.

After she is done, Ina places a gentle kiss on Bea’s forehead, a mischievous glint in her eye

“So, may I know what made you so riled up this evening?”

Bea feels her face heat up and she tries to roll away from Ina, determined not to give an answer. Ina holds Bea by the shoulders and pulls her back to face her

“Ah ah, tell me” Bea feels a new spike of arousal shoot through her at Ina’s demanding tone and this causes her to push her thighs together tightly. Ina doesn’t seem to notice

“It was just such a hard day for me today. The workload was immense and I wanted to relieve some stress”

Ina takes her hands off Bea’s shoulders and pulls away from her

“Are you saying that you didn’t enjoy my lesson?” Bea shoots up from her reclined position

“No! That isn’t what I meant at all” She grabs Ina’s hands which currently reside in Ina’s lap

“You know I love your lessons, especially the parts when you turn to face the board and I get a prime view of your ass.” Bea says this in a half-joking tone, but Ina still seems to be irritated by her words. She stands up from the bed

“Ina? What did I say wrong?”

“You’ve done a lot of things wrong this evening, brat” Ina begins to undress herself as she continues to speak, each sentence punctuated by clothes dropping to the floor

“Pleasuring yourself without my permission” Ina removes her blazer and blouse

“Insulting my lesson” She shimmies out of her skirt

“Looking at me in a disrespectful manner during class” Finally Ina removes her bra, standing only in her panties before Bea. She holds the bra away from her body for a few moments before she lets it fall to the floor and then she makes her way over to the bedside. Ina bends down a little so that she is at eye level with Bea

“So? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t think I was being bratty” Ina grabs Bea by the chin and pulls her towards her, mouth moving to her ear in order to whisper to her

“Wrong answer darling” She pulls away from Bea slightly, only centimetres between their faces

“Now here’s what will happen. I’m going to do as I please with you and you’re going to behave like a good little girl, okay?” Bea nods as best as she can with her chin still held firmly by Ina. She smiles at Bea’s obedience before releasing her chin and stepping away from the bed

She pulls down her panties to reveal her already damp core. Bea cannot help but swipe a tongue across her lower lip at the tempting sight before her. Ina begins to trace delicate circles around one of her own nipples with the tip of her finger and with the other hand she trails a tantalising line from her chest to her centre. Bea goes to get off the bed and move over to Ina

“Just watch” The harsh tone makes Bea stop in her tracks and she remains on the bed, sitting on her hands in order to try and lessen the temptation of touching Ina

Ina continues to touch herself, very gently inserting two fingers into her entrance. She cannot help but moan at the sensation and this pushes Bea over the edge. She gets up from the bed and puts a hand on Ina’s waist, the other trailing down to cup Ina’s occupied hand. Ina furrows her brow before pushing Bea away

“Sit back down” Ina sounds almost angry at Bea and it’s enough to make her do as Ina says. She returns to her place on the bed and observes Ina as she retrieves a small length of rope from one of her wardrobes

Ina unravels the rope and tugs it tightly, pulling it taught

“As you cannot follow simple instructions, we have to do things the hard way” Ina walks over to Bea and commands her to put her wrists behind her back. Ina ties Bea’s wrists together before spanking her four times on the ass which makes Bea grit her teeth

“That’s for the number of times you’ve been disobedient this evening”

Ina then positions herself before Bea, placing her feet in a wide stance

“Pleasure me” Almost instantly, Bea dives towards Ina’s centre and desperately tries to find the best angle to lick at her

“It would be easier if you got on the bed” Ina stares at Bea for a few seconds before she places one foot onto the edge of the mattress

“Try now” Bea goes to roll her eyes at Ina before remembering her place. She bends forwards and crouches low, angling her mouth towards Ina’s core once again. She tentatively swipes her tongue along Ina’s damp folds and, upon hearing Ina’s sigh of pleasure, she begins to repeatedly lick at her professor’s centre

Bea cannot help but moan at the delicious taste of the woman before her, and this makes Ina even more aroused than she thought possible

“You love how I taste, don’t you?” Bea nods but doesn’t slow down her pace

“You’re being such a good girl now” The praise makes Bea incredibly aroused, and she can start to feel her wetness make its way down her thighs

Ina grabs onto Bea’s head and pushes her more firmly into herself while also beginning to move her hips in an erratic rhythm. Her moans come faster and louder as she gets closer to the edge but she craves more

“Deeper Bea! Go deeper!” Bea does as she’s told and thrusts her tongue as hard and fast as she can into Ina’s centre. This makes Ina tighten her grip on Bea’s head and she begins to pull her hair which makes Bea whimper but she does not slow her relentless pace

Within only a few moments, Ina’s thighs begin to shake and she tries desperately to keep herself upright but she fails as her orgasm comes crashing down on her. One of her knees gives way and she lurches forwards, almost hitting Bea in the process but neither of them seem to notice as they both come down from the high

After Ina has slightly recovered, she stands upright once again and unties Bea’s wrists. She gives Bea a final smack on the ass

“Don’t be such a brat next time”

[parkersroses]

delicate. | harry styles.

summary: two lonely people find solace in each other for the night and something delicate blossoms from it. 

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

wc: 6.1k 

warning(s): fluff and smut (a first attempt at it) 

a/n: aaah i’m excited and nervous to post this. i guess it’s considered a Christmas fic because it’s set around that time. i do hope you guys enjoy this! i also wanna wish you all happy holidays! side note, i recently made a ko-fi account, so if you’re able to and like my writing, feel free to donate to it! anyways, enjoy! reblogs/feedbacks are very much appreciated! all my love and stay safe <3 (disclaimer: the gif rightfully belongs to @hampsteadharry​ )

He pushed through the door of the bar, jazz music filling up his ears as he wandered to get a seat. He sighed as he sat on a bar stool, waiting for someone to attend to him and possibly give him the strongest drink here if he felt like it. 

Harry felt tired. He’s been tired and exhausted for a while now. Tired from work. Tired from the glitz and glam. Tired of people getting close to him because of his name and status. Just mentally and physically exhausted. But that’s not to dismiss the fact that he still loves his job. He loves and enjoys making music and seeing his fans - who he declared as the best fans in the world - singing back his songs to him. 

Though, there comes a time where he doesn’t enjoy it as much as he thought he should lately. Being a well-known singer, songwriter and actor seemed pretty cool but no one knows how tiring and raining it could be. Always having to prove yourself and explaining yourself because of ridiculous rumours that articles make up. Always ending up hurt when you found out your friends were using you because of how well-known you were.

So, he announced that he’d be taking a break from all that. Of course, there was an uproar from his fans but in the end, they understood and sent him lovely messages about having to keep his mental health his main priority. 

So now, here he was, sitting at a bar, trying to drink away his emotions. Perhaps, he would find a girl that he could go home with to fill in the empty space of his bed for the night. His break was quite eye-opening to say the least. Harry realised how alone he felt. He thought it was just all in his head because how could he be lonely even when he still had few of his friends around? But he didn’t know that being alone and still feeling alone were different. 

And the irony of it nearly being Christmas, there wasn’t much magic or cheer going around for him at the moment. He’ll have to get his shit together before going back to visit his family for the holidays.

“What can I get ya?” a voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts. A woman stood before him behind the bar, he realised it was one of the bartenders there. She wore a long sleeved black shirt, the sleeves rolled up until her elbows. Her long hair was tied up into a ponytail, strands of hair framing around her face. He thought she was pretty. Beautiful, he would say.

Bartender lady snapped her fingers at his face, knocking him out of his thoughts once again. “Seemed to be far away there. Are you sure you’re good here? In a bar?” She said and she smirked at Harry. He felt the blood rushed to his cheeks, having been caught staring at the pretty bartender lady.

“S-Sorry. A whiskey for now will do,” he said softly. Pretty bartender lady smiled at him and nodded. “Alright, then,” she said, heading off to get his drink. 

Harry’s eyes followed her figure, almost like he was entranced by her. He was not sure why he did. Seconds later, she put his drink on a coaster in front of him. “Thanks,” he quietly said as he picked up his drink. 

“Don’t mention it. You seemed like you need it,” she said almost knowingly. He chuckled at her words. Well, she got that right. “Yeah, just trying to clear my head a bit,” he shrugged at her. 

Pretty bartender lady nodded. “Rough day?” She inquired. Harry raised an eyebrow at her question. He probably thought that she was trying to make a conversation other than cleaning shot glasses. He hesitated a little, thinking she might just be another fan and might spill whatever that comes out of his mouth to the nearest journalist. But then, he remembered that he’s already one drink down to probably getting drunk and his mind won’t really care even if he woke up hungover the next day.

So, he shrugged at her question. “Guess you could say that,” he said as he set down the empty shot glass. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a lot of things in my mind. And drinking does numb my emotions a bit. If that made sense,” he chose to say as he looked at her. 

She only giggled at his words. “That sounds quite deep. Should write a song about it,” she joked and for a second, Harry thought she knew about him. Because for once, he’d like to talk to someone who’s unaware of his celebrity status. Someone who’d talked to him with a sense of normalcy. Instead of talking to the famous Harry Styles. 

“Maybe I should. And I’ll credit you in it,” he joked. She laughed, throwing her head back as she did. “Oh gosh, I always wanted to be a famous songwriter,” she said dramatically. They both laughed at this. It was weird to Harry, this scene felt so normal, it felt as if he knew her for a while now. 

She nodded at his empty glass. “Want another?” She asked. Harry thought about it before asking. “Actually, what’s your favourite drink?” Pretty bartender lady was surprised to say the least, but smiled at Harry. “Why?” He only smiled back. “‘Cause I want another drink. And I want to treat you one too. I’ll even pay for yours, love,” 

She blushed at this, not expecting him to be so forward yet sweet. “Cheeky, aren’t you?” She said smiling at him, and she noticed a hint of blush on his cheeks. “My mum always taught me to be a gentleman,” he shrugged,

She chuckled at this. “Fine then. I’ll be right back,” she said, going to get whatever her favourite drink was for Harry. Harry smiled as she walked away. He couldn’t help but feel some sort of liking towards her, but not knowing why. Maybe because she was just a pretty bartender lady. 

She returned later with two glasses of her ‘favourite drink’ and set them in front of him. Harry was skeptical to see the strange colour of liquid, raising an eyebrow at her. She only smiled and raised her glass up. 

“Bottoms up,” she said as she drank from her glass. 

Harry sniffed the drink a bit before thinking he was being silly and drank it. As the sweet taste hit his taste buds, he chuckled as he shook his head. “Apple juice? Really?” He questioned. 

She laughed as she took another sip on her drink. “Well, you asked for my favourite drink and I gave it to you,” she said with a smirk in her face. “So, you don’t drink?” he asked curiously. She shrugged at him. “A bit sometimes. Just don’t prefer it unless I wanna get really drunk,” she let out a small laugh. Harry chuckled at her words, finding himself agreeing with her. 

Harry noticed how pretty of a smile she had. He didn’t know why a tiny detail like that stuck out to him. He found himself quite intrigued with the pretty bartender lady, which he realised he had been calling her that in his head without knowing her name. He stared into her eyes and found himself hypnotized by them. Suddenly, it seemed like they were the only two people in the room. Okay, stop. She’ll think you’re weird.

It was as if his mind took control over him and he found himself asking her, “When do you get off?” He asked, his eyes widening after realising the words that came out of his mouth.

What the fuck!?, he thought.

She was surprised, her mouth agape as she processed what he had just asked. But she seemed to compose herself quickly. “And why do you wanna know?” She asked nervously. 

Harry paused before choosing his next words carefully. “Because you seem really cool to talk too. And I’d like to talk to you more,” he said. He was nibbling on his bottom lip, a habit he had whenever he got nervous. He shrugged before he continued, “It’s nice to have a friend, you know?” 

Pretty bartender lady - and Harry swore he’ll get her name soon - nodded at him and smiled. Like she knew what he meant. “I’ll be off at 10,” she said. It was only 30 minutes until then. Harry was initially surprised at this, not thinking whether she would agree to - whatever he wanted to with her later. 

He nodded in response. “I’ll, uh, wait for you here, then,” he spoke nervously. She chuckled and took their glasses away so she could clean and attend to the other customers before her boss yelled at her. 

As she walked away, Harry called out to her. “Wait!” She turned around, eyes wide when he called her. “Um, what’s your name?” He asked. She smiled as her heart melted at the innocent question. 

“It’s Y/N,” she replied.

Harry nodded, a small timid smile appearing on his face. “I’m Harry,” he said. 

She smiled and nodded at his short introduction. Now, the pretty guy with forest green eyes had a name she could call him. “I’ll see you later, Harry,” she said as she returned to the back of the bar.

Harry sighed, seeming to be smitten already by her. “Yeah. See you later,” he said softly to himself.

❋

Now, Y/N was no idiot. She knew who Harry Styles was. 

She wasn’t like the biggest fan, but she appreciated his music and thought he was a lovely guy in general, according to the fan experiences she read. She didn’t know much about him, other than he was a former member of a very successful boyband and his music was just incredible. Plus, she thought he was pretty handsome.

And when she saw him walking through the doors of the bar, she had to take a double take to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. 

She usually took her job quite seriously, she was polite to all customers and made sure they were always satisfied with their drinks or snacks. It was usually because she wanted to get the tips she needed to pay her rent. So, when Harry sat down by the bar, she couldn’t help herself but go to him. 

But now, she was supposed to meet him after her shift. Which was strange to her because all she did was being nice to him and making up a conversation. Did he realise that she was pretending to not know him? Was this some sort of mind trick that was playing on her? Though, he mentioned how it was nice to have a friend. Maybe there was something behind that phrase that meant something deeper to him. 

It was already 10 PM. Y/N said goodbye to her coworkers as she grabbed her scarf and coat from her locker. Her heart was beating fast because she realised she was about to go on a little rendezvous with Harry Styles, well, that was what she thought. 

She wasn’t expecting anything. She honestly thought he might have just left, realising how silly it was to wait for a bartender friend he just made. 

But she walked towards the front of the bar and he was still sitting in his seat like he said he would, waiting for her. And she felt like her heart might burst.

❋

Harry didn’t think he’d find himself sitting at a 24-hour diner, eating some waffles with a pretty friend he just met at nearly 11 PM. He was starting to blame that one whiskey drink he asked for earlier as to be honest, he didn’t know what was happening. 

When he met Y/N in front of the bar after the shift, he was nervous, shifting on his feet in habit. When Y/N asked him what he had in mind, he froze because he realised he didn’t think this through. All he wanted was to talk to pretty bartender lady Y/N. The rest was all hazy to him. Luckily, Y/N just laughed at this and guided him to her favourite diner. 

They both ordered waffles with honey and blueberry toppings, courtesy of Y/N as she said they were the best waffles she ever had. Y/N got herself a chocolate smoothie while Harry just ordered a nice hot tea. It was a nice little meal. 

“So, Harry, what brings you here to LA?” Y/N asked him as she munched on her waffles. 

Harry sipped on his tea before clearing his throat. “Uh, I live here, mostly for work. But I’m on a break now,” he said, not giving out too much information. “Hmm. But you haven’t lived here long, I assume. Could tell by your accent,” she said knowingly.

He smiled at this. “Yeah? You like my accent, darlin’?” he teased her and pride filled himself as he saw her cheeks flaring up in the colour red. “Quite the flirt, are ya? But yes, your accent is cute,” she said as she ate. “Good to know,” he smiled and winked at her. 

Y/N rolled her eyes at him as she blushed. He seemed to be quite the flirt, teasing her and calling her pet names. If it were any other guy, she would’ve just left. She admitted that she might not have the best ways in maintaining a relationship. It was always whether she was too picky or bossy and her insecurities always got the best of her. She was used to feeling of being used for sex and her body even when she wanted to believe they wanted something more out of it. She closed herself off from love for a while now. While everyone said that her time will come, she just ignored them. Her main priority was herself and that was for sure.

But there was something about Harry that was pulling her in. He wasn’t far from what the papers write about him but at the same time, he was. He seemed somewhat closed off as she was. She didn’t want to pry, she’d never do that. It was like he was in this fish tank surrounded by spectators watching his every move. Maybe the life he has had somewhat prevented him from forming a real, honest attachment. Or maybe she was just making this all up. 

She sipped on her smoothie, her eyes focused on his. She realised how green his eyes were looking up close. “So, I have a question. And I want you to answer this as truthfully as possible,” she said, propping her head on the palms of her hands. Harry raised an eyebrow at her, chuckling a bit before nodding. “Alright, love. Lay it on me,” he said, leaning back on the booth. 

Y/N blushed at the pet name given and cleared her throat. “Why did you want to see me?”

It was silent between them. Harry should’ve known this question would come up. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to answer it, he was never one to make friends with a random person and go on a little rendezvous late at night. He shrugged at this, “Like I told you, it’s nice to have a friend,”

“That couldn’t be all,” Y/N smiled. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to befriend a bartender and go out with her for a late supper the same night,” Harry blushed at this and scratched the back of his ear with his finger. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to be spontaneous a bit,”

Y/N hummed at this, sipping on her drink. Harry’s eyes were trained on her and she somehow found that a bit intimidating. “I got off work just to clear my mind a bit,” he continued. “Sometimes, I’d go out with my friends, I’d meet some girls and spend the night with them, just to feel something. Just to not be alone,” This was the most Harry had opened up to someone in a while. 

“But you still feel alone,” Y/N spoke. Harry frowned at this, not quite sure what she meant. “You could be with someone, and still would feel alone. I get that,” she explained. 

Harry’s mouth was agape. “Y-Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled out. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,”

“You really don’t know me, do you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. She let out a small laugh. “I knew who you were the moment you stepped foot into that bar,” she said. Harry’s eyes widened. All this time, he was glad he thought Y/N didn’t know him but she treated him like any other normal person. But she knew all along. 

“That was.. Surprising,” he chuckled as he ran his hands through his curly locks. “But, you didn’t seem to look like y’know me. Treated me like a normal person,” She stifled a laugh. “Well, would you rather I’d treat you like royalty? Curtsey in front of you?” She joked. 

Harry laughed at this. “No, no. It was nice. It’s good t’just pretend your life is normal for once,” he nodded at her. “I’m sure you have some friends that treat you like you are just Harry,” she smiled. 

Harry only shrugged at this, “A few of them do. When you’re in the industry long enough, you’d know how to tell apart the few people that are honest and real with you and the many who just use you sometimes.” Y/N frowned at this but nodded. While she couldn’t connect to being in the same industry as him, she knew perfectly how it feels like to be used by people you allowed yourself to get close to. 

He brought his cup of tea to his lips, realising how cold it was getting. “You want some?” He offered his drink to her. Y/N nodded, taking the cup from him. “You like tea?” She asked.

“I do, but I prefer coffee,” he smiled at this random conversation. “Please tell me you don’t take your coffee black,” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, as if she was daring him to admit it. Harry smirked and shrugged at her. “Sorry, love. It’s the best way to have coffee,”

“No, it’s not! It’s so bitter!” Y/N exclaimed and laughed at this. “I don’t think this would work out,” she pouted. Harry swore his heart beated a little faster, seeing her lips pout. He wondered how they’d feel against his. “What wouldn’t work out, love?” He smiled at her. 

Y/N blushed at this, looking down at her lap before she looked at him again. “Whatever you want this to be,”

They spent their time getting to know each other and by the time it was midnight, Harry ended up paying for their meals, ignoring her protests as he did. Y/N was tempted to wipe off that smug smile off his face. The December air howled as the night went on as the decorative holiday lights lit up the street they walked on. The two walked side by side, their hands brushing against each other’s. If Harry had the guts, he would intertwine their hands together. But he didn’t. Not yet, at least. 

“Random question, but do you prefer sunrises and sunsets?” she asked out of the blue. Harry thought for a moment before answering, “M’not sure, actually. Never really paid attention to them all that much.” Y/N nodded at his answer.

“Sometimes I like to wake up early just to see the sunrise,” Y/N spoke. Harry looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? You like sunrises?” he asked gently, the cold air making his breath visible to see. “I do. I like sunsets too. But no one ever stops to appreciate the sunrises,” she sighed.

“Maybe it’s because they can’t be bothered to wake up so early,” Harry joked, making her laugh. “Yeah. Well, I do that. My apartment has a nice view of it. It’s nice. The city is just beginning to wake up. The golden glow casted upon it,” 

Harry nodded at her. “Is this your way of inviting me over?” He teased. Y/N paused, her cheeks flaming up. It wasn’t her intention, but she might as well have done so. Harry was a nice company to keep and she liked him. She really did like him. “Maybe,” she mumbled. 

Harry smiled at her sudden shyness. It was something he liked about her. He really liked her. And he wanted her to take him back to her home, as pathetic as that made him seem. 

“Well, lead the way, darlin’,”

Y/N struggled to put her keys into the keyhole of her apartment. Nervous was an understatement for her. She had a really sweet and attractive man waiting behind her and she was about to invite him in. She was almost sweating at the thought and she didn’t know why.

She opened the door, letting the warm air of her small apartment flow through them. Harry found it quite cozy. There were plants placed in different corners of the room, he noticed a record player by the television. There was also an easel standing by it. It was small, unlike his luxurious houses, but homey.

“You paint?” He asked. Y/N blushed at this, she forgot to put away your paint and clean up. In her defense, she didn’t think you would have company tonight. “Yeah, s’just a hobby. And somewhat a side hustle,” she said, taking off her coat and putting in on the couch. Harry did the same, subtly wiping his sweaty palms against his dark jeans. 

“Uh, d-do you want something to drink?” she asked nervously. Idiot, you just had drinks. “Or, if y’want, I have some chocolate chip cookies. If you like chocolate chip cookies. I mean, y’don’t have to but-,” Y/N was cut off upon hearing Harry chuckling at her, his expression amused as he listened to her nervous rambling. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m good,” he said, smiling at her. She blushed again at the use of the pet name.

It was silence, the only thing that could be heard was their breathing as they looked at each other. Harry slowly walked over, Y/N’s breath hitched as he did so. She was nervous and she was scared, she hadn’t done this in a long time. His arm settled on her waist and it was the first time he touched her. His eyes, green as ever and filled with lust and passion, were focused on hers. She could feel his breath hitting her face due to the proximity between them. 

Y/N gently placed her hands on his chest, feeling it rising up and down as he breathed. His forehead was already pressing against hers, their noses slightly brushing against each other. “Can I kiss you?” Harry finally asked ever so softly. And Y/N couldn’t help but nod her head. “Please,”

His lips crashed into hers, gently at first, but she kissed him harder, making it more passionate. She could hear him moan into the kiss as their tongues battled for dominance. His hands travelled lower to her backside, she moaned aloud as he squeezed them. When they pulled away, they would instantly pull into another kiss again, wanting to be close. Harry lowered his hands further behind her thighs, signaling her to jump so he could hold her tightly against him. 

“Y/N, I won’t be able to stop,” he said, gasping for air. Y/N only kissed him again, replying as her lips were against his. “Then, don’t,”

Y/N wasn’t sure how they made it to her room, laying nearly naked on her bed. She just realised how many tattoos he had on his body. She traced over the art scattered over his skin delicately. “Harry,” she whimpered as she felt his hardened length grinding against her core. She could feel her arousal seeping through her underwear. She gasped as he pressed kisses down her neck onto her collarbones, her eyes rolling back when he sucked a sweet spot there. His fingers entangled themselves between hers, squeezing them tightly. 

“Harry, please,” 

“I got you, baby. Gonna take my time with you,” he said gently as he kissed her forehead.

Y/N could feel her heart beamed at the sweet gesture. She had one-night stands before, but none of them felt as intimate as with Harry. The way he kissed her, held her, it almost felt right. And she wondered if he felt it too. 

When they’re fully naked and Harry lined himself against her, he looked at her, as if he was asking if she was still sure of this; if she wanted this; if she wanted him. Her eyes were shining as the moonlight shone through her curtains, her hair sprawled against her pillow. She was beautiful and ethereal. He almost couldn’t believe it. 

A nod from her was all it took for him to push himself in, the two moaning in relief as pleasure shot through their bodies. He slowly thrusted, taking his time with her. The feeling of euphoria running through their bodies as they held each other close. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, wanting to keep his warm body close to her. “Harry, faster,” Y/N pleaded.

It was almost like a switch went off his head before Harry spreaded her legs further, thrusting harder and further into her. Moans and groans filled the room and the scent of sex and sweat filled the air. Harry had his head buried into the crook of her neck, breathing hard as he felt the pleasure burning at the bottom of his spine. He was close and he knew she was too from the way she was clenching around him. 

“You close, baby?” He breathed out as he looked at her. The bed was creaking with every movement they made. Y/N moaned in ecstasy as she nodded her head, trying to keep her eyes on him. She didn’t want to miss a thing with him.

Harry took her by surprise by pulling out, lifting her up so she sat on his lap. He guided himself into herself, groaning as she welcomed him in her. Y/N moaned loudly as she felt him hit deeper, feeling herself clenching around him. She quickly began to move against him, smiling as she saw Harry shut his eyes in pleasure, murmuring her name. “C-Close, Harry, fuck,” she groaned as she moved faster.

Harry sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as if it was possible. He thrusted his hips upwards against hers, adding to the euphoric pleasure that was coursing through them. “I know, baby. Fuck, y’feel so good around me,” he moaned out, looking at her with hooded eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, their heavy breaths hitting each other’s faces. 

It was only a glance into his forest green eyes that triggered her high. She moaned out loud, her body shaking against him, and just the sight of her high triggered Harry’s. He groaned against her neck and cursed a string of profanities under his breath as he kept thrusting his hips into her, prolonging his orgasm. When they calmed down from their highs, they took deep breaths before pressing their lips together. Harry could hear a whimper from the beautiful woman above him. He was delirious with the bliss feeling. 

They laid on their sides, admiring each other’s glowing yet sweaty state. Harry closed his eyes and sighed as Y/N brushed her fingers through his hair. “Y’alright?” he murmured to her. She nodded and gave him a shy smile. He thought it was cute of her acting all shy after having done such an intimate and dirty activity with him. He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling as she scrunched it up. “You’re beautiful,” he admitted. 

Y/N let out a deep breath. There was no denying the attraction she felt for him. The setting was so intimate, far from what she thought it was going to be. She felt herself opening up to him, something she prevented herself from doing for a long time. She was scared of this, but she liked it at the same time. 

“Hold me?” she asked and Harry pulled her against his body without a second to waste. Their breathing was the only sound they paid attention to. Y/N nuzzled her face against the crook of his neck, her finger tracing the tattoos on his chest. 

“Are you gonna stay?” she asked softly. She was not expecting anything, but she hoped he did stay. 

Harry smiled and pulled her closer. “Only if y’want me to,” he said. Y/N returned the smile, tracing out his lips with her finger, feeling how soft they were. 

“I’d like that,”

❋

When Harry woke up, he felt an empty cold space beside him. Confused at first, he sat up slowly, wondering where the pretty woman he liked was. He turned his head and there she was, sitting by her window looking out into the early morning. She was sipping on something from her mug and she was wearing his dark blue T-shirt from the night before. She looked absolutely breathtaking. 

“You’re up early,” he said, catching her by surprise at the sound of his voice. She smiled at him and made her way to sit on his lap, putting her mug on the bedside table. “You missed the sunrise.” She ran her fingers through his messy bed hair. He sighed, realising how much he liked her doing that simple yet intimate gesture. “Yeah? Was it pretty?” 

“Very,” she sighed as Harry laid his head on his shoulder. He held her tightly in his arms, similar to how he did when they slept. “Well, you’re prettier,” he said, planting kisses up her neck. She realised how deep and raspy his voice sounded in the morning, it sent shivers down her spine. “Well, you’re a charmer,” she murmured. 

Harry looked up at her, taking in her morning glow that she was emitting. “Your eyes are really pretty,” Y/N said softly as she admired his forest green eyes. “Yeah? Y’think so?” he said, playfully fluttering his eyes at her. She laughed at this, throwing her head back. Harry thought it was the sweetest sound. She traced the outline of his lips with her index finger, feeling how soft they were under her touch. Harry kept his mouth agape as she did so. 

“Can I kiss you?” Y/N whispered. He smiled at her, remembering his exact words from the night before, before nodding. “Please,”

The fluttering in his stomach intensified as their lips met. The thing that clouded Harry’s mind was how soft her lips were and how sweet they tasted. Their kiss almost made him feel dizzy for how much passion there was. When they pulled away, he looked at Y/N with hooded eyes, his breathing was heavy from the blissful sensation he felt. He gently wrapped his arms around her frame and it just felt right.

He pulled her into another kiss, a moan elicited from Y/N that sent blood rushing to his lower region. His hands travelled up his shirt she was wearing and he let out a groan, realising she had nothing underneath it. He felt drunk by her touch, her scent; everything. It was a delicate feeling he felt and he didn’t want to let go of it. He could get used to this, the feeling of her. For once in a long while, he didn’t feel alone anymore. 

It was no doubt that Y/N felt the same. 

It all just felt right. 

❋

The snow was covering the backyard, the trees and bushes were covered in white. Y/N watched as the snow fell while sipping on her hot chocolate. The house was decorated for the special wintery day. The tree was lit up and decorated with many ornaments as well as pictures on it, the presents laying closely below it. 

Voices snapped her out of her thoughts, she smiled as she heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. She turned around to see her husband holding up a sleepy little girl in his large muscular arms, the little girl they were blessed with as their daughter. Harry was talking animatedly to Ruby, trying to wake her up in the Christmas spirit. 

He gasped and pointed his finger at you. “Look, Rue! It’s mummy! An early bird, isn’t she?” He said to Ruby as he bounced her gently in his arms. You rolled your eyes at his silliness. “Mama,” the little girl reached out to her mother as she rubbed her sleepy eyes. Y/N set her mug on the counter and grabbed lifted little Ruby in her arms. “Morning, Rue baby,” Y/N cooed softly at her, closing her mouth with the back of her hand when she yawned. 

“Think she’s a bit tired,” Harry chuckled at them. “Y’think? Who’s the idiot that woke her up early?” Y/N asked sarcastically at her husband. He only lifted his arms up in defense, a smug smile painted on his face. Ruby quietly giggled at her parents. He sipped on a mug of hot chocolate and she narrowed her eyes at her as he leaned back on the counter. 

“Are you really drinking my hot chocolate?” Harry paused for a bit before swallowing the warm drink. “I’ll make ya another one, love,” he rubbed the back of his neck. Y/N rolled her eyes at him before chuckling. “You better, Styles.” She felt Ruby shifting in her arms and gently bounced her. “Y’alright, bubs?” She pouted at her daughter. 

“Snow,” she said, pointing out the window where the snow was falling. “Yeah, bubs! It’s snowing!” Y/N exclaimed excitedly to her, making Ruby giggle. “Dada, snow!” she exclaimed to her father. 

Harry laughed at his daughter’s adorableness. “That’s right, Rue!” He agreed, stroking through her curly hair that she inherited from him. He placed a hand gently on Y/N’s clothed stomach. “And how’s bub number 2 doing?” He asked softly. Y/N smiled, her heart beaming at the gentleness of her husband. “They’re doing great in there,” she said, placing her hand over his above her two-month growing belly. 

Harry beamed at this, pressing a gentle kiss on her lips, eliciting a small whimper from her. 

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. Even after all these years, she found his green eyes just as beautiful and hypnotizing.

“I love you, too,” she said and smiled at him as they broke away. 

Perhaps, Harry would consider himself lucky that his sad lonely self walked into the bar she previously worked at five years ago. Maybe if he hadn’t opened up to Y/N or went back to her apartment, he wouldn’t be able to have this little family he was blessed with. There was something so delicate and real he felt that night that he wanted to keep. So naturally, they both let their walls down and took a chance on each other. And perhaps because it was nearing Christmas that night, he would think of it as some Christmas miracle. 

“Wanna open the presents, Rue?” Y/N asked Ruby as bounced her in her arms. Ruby giggled, not even understanding what her mother said, and nodded. “Yeah? Wanna open presents with mummy and daddy?” Y/N said excitedly as she carried her into the living room. Harry chuckled at the precious sight of them as he followed them.

As they sat down in the living room, he took a moment to just admire his wife and his daughter. Y/N, though wearing one of his Christmas sweaters and sleep shorts, looked just as beautiful and ethereal as she did the night they met. She held little Ruby in her arms, who was busy tearing up the small present in front of her. His wife cheered at their daughter as she took out a little stuffed teddy bear, giggling as she waved it around with her small hands.

Y/N looked up at him and gave him a loving smile as she intertwined her fingers with him. Despite them being in such cold weather, her hands felt warm against his. He admired how they fit perfectly in his. Ruby babbled incoherently to her parents about her gift, in which they nodded like they understood what she said. Harry’s heart warmed up just thinking of how they’ll have another addition to their loving little family soon. 

His heart was full of love and happiness. He no longer felt alone. He had everything he wanted in that moment, his growing little family.

Everything was just right. 

[aries-writingblog]

Whatever It Takes

Summary: When Sam gets injured on a mission, YN will do anything to fix her mistakes. While she worries about fixing Sam, Bucky picks up on her guilt. Picking up the pieces of herself she dropped in her frantic efforts.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2322

Warnings: panic/ anxiety, mentions of blood and character injury

AN: This was one requested by the lovely and wonderful @cherry-season who gave me so much inspiration to write! I hope I did it justice. Happy reading!! GIF is not my own, credit to original creator.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to break free of its skeletal cage. Anxious adrenaline flowed in her veins as she paced. Hand rubbing across the back of her neck, impatiently waiting for answers.

It had been an hour since she and Sam returned from their mission. The mission that went completely and horrendously wrong. It started off fine- it started normal. Then it got twisted in a way YN couldn’t even comprehend.

She had been watching his back. She always watched her partner’s back. So what went wrong? What went so off rails- what did she do? How could she have let this happen?

“Miss LN?” YN’s head snapped to the source of the noise. A doctor- still in their surgery gear. She took a shaky inhale, her nerves were decimated. “Why don’t you take a seat- just… try to relax a bit.”

“How- how, where is Sam? Is he okay?” She demanded, moving a step toward the doctor. The woman eased her backwards, gently settling her into a chair. Latex covered fingers pried in between her own glove covered hands. Unclenching the tightly wound fists she had created.

The doctor gave a small, apologetic smile. It quickly fell, giving way to a pressed line of condolence. YN’s stomach plummeted, nausea crawling across her organs. Turning her stomach. Bile rising in her throat. She knew that look. It was the one she had to give to victims when they weren’t going to make it.

“There’s been a slight complication.” She reported quietly, her gaze soft as she studied the agent before her. She was unraveling and quickly. Hands shaking, goosebumps raising on her arms.

“I don’t understand,” YN swallowed, throat aching as her nose burned. Eyes watering from unshed tears. Blurring her eyesight. She blinked them back roughly. “You said you would fix him- what complication?”

“Both kidneys were compromised during the mission- he made it here just in time for us to stabilize him but he is going to need a rapid organ donation to survive.” The doctor informed steadily, keeping her voice even and low. YN’s fingers curled again, trapping her hands between her own. The doctor didn’t blink, unfazed by the strength in her grip. “It’s a difficult task but we have everyone we can working on finding at least one quickly. It’s more complicated due to his blood type- we haven’t been able to find anything available nearby.”

YN sniffled, her nose stuffing up as water slipped down her cheeks. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste coating her tongue.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It had been an easy mission- what did she screw up? Why did it have to be Sam? It should’ve been her, she should’ve-

Her eyes snapped up, meeting the doctor’s concerned features. She could still do something. It wasn’t too late. YN released her hold, wiping across her face. Erasing the remnants of her distress. Her bottom lip trembled but she forced the sentence out anyway.

“What’s the type?”

“He’s O positive.” The doctor didn’t hesitate in a response.

A heavy weight began to lift from her chest, she swallowed back the rough, scratchy feeling in her throat.

“I’m O negative- does that work, can that match? I’ll give whatever he needs.” Her words tripped over themselves, rushing out. Any way to compensate. She was the one who got Sam hurt, she was responsible. She should clean it up.

The doctor’s face brightened almost instantaneously, her eyebrows lifting. Eyes wide.

“It can-“ She cut herself off, pulling YN to her feet. “We need to run a tissue sample test to make sure that you’re compatible. While it’s running, fill out the paperwork just in case.”

YN rushed after the woman, hurrying through the hallways. She could save Sam. The guilt burned in her chest, sinking to meet the rising anxiety in her stomach. Creating a turbulent, vile mixture of self loathing. It had to match… this has to work. Otherwise… she would forever be known as the person who killed Sam Wilson.

~~~~~~

The first thing she became conscious of was a tense pressure on her hand. Then came a muted, muffled noise. It was familiar, albeit distorted and distant. A small groan fell from her lips. In response, the pressure became more intense. A firmer hold. Her eyes blinked open slowly, her head felt light, as if it was floating a thousand feet above her body.

“There she is.” YN turned her head as far as possible, which wasn’t much distance, eyes cutting the rest of the way. She tried to clear her vision, blinking to wear the groggy remnants of sleep away. “How you feelin’?”

“Like shit.” She groaned, throat scratchy and dry. Bucky released his hold, standing to pour a glass of water for her.

“Well, it’s to be expected.” He sighed, stepping closer to her bedside. He grasped her chin gently, angling the lip of the cup to her mouth. Tilting the glass slowly, allowing her time to swallow the water down greedily. “Unlike a major surgery cause, there’s no need to tell the people you love you’re having surgery. Especially not if it’s emergent.”

YN’s lips quirked at the corners. She hadn’t really been thinking of anyone but Sam in the moment. It all happened so fast, the whole day seemed to have been but a blur in her memory. She couldn’t recall details, her thoughts crashed against a hazy wall as she glimpsed back.

“Sorry… didn’t really know what was happening until it did.” She spoke slowly, words felt like molasses on her tongue. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, gently brushing her hair back before returning to his previous seat at her bedside. He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

“I understand…” He told her, a soft smile playing on his features. There was a melancholy glimmer in his irises. They betrayed him, as usual. “I was just scared that you… left.”

All Bucky had received was a phone call from the medical wing. Just that he was written down as YN LN’s emergency medical contact and that she had been in surgery. Granted, it had mainly been his fault- he didn’t listen any further for more details. The phone dropped from his hand and he bolted from their shared apartment. Rushing frantically toward her. Panic sloshing, ripping into his chest. Shredding his last hopes of sanity as his thoughts raced.

YN moved her fingers up to his wrist, the bass of his heartbeat thumped prominently into her own body. In response, Bucky’s fingers curled over her wrist, searching for the same feeling. It was slightly weakened, her heartbeat, but it was there. She was alive. A gentle, sleepy smile appeared on her lips. Eyes almost closed again.

“I’m never leaving.” She promised, applying pressure to his wrist. Bucky returned the smile and the gesture, the knot of emotion in his throat unraveling in steady increments. Allowing him to breathe easier.

He reached over, tugging her blankets back up with his free hand. Over her torso in an attempt to contain some of the heat the flimsy hospital sheets provided. He sniffed, clearing his throat. Turning his face away from her view.

“Get some rest, daredevil.” Bucky instructed, sliding his chair closer. Head resting beside their entwined hands. His blue eyes twinkled with tears he had kept bottled away. All YN wanted was to reach over and brush them away but she felt unconsciousness creeping up from behind. Waiting to drag her back into the darkness. Her mouth wouldn’t open, tongue wouldn’t move. Her eyes drifted closed; her last picture was Bucky’s beautiful face resting beside her.

~~~~~~

Bucky sighed gently, curling closer into the warmth she provided. They couldn’t sleep like they used to. He was accustomed to wrapping around her like a vine, keeping her body close to him. The weight, the pressure and warmth, kept him present. Kept him calm. Even if he awoke in a panic, which had eased in the past few months, the feeling of YN’s figure pressed to his always seemed to relieve his frazzled, frayed nerves.

But now, after the surgery, he couldn’t hold her the way he wanted. He couldn’t provide the comfort he craved to give her. And she needed it. He wasn’t blind. Bucky knew exactly why she had rushed into that surgery. The blame that she had placed on herself was too vast. Much too heavy for her to bear alone.

So he tried to convey the comfort in other ways. Helping her to the bathroom and to the shower. Making her meals and sitting with her while she ate. Reading to her, going through as many pages as it took for her to fall asleep. Keeping her distracted from her bed rest. Bringing her presents, mostly just notes that Sam had written and asked Bucky to deliver.

Sam didn’t blame her. Especially not after she saved his life like she did. Bucky had visited when he woke up, explained the situation. How she felt, how it was eating away at her. And he couldn’t get out of bed yet- he was still being heavily monitored by the medical staff. So, for the past few weeks he had resorted to video calls and notes to her. An attempt to cheer her up. Bucky was relieved to see it was working.

“Buck?” YN’s voice was muffled by their shared comforter. He hummed in response, not fully committed to the idea of waking up. His senses were still slightly dull, lulled into submission by the warm body at his side. “Your arm is really heavy and I really have to pee.”

Bucky grunted, shuffling to slide his arm away from her hips where it had lain. YN shimmied over to the edge of the bed, groaning as she pushed her weight over the side. She stumbled, her hand pressed to the gauze padding on her abdomen. Bucky scrambled out of the bed, sheets tangling around his ankles.

“You’re not suppose to do it on your own.” He grumbled, his tone was sleep- laden. His eyes weren’t even fully open yet. YN scoffed, accepting his arm anyway. Together, they crept toward the bathroom slowly, most of her weight against his side. “You coulda asked, doll.”

“I can handle going to the bathroom by myself, Bucky.” YN insisted, her side glare was fatal. Eyes narrowed and full of frustrated fury. “You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”

“But I want to.” He replied simply, leaning against the doorframe, gazing into the bedroom to give her privacy. He didn’t need to, he had already been witness to every inch of her skin. Every mark on her skin, every freckle and scar. But he figured she would appreciate it none the less. Give her a controllable amount of autonomy. “I like doing it.”

It was the honest truth. Bucky reveled in the fact that every ounce of his attention was placed on her and her alone. He liked to care for her. He liked making her coffee and meals, helping her up and down. It was something he knew the old Bucky did often. The old Bucky took care of Steve when he was sick, and Steve’s mother when he could help. When his sisters were under the weather. It was something engraved in his bones: caring for those he loved. Providing comfort.

“It’s rotten work.” YN’s voice was quiet, the running water almost drowned the words out. But Bucky heard them. He turned slowly, giving her a hand towel to dry her hands. Her eyes were down, staring at the fabric between her fingers. Taking her time, hoping he would move past her sentence.

“Not to me,” Bucky responded. His fingertip brushed against her cheekbone, wisps of her hair passing through his fingers. He tucked them gently behind her ear before tilting her chin up. Persuading her watery eyes to meet his. He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes portraying the overflowing kindness he couldn’t vocalize. “Not if it’s you.”

YN chuckled, a weak smile on her lips. Shaking her head, she carefully shuffled forward. Wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. Bucky’s response was instant. Instinctively holding her delicately to his body. Molded against the other. He inhaled deeply, the smell of her shampoo overwhelming his senses. YN pressed closer, the swell of his chest was achingly comforting. His t- shirt soft against her cheek.

“What do you say, I steal a wheelchair and we go up to Tony’s floor. We can bribe his chef to make some of those pancakes with the…” Bucky’s nose scrunched, brows furrowing. His fingertips that had been tracing shapes on her back stilled as he wracked his brain. Mouth twisting with frustration when he came up blank. “What’s the… those color things, again?”

“Sprinkles?” She suggested, pressing her chin to his chest. He glanced down, their noses almost pressed together. Bucky grinned, leaning forward to smack a kiss to her nose.

“Those. How bout we get some of those and we can meet Sam for breakfast?” He asked, squeezing her hips lightly. She nodded, successfully distracted from her thoughts that had been rampant in her head.

“Can he eat those yet? Isn’t he on, like, a hospital diet or something?” YN inquired, wrapping her arm around his waist.

Bucky hummed, helping her hobble out of the bathroom. He had tried carrying her places but she vehemently disagreed. Claiming she would never get better if she didn’t exercise. Eventually, as always, she would get tired and most of her weight would be on him anyways. He didn’t mind it.

“That sounds like a Sam problem.”

“You’re ridiculous, James Barnes.” He grinned at her laughter. His fingertips digging into her side teasingly.

“It’s all for you, sugar. All for you.”

[mystic-poet]

ROGUE PATHS

I wake up to find myself handcuffed to the hospital bed. The drug they injected me with to tame me seems to be wearing off. Ugh! This again. Better to get it over with, I guess. I drag my free hand into my bun and retrieve a small blade. As usual the dumb police never bothered to check in there thinking a man’s bun would just be a fashion statement. I twist to my side and turn the blade in the keyhole clockwise. My hand comes free. I learnt to pick locks when I was young, one of my many talents. I shake my hand hard to get rid of the stiffness and get up from the bed.

I stride confidently straight towards the door, not in the sneaky kind like a criminal would. As expected, a police officer stands at guard. His lips are on the verge of screaming when I silence him by waving a hundred bucks in front of his eyes. He raises his eyebrows at me and I throw in another four hundred to satisfy his thirst. That ought to shut him up. Money! The most deadly weapon and beautiful thing anyone can ever have.

□□□

Outside the hospital waits Beth. She teaches German in Crawford High. Well, it would be safe to say she taught me the art of viciousness. If angels can house demons, there isn’t any harm in a teacher being an evil mastermind.

“They shot you pretty bad in that leg, huh?” she says as I limp on one good leg. She gives me a look that was overflowing with pity. How I hate that!

“Enough with the puppy eyes already!” I snap. My right leg was hurting real bad and I would have stayed in the hospital until they mended it and made my grand escape later but I won’t want to deprive the world of its foul folks. Besides, I have business to finish.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be in the hospital,” Beth says unlocking her car and we sit in.

“They shot my leg in the encounter at the bank and I was losing blood by the second. Couldn’t get much out of me while I was thrashing in pain,” I explain.

“Did you find anything at the bank?” Beth asks raising an eyebrow at me as she drives the car out of the parking lot.

“I was close to. The property papers were in my hands before the cops caught up with me. Couldn’t read a word.”

“So, what are going to do? Got anything up your sleeves?”

“Well, I do. I am going to father’s house this Wednesday,” I say coolly.

“You do know that’s two days away, don’t you?”

“I have thought it through. You’ll see,” I say grinning.

Beth shakes her head. “Just remember I need my share of the money, Carl.”

“We talked about this a million times, Beth. You’ll get your forty percent,” I say casually leaning into the passenger’s seat.

□□□

My dad abandoned me when I was a teen. He is the owner of a multinational electronic company my late grandpa founded. Beth was the assistant manager. She was a frequent visitor in thehouse and shared a fine bond with dad until one day, she was fired when my dad accused her of a theft she never committed or so she told me.

When I was old enough, I tracked her down and discovered that she craved revenge with dad for all the wrongs done to her. She wanted to blow the lid off and reveal all the dark secrets behind dad’s firm. In a way, our common want of vengeance united us.

My dad is stinking rich whereas I was left in some community home and survived off donations. This is why I despise pity; I have lived with it all my life. I have my rightful place in the company and the fortune my grandpa left behind. But I need theofficial documents and my one chance of getting them from the bank slipped away. That’s where the part of infiltrating his house comes in. Ah! It’s been such long while since I did something of this kind. Infiltrating seems such a gorgeous word now.

□□□

“So, how are we doing it?” asks Beth pouring two glasses of red wine for the both of us. She drove us to her house for it’s probably the safest place to be.

“He is hosting some success party on Wednesday and there’s bound to be security. My idea is to go through as delivery persons. The rest will follow. You will tip toe to the computer room while I put up some distraction. I will catch up with you soon enough. Till then, find the papers,” I instruct taking a swig from my glass.

“It won’t be that simple, you know,” she says with a smirk.

“I was thinking you need that forty percent,” I say with mock seriousness.

“Fine!” she says exasperated. How I love when I am obeyed.

□□□

We are wheeling the cart that supposedly holds the cake but instead I just stuffed it with a wad of cotton. I ring the bell of the grand house with Beth beside me. The housekeeper, a woman in maybe in her thirties, opens the door. She gestures to where the cake should be kept. I look around at the magnificence of the place and its each and every adornment and decoration, from the mahogany coffee table to the velvet curtains and even the intricate designs on the glass vases, conveyed royalty. I feel a rush of hatred inside me. My father enjoyed all the money at his disposal and lived in comfort with rugs beneath his feet whereas I tossed and turned with unease in my bed every night wondering if my parents would ever make their way back to me. At least my mother passed away before she witnessed the return of her abandoned son.

“You know what to do,” I whisper in Beth’s ear. She nodded. I take my blade out and make a shallow cut in the back of my hand oozing out blood. That blade is indeed a good partner. I pocket it as swiftly as I took it out.

“Oh, I am bleeding. I am bleeding,” I say dramatically and hold my hand out purposefully for everyone to see the scarlet covering it.

“Oh dear, God. I will fetch you some ice from the kitchens,” the housekeeper says and disappears into a corridor. That’s the thing about kind people; they are easy prey.

I signal to Beth and she sets off in a half-walk and half-run up the stairs. She knows the way to the computer room from all those years of coming to dinners and teas in the house. As she turns into the corner, I rush behind her too wiping the blood on my pants.

I catch up with her soon enough as she looks straight ahead navigating through the rich corridor filled with a few guests. I walk behind her maintaining a safe distance; we can’t afford to attract any attention.

We walk into a long deserted hallway. I am sure the computer room is here and so does Beth, I suppose, as she carefully notices each door. She comes to an abrupt stop in front of the door at the far end of the hallway and opens it without a glance at me. In the middle of the room sits a computer that would be the cause of my dad’s doom. Beth turns it on and gets to work as I stand at the door occasionally peaking in. I was afraid it might have a password but it didn’t. Arrogance! Father must be sure no one could evade his computer. Well, I guess history is being made today.

“Do it quick!” I hiss at her.

“Does it look like I am not trying?” she says making an irritated face at me.

We are silent for five minutes or so when Beth says, “Carl, I found them!”

A smirk creeps across my face. “Transfer it to me. All of it,” I say in an excited whisper.

Beth turns back to the computer and presses send. The next few moments go by as quickly as the blink of an eye. I lock Beth in the computer room and somewhere a safety alarm triggers deafening my ears. I hear her muffled screams calling out to meechoing in the hallway but without looking back I descend the two flights of stairs.

I bump into the security on a landing and adopting my best worried voice I say, “A woman in the computer room. Upstairs.” The words barely escape my mouth and they run upstairs to find the trespasser while I walk out of the mansion with satisfaction.

Indeed, Beth taught me too much than she should have. Call me selfish but that’s what the world made me. I couldn’t have let Beth have forty per cent. After all, what would she do with it in jail? As for my father this episode would definitely motivate him to set a computer password. I whistle walking on the road thinking of the colour my bungalow would be.

Tagging:

@ruins-of-heart @witchpossessinghozier @some-broken-words @sinless-mind @luck1998 @ze-thoughts-are-stupid @random-lit @saamiya @colinisalright @thunder19sstuff @yalocal-deadpoet @asthetically-bookish @literature-is-my-religion @mrun-v @songfromstars @donapreachesart @i-snort-chocolates @duskobserver @apprielle24 @halfagonyhalfhop3 @klainebrittana @ray-of-darkness7 @balladofableedingpoet2112 @morticiapretz @vantaerayleigh1997 @sillylilbakaaa @church-of-burnt-romances @burn-like-starss @mjsespaces-blog @theleechwhodrinksbleach

Thank you so much for giving this a read dears!

Comments, criticism and suggestions are always welcome <3!!!

[kpop-cakepops]

Hello, Meant To Be Anon here! I see your requests are open. A pretty big situation going on with my job that's going to leave a lot of people upset and I just am going to need all of the positive vibes I can get. Could I request something fluffy with Wonwoo? Maybe a Snuggle Donation where he cheers up the reader after a bad day? No rush or anything, whenever you have time to get around to it. Thanks!

Hi Anon. I'm really sorry to hear about your job. Know that everything will be okay! You've got this! Here is your request, hope Wonwoo can cheer you up 😉❤ Enjoy and have a good week!!! (I didn't properly proofread this, so please excuse any mistakes!!)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,808

Snuggle Donation: Move In// JeonWonwooxFem!Reader

"Just go home, I'll have Mingyu run the launch."

Y/N watched as her boss walked out of her office with a disappointed frown on his face. After making 5 consecutive mistakes, she was finally being sent home.

It had all started that morning when her landlord came to her door to inform her that he'd be selling the building that Y/N and many other tenants called home. It had sent her mind in a downward spiral all day. She had only 2 weeks to look for a new home and on top of that she had a big campaign launch to run at work that she did not have the mind for... hence why she was being sent home.

"Are you okay?" asked her colleague and friend Mingyu as he entered her office to pick up the plan for the new launch.

"I'm great. Just dandy" she grumbled as she grabbed her purse and keys from her desk. "Are you done? I need to get home" Y/N hadn't meant to sound rude, but if she wasn't out of the office in the next 2 minutes, she was sure she'd break down.

Mingyu gave her a soft understanding smile and ruffled her hair before stepping out of her office and walking over to their break room. The tall man slipped his phone out and dialed the only number he knew would be of help for Y/N.

"What?"

"Yes, hello to you too. Did you and Y/N fight?" he asked.

Wonwoo, who had been playing games instantly stopped what he was doing and grabbed his phone taking it off speaker and putting it to his ear. "No, why? Did she say she was mad at me?"

"No. She's just been off today. Seungcheol kicked her off the campaign launch today. She looked about ready to cry." Mingyu shared as he stirred himself a cup of coffee.

"Something must've happened... don't worry about it. I'll give her a call." With that Wonwoo hung up the phone and dialed his best friend's number, however, after one ring he was instantly directed to voicemail. He had known she wouldn't answer his call, Y/N usually liked her space, but his calls always served as a little reminder that he'd be waiting for her and she could go to him as soon as she was ready to talk.

Back at her small apartment, Y/N wasn't ready yet. Her belongings were glaring at her from the places they'd held for years as she sat on her bed. A million and one thoughts were running through her mind. She had nowhere to go, she had finally saved enough to put in a deposit for the business she was planning to start, and now she had 2 weeks to figure what was going to happen with her life. The problem was starting to weigh down on her little by little.

It was after half an hour that the weight of her issues was too much to bear alone. Her hand reached out for her phone and she dialed her best friend's number.

"Hey you"

"Can you come over?" Y/N asked with an arm draped over her eyes, it seemed like that was the only thing holding her tears in.

"I'm outside... I'll be up in a second, yeah?"

"Yeah" she answered forcing herself to stand from her bed and change into comfortable clothes. Comfortable clothes being the ratty old sweatshirt Wonwoo had left behind 2 years prior and a pair of sweatpants she'd used to paint her bathroom when she'd just moved in. By the time she was done changing, she could hear Wonwoo punching the code into her front door. The sound of plastic bags reaching her in her room.

"Y/N?" he called out.

The young woman stepped out of her room with a sigh, her feet stopping right outside the bedroom door. Wonwoo was watching her closely and carefully from his spot and in a matter of seconds opened his arms up for her. Y/n's feet rushed her up to her tall friend and she buried her face into his chest. The weight that had been weighing down on her seemed to lift and the tears she'd been holding back were now being soaked up by her friend's black t-shirt.

"Do I have to kick someone's ass? I don't know where Seungcheol lives, but I can find out." he joked trying to lighten up the mood.

Y/n sniffled lightly. "I'm so tired" she mumbled, her voice muffled by his chest. "How long is this going to go on?"

Wonwoo's arms wrapped around her tightly. "Tired? Last I heard you got to leave work early today" he said jokingly, his words testing the waters to see if she'd tell him what was bothering her so much.

The girl pulled away from Wonwoo enough to see his face and gave him an unamused look. "Can you not? I'm literally about to be homeless"

Wonwoo was rendered silent. He didn't know you'd been going through money problems. "What? Why didn't you tell me? I would have lent you money"

With yet another sigh, Y/N walked over to the bags he'd brought over knowing they'd be full of her favorite snacks. Wonwoo never failed her. "It's not that. My landlord is selling the building and gave us a 2-week ultimatum to move out." She told him. "Not only that but I don't have enough money to put down a deposit for a new apartment on such short notice... I think I'm going to have to pull the deposit on the photography studio... I just-"

Wonwoo felt a slight sense of panic as soon as he saw Y/N starting to get emotional again. If there was one thing to know about Y/N it was that she was smart, creative, and hard-working... but she was also a perfectionist, a very emotional one at that.

"I'll lend you the money, you don't have to worry" he assured her, but he already knew what her answer would be.

"Are you crazy? You know how hard it is to find a decent apartment in the city. Deposits are so expensive one would think you're buying the apartment"

She wasn't wrong, things were ridiculously expensive in the city, but knowing how important her new business was, he didn't want Y/N to have to give it up yet again. "Then move in with me" he blurted.

Y/N dropped the bag of chips in her hands as soon she heard his suggestion. "What?"

Wonwoo was embarrassed. In any other case, two best friends wouldn't be embarrassed to live together, but they weren't any other case. Wonwoo liked his best friend, he like liked her. "M-move in with me. I mean, you need a place to live, places in the city are expensive, Dokyeom is also moving out"

well now he is

"Plus, the last thing I want is for you to have to postpone the opening of your photography studio. You've worked too hard, and as your best friend, I will not allow it."

Y/N felt a large wave of emotions crashing into her. With a slow shake of her head, she picked up the bag of chips she'd dropped. "I don't know Woo... would that really be okay?"

"Of course it'd be okay! You're my best friend. Best friends can live together... I'm not that bad of a roommate" he grinned.

Y/N chuckled and grabbed more snacks before making her way over to her small living room and plopping down on her couch. "You realize how big of a change that will be, right? You'd be living with a girl."

Wonwoo nodded hurriedly, "I'm not a kid, of course I get it"

"Well then... I guess it wouldn't be a bad idea, at least until I find somewhere else to live."

Wonwoo followed her and dropped on the empty spot beside her. His weight shifting over onto her. "Or you could just be my roommate until the end of my lease" he offered.

"God, you're heavy" she groaned as she pushed him off her only to have him lay his head on her lap. "That would be a horrible idea"

Wonwoo smiled up at his friend, his brows wiggling playfully, "what are you saying?! of course it wouldn't. You get to have the handsomest roommate in the world. Why would that be a bad idea?"

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N stuffed Wonwoo's mouth with chips and shook her head, "wow, suddenly I want to stay homeless" she joked, a small smile coming to her face.

"Hey, you smiled though. That's good right?" He thoughtlessly munched on his chips and grabbed Y/N's hand, placing it on his head.

"Only because I have the most handsome best friend and soon-to-be temporary roommate" she replied, her free hand combing through his hair.

Wonwoo smiled, the fact that she was willing to allow him to help her with such a big issue made him feel like maybe a part of her also needed him as much as he did her. "So I'm assuming that's a yes to coming home with me?"

"If you're willing to make a little space for me, then I'll gladly move in with you."

"Okay. We can pack up a bag and you can come with me tonight. I'll ask for the day off tomorrow and I'll come to help you pack up and start the move!" Wonwoo said excitedly causing the girl's tummy to do a little flip at how excited he sounded.

"Calm down, we have two weeks to get everything done. Plus, we still have to run it by your landlord." Y/N told him.

"My landlord will be fine with it. He already thinks you live with me since you always come over." He assured, his eyes glimmered as he stood up.

Y/N laughed and grabbed his hand tugging him back to sit beside her. "Hey, you came to make me feel better you gotta feed me and finish the movie with me"

"Oh! Right! After the movie we can pack though, right?" he asked.

"Of course! We can also call the most handsome best friend and soon-to-be temporary roommate to come and help us pack" the girl said popping a chip into her mouth. Wonwoo looked over at her in confusion. "What? Did you think I was gonna let you kick out Dokyeom? Nice try idiot."

Wonwoo groaned and let his body drop over her lap again, "You won't let a single thing slip by, will you?"

With yet another eye-roll she stuffed his mouth with the chips in her hands. "Hush, we're gonna finish the scary movie we didn't finish last time."

"Goddamn it, Y/N. Not again."

[unchartedthelostlegacy]

Chlodineweek Day 3: Reunion

It was good that Windows XP somehow didn’t notice that she had already failed at entering the correct password five times. 

Chloe gritted her teeth and glared back down at the keys, and began to peck at them one at a time like they were the platforms she’d jumped across in the axe fortress.

Tommyiscute2003.

Wrong.

TommyIhateyou03.

Wrong.

“How important is this?” Nadine called from Chloe’s childhood bed. She was flipping through an ancient Shonen Jump.

“Oh, don’t even start.”

“Why can’t you access it on your phone?”

Chloe touched her lips. “I think I wrote it...in my diary.”

“Frazer, let’s look at the Neopets on your phone and be done with it. You know they’re all dead anyway.”

Her casual tone made Chloe bristle all over again. She didn’t even remember what had started the argument. It had to have been something about Nathan Drake. Their entire trip back home to Chloe’s mum’s house in Australia’s capital had been peppered with back-and-forth character assassination focused on which of them had neglected and starved her Neopets more.

“You’re going to be dead before my Neopets are,” Chloe retorted, pushing back her hair, and noticing Nadine had slid off the twin bed and was rooting around in the drawers. “Excuse me, I didn’t give you permission to--”

“Find this?” Nadine tossed a book at her.

Chloe recognized it the moment it hit her hands. A pink-and-blue diary with a cute lock on the cover.

“I’m assuming you still have the key, Frazer?”

“Oh give me all of three seconds,” Chloe said with a chuckle, sitting and pulling the lockpick from her hair. “These are never--” click. “Here we go. Ah, it’ll be on the last page...I think.”

Nadine had rested her arm across the chair and around Chloe’s shoulders. “What’s that drawing?”

“That is me.”

Nadine’s laughter was scoffing. “And--and the hair?”

“That’s what I looked like,” Chloe paged away from the emo self portrait. “Makeup and all.”

“Oh, that hasn’t changed.”

“Very funny.”

Nadine leaned forward. “Who’s this Tommy you mention on every page?”

“You can actually read that? I’m impressed. I definitely have better handwriting now--”

“Chloe?’

Somehow, they hadn’t noticed footsteps on the stairs and down the hallway, but the click of the door made them both jump.

Chloe’s mother walked in, holding some mail, and blinked. Why would they have a guilty conscience now? Why did it feel like they’d been interrupted in something important and bad?

They were only two grown adults trying to break into an ancient computer because Neopets wasn’t mobile-optimized, after all. Chloe wanted to hiss to Nadine that her job was the lookout, but Nadine looked more terrified than Chloe had ever seen her; she had just about hopped back from the chair.

“Something came for you,” Leah Frazer said.

“I...see that,” Chloe said, hand going to her hair. “You can leave it, mummy.”

“Think it’s from your school.”

“From...which school?”

Leah shrugged her shoulders. “The uni you never went to? It’s from Tim M. Pierce High.”

And she wonders why I never visit. Chloe stood, pushing her hand through her loose, damp hair one last time, reaching out for the envelope with the familiar emblem in the corner.

She’d worn it on her silly skirt-and-polo uniform all those years ago, fighting its conformity with home-dyed streaks in her sharply cut hair and her eyeliner even more intense than she wore now. She might have switched it up with novelty contact lenses sometimes too--she wasn’t proud of that--but she could stop a black-pentagon-bedecked ball with one black-nailed hand and aced all her history tests.

Yes, Chloe remembered Tim M. Pierce, and she also remembered opting out of another few years of being treated like she was weird and dumb.

“Are they...asking for donations? Or something?”

“I think it’s an invitation,” Chloe’s mother said. “Might be having the reunion soon.”

“The reunion,” Chloe said, as if the word was foreign to her.

“Nice timing, isn’t it? You being back for the first time in forever. You could go.”

Chloe breathed out sharply through her nose as her mother closed the door and her footsteps paced back down the hall.

Nadine leapt in front of her. “Let’s go to a hotel, ja?”

“Are you scared of her, love? She’s not going to kill us.”

Nadine shook her head so emphatically Chloe actually had to look up from turning the envelope around in her hand. “She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t like me here.”

It took a long, embarrassing moment for Chloe to even pick up on what she meant.

“Oh. No, no,” Chloe laughed, waving her hand and turning back. “No, she’s mad at me, honey. Because I haven’t been in awhile and--”

“Frazer--”

“Nadine this is my mother. She doesn’t even know--no. She had--you’ve misjudged her.”

Nadine said, flatly, “I’ll find one myself.”

“Nadine, she’s not like that. She’s just snappy. I--I get it from her,” Chloe said, sitting back down. “Where were we? Oh yes, let’s find the password.”

“You didn’t even call ahead to tell her we were coming?”

Chloe felt the nerves in Nadine’s voice, but she also felt sick that her mother had inadvertently upset her. “I’ll talk to her, Nadine. I’ll tell her to--”

“No, no, no!” Nadine was really losing it, wasn’t she, wandering around the emo-band-poster-walled fortress with her face in her hands. “Don’t say it. Don’t say I told you to--that she--”

“Was making my partner uncomfortable?”

“Ja, that’s what you don’t tell her. Do not tell her that.”

“Oh relax,” Chloe said. “Between you and Nate, she’d throw him out of the house first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That she judges character. Well. About that. You wanted to know about Tommy?” Chloe held out the open journal, showing a double-page spread of a crude drawing of a boy and her very impractically dressed self, holding hands. “He was my widdle baby crush. Mum didn’t like him.”

“Was he the psychopath type you always go for?”

Chloe laughed. “He was a good student. Squeaky-clean. She still hated the sight of him.”

“Ja, your drawing doesn’t really sell him either.”

Chloe returned fire by throwing the entire journal back at Nadine, who snatched it out of the air and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, glancing back at the door. Chloe turned back to the keyboard and typed the password that had been scrawled beneath the drawing:

ChloeAndTom4ever.

“Open sesame,” she said, as the startup noise pinged and the cursor did its loading animation.

“You think he’ll be at the reunion?” Nadine said.

“Oh, who goes to those? Did you go to yours?”

“My schools didn’t have them.”

“Well,” Chloe chuckled, but it was flat, nervous, “I didn’t enjoy my time at school, and I don’t see why I would want to be reminded.”

“Maybe he’s still single.”

“I doubt it. He’s balding and divorced, Nadine, one hundred percent. Crushes in your teen years do not hold up. Ah, here. Just...click on internet explorer...”

“God this is ancient,” Nadine muttered, having come over to hover at Chloe’s shoulder again. “Does it even have an antivirus?”

Chloe hovered the mouse over the taskbar. “McAfee.”

“Oh,” Nadine said. “Then, no.”

“I used the same password for Neopets! Let’s see. Oh. Well, the map is different. Didn’t it use to have Mcdonalds?”

Nadine bumped her arm. “I thought you called it Maccas or something here?”

Chloe squinted at her and said, “‘Didn’t it use to have Maccas?’”

Nadine’s laugh was worth it, even as Chloe reached up and gave her a poke in her stomach. Nadine held her stomach and flopped back on the bed. Chloe loved Nadine’s laugh to pieces, loved how it completely overcame her.

“See? My Neopets are all here. Nadine, pull yourself together!”

Nadine did, eventually, and came over to peer at the screen, at Chloe’s five Kaus and two Kougras of varying shades. “Starving. Starving. Starving,” Nadine recited, hovering the mouse over all of them. “Great parenting, Frazer.”

“All right, but they’re not dead, are they? I’ll just go get a free omelet and feed them now,” Chloe said.

“They’re not even wearing any clothes.”

“They’re animals, silly. They don’t wear clothes.”

Nadine snapped, “Let me log in.”

And Chloe had to stare at four perfectly dressed Mynci. Skirts, hats, entire outfits. And they were all fed.

“Someone,” Chloe said darkly, standing and grabbing Nadine’s shoulders, “Waited for me to fall asleep on the plane and logged into her account on the sly--”

“Or maybe I’m just proper at Neopets, Frazer?”

Nadine grappled her back, and they fell onto the twin mattress, giggling and slapping at each other.

“You didn’t even know they could wear clothes. All of them can wear any clothes--” Nadine was saying, as Chloe shook her by the shoulders, “not like those MMO’s that gender-lock everything--oh shit it’s your mum again--”

Nadine said the last few words lightning-fast, trying to separate from Chloe, who only grabbed her tighter, and they both tumbled to the carpet as Leah Frazer walked in.

“What are you doing. Chloe, I swear to God,” the woman said, setting a pitcher of lemonade down by the computer with two glasses. “Stop hitting Ms. Ross. You never grew up.”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“Oh come off it,” she said. “And get these posters off the walls. It feels like these freaks are about to stab me every time I walk in here.”

“You could have taken them off,” Chloe said, struggling to keep Nadine pinned to the fluffy floor. “Could have made it a nice guest room, chucked all my stuff in the bin--”

“So dramatic,” Leah said, taking her elbow and forcefully pulling her off Nadine. “And immature. Where did you get these cuts?”

She looked at Nadine too, taking her wrist, searching for the scabs that hadn’t quite healed off in the week or two since the end of their adventure in India. Nadine had treated hers, but Chloe’s definitely had worsened. “What were you doing there?”

“Mum, you remember how it was, the mosquitos--” Chloe said.

“Tree branches,” Nadine said tightly.

“--hiking is a--a contact sport--”

“You’re both lying,” Chloe’s mum said. “And to think you brushed it off when I told you about that insurrection. I was watching the news getting worse and worse and you didn’t even call to let me know you were all right, Chloe Frazer.”

The woman headed back to the door, but remembered something, as parents will after having already scolded you, and turned back. “Maybe you can show those photos at the reunion. They’re gorgeous.”

“Mum, I told you, nobody there was on my wavelength.”

Nadine burst out laughing.

A very rare smile came to Leah Frazer’s face. “Well, they usually allow a plus-one...”

[sohotthateveryonedied]

You Gotta Fend for Yourself

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Bruce is Tim's emergency contact. He gets a call to meet Tim at the ER.

“I’m looking for a patient.” The woman behind the ER desk looks bored as she eyes Bruce, takes in the pressed suit and diamond cufflinks. The way he fidgets, drumming his fingers on the desk and trying very hard not to look as anxious as he feels. It’s easier to reign in his worry when he’s wearing the cowl. “Name?” “Tim Drake.” “Give me a minute.” She types his name into the computer, and Bruce can’t help but wonder how she manages to type with such long fingernails. “Your son is in bed eight. It’s over there, against the far wall.” She points him in the general direction. Bruce considers correcting her on the fact that Tim is certainly not his son, but he doesn’t need to tell this complete stranger that. Let her think what she wants. He thanks her and goes where directed. His chest loosens when he finds Tim sitting on a medical cot, neither bleeding out from a gaping wound nor missing any limbs. Instead he’s playing some sort of racing game on his phone, indifferent to the bustling emergency room around him. An oxygen mask sits beside him, forgotten. He and Bruce should really have a conversation about the importance of listening to medical professionals. “Hey, kiddo.”

Tim looks up and his eyes go wide. “Bruce. You...actually came?” His voice is hoarse, like he’s been gargling sand. “Of course I did. I am your emergency contact, after all.” Tim blushes. “I told them not to call you. You really don’t need to be here if you’re busy, I can get a cab home. And I’m sure I can talk the doctors into letting me check myself out without an adult, so—” “It’s okay, Tim. Really. You actually saved me from a board meeting.” Tim doesn’t look at all reassured. Bruce sits on the side of the cot beside Tim, who moves over a few inches. “Your teacher told me you went into anaphylactic shock in the middle of geometry.” Tim rolls his eyes. “I got a candy bar from the vending machine and the wrapper forgot to mention there were walnuts in it. It’s not that big a deal.” “Oh, sure, not that big a deal. You just stopped breathing for two minutes. Totally normal.” “I’m breathing now, aren’t I?” Tim takes an exaggerated breath. “See? I’m fine. And, for the record, it was the teacher’s fault. I had my hand raised for a whole minute trying to tell her that I couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t even look at me. Eventually I just passed out.” Bruce blinks. “You raised your hand? While your life was in danger?” “I didn’t want to be rude.” Lord, beer me patience. “I’ll get you an EpiPen to carry with you from now on.” “I usually have one, but I used it up a couple months ago and kept forgetting to ask my dad for another one.” A shrug. “Don’t you keep one in your utility belt?” “That’s for civilians.” Bruce’s eyebrows crease. “It’s for keeping people safe, not just civilians. You’re a person, so I want you to use whatever you need to keep yourself from dying in the middle of class. Got it?” Tim nods, a little sheepishly. “Yes, sir.” “Good. Now, how are you feeling?” Tim flicks the IV tube. “Cortisone and a shot of epinephrine earlier. I’ll be fine.” Even so, Bruce can’t stop himself from checking Tim over anyway, just to be sure. He needs to see that Tim is okay with his own eyes. He feels Tim’s throat for any residual swelling, checks his pulse. “Can you breathe okay?” “Yep.” “What about your mouth, does it feel numb or tingly? Any swelling?” “No and no.” “Are you dizzy at all, nauseous?” “You do realize we’re in a hospital, right? Surrounded by actual doctors?” “Yes, and I don’t trust a single one of them unless their name is Leslie Thompkins, Alfred Pennyworth, or Bruce Wayne.” “You’re insane.” “Good. Maybe then you’ll stay alive long enough to see the new year.” Bruce takes out his cell phone and drafts the beginning of an email in his notes app. “I should call the school and give them hell for not looking after you. Or at least for not being more aware of their vending machine snacks.” He knew Tim never should have been allowed in a public school. That’s like locking the most perfect, innocent kitten in the world in a cage with rabid coyotes. Completely irresponsible. “You’re overreacting, B.” “You could have died.” Tim scoffs. “Stop being so dramatic. This isn’t even the worst allergic reaction I’ve had. My parents were terrible at remembering to tell the nannies about my walnut energy, so there were a lot of close calls.” Bruce should be more surprised at that information. After he sues the school for the wrongful almost-death of a student, he should sue Drake Industries just for the hell of it. “Where are your parents? Are they on their way?” Jack Drake is as disagreeable a man as disagreeable men get, but he’s always revving for conflict. Bruce will definitely be able to sway him to his side of this matter. They can bring it up to the board of education, draw up new regulations for the school’s allergy protocols. Tim scratches absently at the rash on his neck. Bruce swats his hand away. “Dad brought Dana on a business trip to Philadelphia. It was only supposed to last the weekend, but they decided to stay a few extra days.” “A few?” “Eleven, to be exact.” Yikes. Big yikes. “You at least called them, right? They’ll want to know you’re safe.” “I called Dad when I first got here, but he didn’t pick up so I left him a message. I’m pretty sure he got it, because Dana keeps texting me to make sure I’m okay and asking if they should come home early. Dad still hasn’t said anything, but I’m sure he’s worried too.” Even as Tim says the words, it’s clear he doesn’t believe them. Never mind, fuck Jack Drake. Bruce can find another parent to start an alliance with—one who actually cares about their kid. Maybe Crystal Brown is free tonight… Bruce flags down a passing nurse. “Can I get some discharge papers for my son, here?” Might as well throw that in, give himself some extra authority. Whatever gets them out of here quicker. “Thank god,” Tim says. He plucks out the IV and swings his legs off the bed. “I’m sick of this place. You can just drop me off at home and I’ll be all set?” “Drop you off? You’re coming home with me, Tim.” Was that part not clear? “It’s cool, really. I’ll be fine after some rest. You don’t have to look after me.” “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” Bruce thanks the nurse who brings over the discharge papers in record time. People really don’t appreciate nurses enough; he should donate a few million to boost their salaries. He pushes the clipboard into Tim’s hands. “Here, fill these out and we can get going. I’ll call ahead and have Alfred make supper.” “And then I can go home?” Bruce shrugs, eyes fixed on his phone screen as his thumbs fly. “You already have a room made up at the manor, so I don’t see why you can’t stay over tonight. Besides, I’d like to keep an eye on you, just in case.” Anaphylaxis can be a tricky thing. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a mother hen?” “Once or twice.” “Well, they’re right.” Bruce snorts. He works more on his email draft to the school, making a mental note to censor out the swear words during revision. He’s getting flashbacks to years ago when Jason had a close call with some shrimp at a party for a museum opening. Bruce nearly decimated the catering company for not putting out warnings for potential allergens. “Tim?” “Hm?” “How come I’m your emergency contact?” Tim freezes. He doesn’t look at Bruce and twiddles the pen, quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know who else to put? I figured it would never actually be needed, so it wasn’t like you’d ever find out about it anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll change it tomorrow so you don’t need to do this again.” “No,” Bruce says, a little too quickly. “Keep it. It’s...more logical for it to be me. And I really don’t mind.” “You sure? You don’t have to.” “I want to. Partners look out for each other, right?” Tim’s cheeks are flushed under the allergy-induced redness, but he nods. “Right.”

[fan4196]

Alex’s Award

Hope you like it. Enjoy!

Thanks to @angry-slytherin :)

-

If you would have told intern Alex that fourty years in the future he would sit right here, beside his amazing wife of almost thirty years, he would have laughed hard. Never had he imagined that his hard work and a little lie about testicular cancer could bring him this far.

Sitting here in between hundreds of brilliant minds, hoping to win one of the biggest medical awards was still crazy for him. Why him out of all? Why should they give him an award? Why should he out of all deserve an award like this?

As he keeps looking around the room he recognises so many amazing doctors from all over the country. And he still can't believe that he is one of them.

He takes his view back to the stage as he hears Catherine read his name as one of the nominees of the night.

"...Doctor Alexander Karev, Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital..." That's all he hears as Jo squeezes his hand softly before she continues stroking the back of it with her thumb. He glances to the side where his wife is sitting and smiling proudly while she's watching the stage. His view follows his wife's to the stage as Catherine is about to proclaim the winner.

"And the Catherine Fox Award for medical innovation goes to- Alexander Karev, Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital."

The sound of words reach his ears but don't seam to reach his brain. His brain doesn't get it.

The grip of his wife's hands on his cheeks made him finally realise it. He fricking won.

His shocked face slowly defrosts as he looks into Jo's teary eyes. The smile on her face shines of proudness as she leans forward to kiss him, putting her left arm around his neck while her right hand disappears in his hair.

What felt like minutes for him turns out to be only a few seconds as Jo loosens her grip on him.

"I'm so proud of you." Jo whispers while she looks him in the eyes. "Now go and get your award." She loosens her arms completely and carefully pushes him towards the stage.

Where he's standing behind the microphone with his award in his hand within seconds.

"Fu- Sorry. Ahm wow. Thank you so much. I have this long list of people here I want to thank but let's make this short. Mom, Doctor Bailey, Robbins, Mer - thank you. But the person I really have to thank is my incredible wife Doctor Josephine Karev. Without you I would never stand here right now. You made me better, you changed me, you make me believe in myself. Not one person in my life believed in me more than you do. And I'm so incredible grateful that I met you twenty-seven years ago. I'm grateful every single day that I have you in my life, that you believe in me as a person and as a doctor and that you gave me this three amazing kids. Without my kids this idea would have never come to my mind. So I guess I have to thank them too - Emery, Parker, Eden I'm so thankful to have you; to have the privilege to call me your dad and I'm so proud of the people you grew up into. Not to brag but all three turned into amazing Doctors and just last week our son made us grandparents, so I guess we didn't screw them up too much, Princess." Everyone laughs while his eyes are glued on Jo. "Also, I hope someone is filming this, Mer, Cristina, Robbins, Avery-"

He puts the award next to his face before he keeps going. "I have one too now.”

While everyone laughs and applauds him again he makes his way back down to his seat. Smiling big as he sits down and kisses his wife again.

"You're gonna pay for the 'Princess'." She declares as she ends their kiss.

"It was worth it." He simply smirks.

The award show keeps going, honouring a few Doctors that are about to retire.

While they silently follow the scenes on stage Alex slowly starts stroking his hand up Jo's thigh through the slit of her dress. He carefully gets closer to her to whisper in her ear.

"Let's leave early and have some fun."

Not really on board with her husband Jo puts her hand over Alex's to stop him from going any further, before she turns to him.

"You have to go up there at the end of the show again for pictures and everything." She whispers to not bother anyone.

"We'll be finished by then." He replies cheeky, looking around to be sure no one could hear them.

"Ha you don't really believe that right?" She asks looking him in the eyes with an raised eyebrow.

"Are you saying I'm old?"

"No I'm saying if you start you aren't able to stop. So I promise when I got my picture of you on stage with your award and you talked to at least two medical magazine for an interview, you can keep me awake the whole night." Jo answers smiling at him before she leans in for a kiss.

"Deal." He agrees as they part.

The award show slowly comes to an end and all winners get back on stage again for pictures and a few interviews. And slowly the room empties as Alex is done with his third interview.

"Go up there one more time." Jo asks him with puppy dog eyes, knowing that he can't say no to her. "Please, for me?"

So he gets up there one more time so Jo can snap a few more pictures on her phone of him and his award. 

As he comes down again they ask a nice old lady to snap some pictures of them together in front of the stage. 

"Thank you." Jo thanks her with a smile as she takes her phone back.

"Oh you're very welcome. By the way if I'm allowed to say so I admire your work in Africa and I would really like to donate a little something to the Karev Foundation." The little grey haired woman smiles as she gets her check book out of her purse.

"Oh that's so nice. Thank you so much." Jo replies politely as she looks at Alex and back to the elderly woman. "We make sure your little something will help a lot of children."

The old lady scribbles something down on her check book before she folds it and puts it in Alex's chest pocket.

"Thank you so much again." Alex thanks her again, than takes Jo's hand and guides her out of the room.

"And now Doctor Karev I'm gonna take you to my room and rip that dress off you." He whispers as they walk towards the elevators.

"Whatever you want." Jo answers sneaky.

They wait a few seconds before they get into the elevator and push the button to their floor.

With Alex's award and her purse in her hands Jo can't fight back as he gets behind her and starts kissing her neck. She turns in his arms before she stops him for a second.

"What?" He asks a little disappointed as he still holds her tight.

"I wanna see what she donated." Jo answers as she hands him his award and her purse.

Fishing the check out of his chest pocket to unfold it.

"Holy-"

"What?" He quickly asks as he looks into his wife's big eyes.

She turns the check to show it to him, "It's a million!"

They silently stare into each other's eyes, both in shock of the amount of money they are able to put into their work in the future.

The sound of the elevator stopping wakes them and with another quick kissing Jo turns around and makes her way to their room. Alex follows a little behind, still carrying her purse and his award.

He quickly catches up with her and gets their room key out of his inner suit pocket to open the door.

Inside he quickly closes the door and gets rid off the things in his hands. To have them free for his wife. Within seconds their lips are back together and they slowly start undressing each other.

Alex is just about to open the zipper of Jo's dress as his phone starts ringing.

"No." He grouls, but picks up as he sees the name of his daughter on the screen.

"Hey kiddos. What's up? Did something happen?" He immediately asks, as he puts it on speaker and throws it down on the bed near his wife.

"Oh shut up dad. Congratulations." The voice of their youngest daughter comes through the phone.

"Thanks Eden." He laughs, as he quietly gets rid of his shoes and starts slowly opening one button after the other while he stares into Jo's eyes with a little grin on his lips.

"We are so proud of you dad." His oldest daughter congratulates through the speaker.

"Thank you Emy." He answers, still looking into his wife's hungry eyes as he gets rid of his suit jacket and shirt.

"Yeah you rocked that dad. We are very proud and Anna says congrats too, she just went to bed with Claire." His son adds to his siblings congrats.

"Thank you guys." Alex replies as he sits down on the bed beside Jo who smiles at him.

"Is mom there too?" Eden asks, knowing that it's a rhetorical question because their parents are always together.

"Yeah. I'm here." Jo answers, turning her view to the phone.

"You looked so hot in that dress mom. I have to say it." Eden adds.

"Thanks Eden. " Jo answers a little confused, "How do you know about my dress?"

"Dad send us pictures." Her daughter clarifies.

"Oh he did." Jo replies turning her view back to her husband, raising her eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah. But we don't want to bother you any longer, by the look of you in that dress I'm actually surprised you picked up at all." Their youngest daughter jokes.

"Eden!" Emery's voice echoes through the phone.

"What? It's true. They might be our parents and maybe old but we all know that they still do it like bunnies."

"Good night Eden." Jo quickly interrupts before their daughter could say anything more, "Good night everyone else."

"Night mom and dad."

"Good night." Alex says his good bye before he hangs up and lets himself fall back onto the bed in laughter.

Jo joins him as she falls against his bare chest.

"She's not wrong." Alex shrugs as he slowly calms down again.

"I know." Jo adds before she starts kissing him again.

[oceansmelodysblog]

Until my last breath

A botw Zelink reversed roles AU story

Chapter One - part One

[Notes at the end of the chapter]

As always, Link wakes up with the first rays of the sun, when the night still hangs mighty over the sky. When he jumped out of his bed in his sapphire blue night suit, he looked out of the wide-open window and searched for the sun. The white light broke a line at the end of the horizon and let the peak of the mountains look dangerous and scary. As Link walks to the closet and pulls out his black tunic and his Hylian trousers, the first servant knocks at the door and pleads for entrance.

“You may come inside.” Without showing any emotions, the servant called Celessia, brought him his morning hot tea made of the mighty thistle. It increases his willpower and lets him train harder and better every morning. “Please leave it on the table mistress Celessia.”

“Yes, your royal highness.” She says in a soft voice and leaves the room quietly.

Satisfied, Link nips at the soothing warmth of the tea and plans what training session he will have to train today.

He marched along the training ground and chose a suitable target, pulled his bow from his shoulder, leaned an arrow against the string and pulled the string with his thumb. The huge ring on his thumb, bearing the royal crest, protected his thumb from flesh wounds, inflicted by the string and too long training. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the point to which he wanted to shoot.

Then, he let go of the string. The arrow whizzed through the air and struck the black centre with full force.

Still, he wasn't satisfied, it didn't challenge him much, didn't give him a thrill to shoot after a target when he wasn't under stress.

Link trained non-stop, relentless, and driven by his delusion to outdo his brothers in the Heir to the Throne selection. He jumped over obstacles and shot from the air at several targets at once but failed to land and crashed to the ground.

He refused to give up and stood back on his feet with a shaking body. He took a deep breath to concentrate, but pain from his ribs stabbed through his whole body. His breath shook with pain and he sweated nervously. 'Focus, Link!' he slapped himself inwardly and started his iron-hard parkour again.

After the hard work out, he looked for the healer down the market. He walked past hard-working people from the kitchen and was greeted warmly. He smiled back each time but had to control himself to grimace so as not to show the pain. He always admired the drive of the people who worked in Hyrule Castle and tried to be friendly to them, even when his father tried to tell him otherwise.

‘A king must always maintain his dignity and never regard anyone as his equal,' his father's words rang in his head. Link, however, disagreed.

He continued to walk the corridors and observed the goings-on, picking up conversations here and there. One of them had been able to catch a special fish yesterday, and another told of a wrestling match in which he earned three times more than in the castle. Link always found the conversations interesting because he could learn a lot from the lives of others, and it didn't make him look like a spoilt prince locked up in the huge castle.

When he finally found the exit to the marketplace, he sighed with relief. The sun had been in the sky for some time by now, dipping the lively square in a golden, welcoming light. Men and women shouted and chanted from their stalls to attract more buyers, but Link also saw castle-affiliated servants, presumably running errands for the kitchen and the royal family.

Link, glad to be reasonably undetected, continued his search for the healer. But he was no longer at his stall, as usual. He therefore asked a passer-by who was nearby if she knew where the healer was.

"Yes, the old man has retired and is training a new disciple, he is in an old hut at the end of the road, around the corner to the left."

"Have thanks, honoured lady. Have a good day." Link politely said goodbye and hurried to the healer, because he didn't know how long he could stand the pain on his ribs.

As he reached the end of the street, he noticed how quieter it was and how shabby the houses here looked. He knew he would take another look on the surroundings to speak with his youngest brother, on how to improve this area when he had more time, but now he limped straight to the open door of the hut, expecting to find the healer, or his student, but instead he found a young woman with golden long hair.

The sun shone only minimally through the dirty windows, but the few rays made her hair look like liquid gold. The girl was squatting on the floor under the table filled with all sorts of herbs and substances, making notes in a small book as she looked back and forth between her book and the herbs.

 Link leaned against the wooden door frame with his arms folded, analysing her from head to toe. Her back was turned to him; from the looks of it, she hadn't noticed him yet. Link cleared his throat, startling the young woman, and banged her head against the edge of the table. She held her head with her face contorted in pain and turned to him curiously.

"I am sorry I didn't want to scare you-" His eyes widened and his mouth was wide open as he looked into her pretty face. Neither could get out of their stare until Link cleared his throat to avoid being rude. "I'm looking for the healer, or at least his apprentice. I-"

"You have chest pains, am I right?" she interrupted him.

For a moment he stared at her, perplexed, and immediately understood. "So, you are the healer's pupil. I see. Say, would you look at my ribs, the pain takes my breath away."

"Very well, please sit on the table."

Link did as he was told and sat on the table while the young woman laid herbs and bandages ready beside him. Curious, he watched her work.

"If you will allow me, I would prefer to remove your tunic".

"It would be a great help if you could do that for me." He whispered through his pain. Sweating through his sorrow.

She looked at him with her big green eyes and smiled shyly. Quietly and carefully, she pulled up his top and got him to release his pain-free side first, then helped him out of his injured half. Gentle, soft fingertips tentatively touched his skin. He wasn't sure why his body was paying so much attention, though, because she wasn't the first woman to touch him, after all.

"What is your name, healer?" he asked, giving her a sly smile.

"My name is Zelda, my lord. Or should I say Your Royal Highness, rather?" she said, curtsying playfully. Through her lashes, she looked up at him and smiled.

Link was surprised once more at her astuteness. He smirked. "You recognised it from my ring." It was more a statement than a question, yet she nodded.

"Outside of the royal family and the archer battalion, few are permitted to wear a ring on their thumb. And only the Royal Family is permitted to wear this ring with the sacred Triforce Seal of the Deities. Judging by your sea-blue irises, you must be Prince Link, as your brothers often have ice-blue or green ones."

Link wondered why he had never met such a gifted woman, even though he knew every face in and around Hyrule Castle. While he pondered this, she crushed plants in a wooden mortar and spread the paste on the bandages.

Zelda secretly kept looking at Link's immaculately shaped face, but quickly lowered her gaze when their eyes met.

"These herbs will soften the lesions on your ribs and the bandages will support your muscles. Please be more careful with your body next time. When the body and mind are not in harmony, such injuries occur."

Link nodded and then felt the cooling paste on his body and how she carefully, with skilful hands, tied the bandage around his broad chest. He relaxed; exhaled in relief.

"I thank you for your help. But I am surprised that I have never met such a beautiful and skilled woman as you are. Is this your first time in the marketplace?"

"No, your royal highness. I have been here for some time and enjoyed training as a healer. You just hadn't noticed me until now."

"What a blind idiot I've been." Meaningfully, he stared into her green eyes.  He knew women were at his feet when he looked at them like that.

"No you're not, your royal highness. Our paths just haven't crossed yet."

"Then I would like our paths to cross more often, from now on. What would you think of getting a better education at the castle? I'd get you all the books and materials you'd need and you'd be given the title of Royal Healer."

Zelda frowned imperceptibly, generous offers usually had a catch with them; even more so when it came from a prince.

"Forgive my rudeness, but I must decline your offer. I am still not a trained master healer and I have yet to pay off my debt to the master, so I will stay here where I belong. You should now return to your palace and rest your bruises."

Zelda turned her back on him and returned her attention to her notes.

"Do you not charge a fee for treatment?" he asked, as if left out in the cold. While he knew that not everything worked his way, it felt like a punch in the gut with her.

"No, because I have to write everything down and if the Master reads that a prince has been here, he'll grumble at me for not taking all your rupees." Zelda half turned to Link and squinted over at him while the corners of her mouth twitched trying not to laugh at her master.

"Then accept this as an anonymous donation" Link reached into his leather pouch on his belt and detached it. Setting the entire pouch down on the treatment table, he picked up his tunic and left the hut before Zelda could refuse his generous donation.

Link stopped shortly and heard from a distance how Zelda snapped for air sharply and then began to cheer. He couldn't help but smiling broadly across his face. Proudly, he walked back to the marketplace.

In the open square, the wind blew icy cold over his naked and bandaged upper body. As if he were stepping out of a hammam into the open air, the icy cold awakened his senses. He was aware of how much rupees he had left behind and hoped that the oddball old man would relieve her of her debt. But knowing him, it was not the case.

As he mulled over a solution to help Zelda to move on, he smiled half-heartedly at the passer-by who greeted him with his title. He was too busy trying to find a solution.

Soon the winter solstice would fall in the kingdom, it would get freezing cold in the run-down hut and he wanted them to be warm.

 

Zelda counted the rupees the prince had left again, just to make sure she could trust her mind. Six thousand five hundred and sixty-four rupees she counted in total. It was enough to research more medicines, buy new instruments and they could still find a better, but more importantly warmer, place to stay that had a bit more space to accommodate more patients. "Almighty Goddess Hylia, I thank you for sending me this generous prince," she whispered.

"Did I just hear generous prince?"

Shocked, Zelda turned abruptly to stare at her diminutive master. She had to quickly weigh how much to reveal without Link losing face. It was too unlikely that a person of the royal family would show up.

"A man came on behalf of the royal court and delivered this purse full of rupees to me. The man did not want to reveal who the anonymous donor was at first, but I managed to find out that it was one of the princes. The servant added the message that it was time to fund Doctor Borville's talent and left without another word. That is all I know, sir."

Zelda held her breath, so tense was she. Under no circumstances could she reveal to the old man that the Prince had been here, as he would force her to ingratiate herself to the Prince to exploit him for his greedy purposes.

The old man scratched his pointed beard thoughtfully, took his chair and sat on it.

"Finally, it is about time that my knowledge is appreciated. I'm just wondering which of the princes it was. Ragnar and Link always come here when they've messed up in their training and are too proud to go to the royal healer because their father would get wind of it. It must be one of them…hmm… I wonder which one…"

Dr Borville lit the tobacco in his pipe with relish and leaned back in his chair. Zelda forced herself to smile because of the lie about his skills. She knew that her abilities had surpassed her master's and every day she felt it more and more; as if she was standing still without being able to grow. But then she smirked at the thought of Link secretly trying to escape his father's eyes.

"But don't you dare using the money to pay your debts. I'll publicly denounce you as a thief if you do," he warned her.

Zelda clawed her nails into the edge of the table she was holding onto and sighed inwardly. Of course, she wouldn’t dare to, but the old man hated young people and women and she was both, so she was incessantly subjected to his harassment.

She had to do something to be able to live independently of her father one day. A life of freedom, far away from the place where she had only bad memories. But as it goes as it is, she wondered if she was ever able to accomplish that since the old geezer barely paid her full salary.

To take her mind off things and distract her teacher, she posed curiously. "Doctor, would you kindly tell me more about the princes?"

"You silly brat, don't even know anything about the ruling family. These children these days, never learn. Anyway, let me explain to you who the royal family is:

Starting with King Selim. He is titled The Mighty and The Merciless because he mercilessly defends the sacred places of the goddesses. The present borders of Hyrule are entirely due to his iron hand. In the past, there were often wars over those sacred sites, over the Temple of Time and the Forgotten Temple. However, King Selim never gave up and risked everything to protect those places. Unfortunately, he is also merciless within his family, as he expected the same strength from his sons. That is why his sons come to me very often, as everyone in the royal house is under the king's watch. Everything is reported to the king and even injuries that the boys inflict on themselves during hard training can lead to the father's disfavour. You must know, none of them have the same mother and are therefore exposed to constant competition. To avoid brothers of the same blood killing each other to get on the throne, King Selim enforced the law that as soon as a queen gave birth to an heir to the throne, she would be sent to a province with her son. The young prince would then undergo an extensive and rigorous education until the age of 16, so that he would henceforth be allowed to live in the royal court. However, who was allowed to be crowned king was up to the king alone. In the past, the remaining brothers were executed to prevent them from plotting against the new king, which also explains why the boys have no uncles and only aunts. Selim may be a cruel man, but the loss of his brothers also demanded a lot of him, so he decided to change the old law by sending the remaining brothers back to their mothers. Princes also have the choice of establishing themselves in other fields, such as the armed forces.

If we look at the first-born Prince Ecberht; The ambitious and eccentric Ecberht, sees his brothers only as competitors for the royal throne and often gives them a hard time. However, at his young age of 20, he has a strange power to draw attention to himself and also enjoys making big speeches to fire up the crowd. He spends most of his time handling diplomatic affairs in other kingdoms and playfully twists people around his finger. You can recognise him by his different coloured eyes; one green and one blue. He has darker hair than his brothers because his mother, Queen Seaxbourgh has very dark hair and green eyes. Like all princes, he had to be taught martial arts and is consequently very muscular. He has no siblings, as he was the very first child.

Prince Link, the son of the second queen, Queen Aslaug, is a highly talented archer, horse warrior and wields any sword weapon as if it were part of himself. And yet he is only 19 years old and already surpasses any sword master."

 Zelda tried not to let on how the name caught her attention, so she turned her face away and turned her attention to the herbs. Dr Borville paused briefly in his narrative to clutch at his painfully cramped back. Meanwhile, she looked for a plant that increased concentration and one that relieved pain. She boiled both with hot water and handed the tea with the pain relief to her master. The doctor's little errand boy returned with a bag of herbs and Zelda motioned for him to sit on her lap and listen in.

"Well, now that we are complete, I can continue the tale... where was I?" asked the senile man.

"At Prince Link's."

"Oh yes exactly! Prince Link, as I said, is not only gifted in the martial arts, but also excels in all the sciences. Some rumour says he is the King's absolute favourite, having inherited his father's acumen and ruthlessness. However, he is not my favourite, as he has a too soft heart, having inherited his mother's sense of justice and mercy. These people only bring trouble and endanger the rules of the monarchy, as was seen years later."

" What happened years later?" asked the little boy, on Zelda's lap, named Nebb. He was just six years young and yet he had to work so hard to help his family.

"Don't be so impatient, you brat!" the doctor grumbled.

Nebb winced imperceptibly, but Zelda didn't miss it and hugged him closer. He looked up at her and thanked her with a smile.

"The problem was that King Selim was so fascinated with her that years later, he bent the rules and fathered a second child with her. Princess Lagertha. She must have reached the age of 12 by now. You can see how dangerous the very existence of such people is for the dynasty's continued operations," he grumbled.

Zelda sighed inwardly. 'Surely this grumpy old man is afraid of everything that is foreign to him,' she thought.

"Anyway, what about the other princes?" she asked instead of speaking her thoughts aloud.

"All right, then. Let us now come to Prince Ragnar. He is the son of the third queen, Bonduca, a queen who was also an army commander and a warrior in body and soul. Ragnar therefore takes after her; a giant, broad-shouldered and a strategic genius. You can see his lust for battle in his eyes. He is generally recognised by his provocative smirk on his face. You can recognise him by his ice-blue eyes and white-blond hair, which he has braided into a complicated knot combined with an undercut. However, he is also a womaniser and no one knows how many bastard sons he has fathered. He may be a battle-strategic genius on the battlefield, but to rule a kingdom he is far too cunning.

Then there is Prince James, the youngest brother. Three years younger than Prince Ecberht. He is the son of the third queen, Queen Elizabeth. Average height, athletic and possesses an immense repertoire of knowledge. Although he has copper hair, a stubbly beard and green eyes, like his mother, he is very calm in contrast to his striking appearance. He is only interested in the relics of the ancient peoples who once developed these titans, shrines and towers. All humbug, in my opinion. At least he has a knack for architecture, infrastructure and finance. He could handle numbers and formulas like no one else in the kingdom and is often consulted by the Sheikah. In my opinion, he should take more interest in it, but nobody asks me. Old people have nothing more to say. What are these relics for? It's not for nothing that they were never used, as no one seems to have needed them! Pah!"

But as the old doctor was getting more into his aggression, a young man in his mid-twenties suddenly came rushing in. Zelda, in a panic, hid the little Nebb behind her and stood in front of the sack of Rupees so as not to create any problems.

"Hand over the rupees the prince left you and no one will get hurt!"

"There was no prince here! Now get out of here before I ram my cane so far up your ass that you can nibble on it with your teeth," said the grim old man, waving his walking stick on his chair.

Zelda, meanwhile, secretly tucked the pouch into her sleeve. "Please don't hurt us, we will give you what we have, but a prince was not here. And we have only the bare necessities."

"I don't believe a word you say! I saw one of the princes come out of this street!" he shouted, waving his short sword around.

"Get out of here, you good-for-nothing dumbass!" the doctor shouted.

Zelda slowly walked to the herb cupboard where her savings were and gave it to the burglar.

"As I said it's not much, but it's all we have. A prince wasn't here either, because as you know they would never set foot in a dump. They are too fine for themselves." She watched expectantly as the man assessed the information and hoped he could not see through it. The man lowered his knife and counted the rupees in the container as she slowly turned to Nebb and gestured with her eyes for him to give her one of the stinking elixirs. Like a ghost, the little boy moved around the room and stealthily handed a bottle to Zelda's hand behind her back. Determined, she held the bottle in her hand and prayed to Hylia to have the courage to do right.

The young man eyed her suspiciously and took out all the money and put it in his belt pouch.

Tensely, Zelda watched what was happening and clutched the bottle like a sprout of hope.

The old man looked at the young man grimly. Zelda inwardly admonished him for saying something rash. This was a dangerous situation in which they would either have to get away with minimal loss or pay with their lives.

Every word and every move would therefore be weighed in the balance.

But suddenly he put away his short sword.

"This time I believe you. But I will watch you. If I see anything conspicuous, I will kill you all and take your money that you are hiding from me."

He left the hut and ran away.

A moment later, all three breathed a sigh of relief. Nebb ran into Zelda's open arms and hugged her tightly. Zelda had gone down on her knees and was relieved that little innocent Nebb did not have to experience any horror.

"We should send the money back to the prince, it's too dangerous to keep it here,” she said to break the tension.

"Absolutely not! We'd be bankrupt without the money and it will starve us for the winter! I'd rather die a quick death than starve to death in freezing cold!" although the old geezer was being stubborn again, Zelda had to agree with him. It was risky, but it was better than starving. She looked at Nebb and immediately regretted her words.

‘His family would starve too,’ she thought gloomily. She kissed his forehead and let him go.

There was another way. And Link was the solution.

"Master, please excuse me for today, I have to go and look after my father," she lied.

"Yes, yes. But in the morning you're going to stand here with full attention again and work the hell out of you."

She nodded and took Nebb's tiny hand. She put the elixir back and walked towards the Royal Castle with the boy by the hand.

 

Link looked out his window and saw all the lanterns flooding the marketplace with light, music reaching his ears and drawing him magically. The winter solstice had arrived once again, which could only explain one thing about the commotion: The Festival of Lights was being celebrated. For as long as Link could remember, he loved this festival, as it was the best way to mingle with all the peoples of Hyrule and to escape, at least for one evening, from the hard training of princes.

He wondered what he should wear, whether he should stay undercover or reveal himself. He sighed, realising that every single person knew his face anyway. So he decided to put on his white shirt, but the fabric on his arms and chest made them tense, he was gaining muscle from the harder training and excessive food intake. He cursed softly to himself and buttoned the buttons along his muscular torso with difficulty.  He pulled on the sapphire blue Prince's tunic, accentuated by golden ornaments at the hem and sleeves. He then pulled on the black and brown leather chest protector with the royal family crest and tied his leather bracers to his forearms. When he was finished with his dark Hylian trousers and leather boots, he tied on his leather belt, which had the seal of the Triforce stamped on it. Link finally threw his cloak around his shoulders and fastened his sword to his belt and strutted out of the palace towards the marketplace with his shoulders erect.

"Oh, beloved big brother Link! Wait for me, I'm coming with you!" a melodic voice shouted behind him as he already caught the dusty smell of earth mixed with wood and snow of the marketplace. Clacking heels ran towards him; he knew the footsteps all too well. He turned and as he spread his arms wide, a petite person jumped into his arms. Link gently set her on her feet and looked at his younger sister. She had her dark blonde long hair braided all the way through and decorated with flowers, and had had a lovely dress in muted colours tailored for the occasion. She looked like a flower child, blessed by the goddess Hylia herself.

"Lagertha my dear little sister. It is good to see you well again.  You look wonderful and adorable in your outfit." She smiled sheepishly as Link held out his arm to her and escorted her to the fairground.

"Big brother Link, do you know where our brothers Ragnar, James and Ecberht are? I haven't seen them in a long time, since I was sent to boarding school for girls.  You have always been the only one to send me letters and gifts." Although it distressed her, Lagertha had learned not to let anyone know outwardly, but her brother Link, was the only person she could be who she was with.

"Our brothers have never been good with words, especially when it comes to their feelings. Please, bear with them, they still love you with all their hearts and would have any bastard executed on the spot if they so much as touched a hair on your head."

He always knew how she felt and was grateful and relieved that he could understand her without saying much.

"Thank you very much, dear brother. But let us rather celebrate the winter solstice and think of happier things. I'm sure our brothers will be there too." She trilled happily and grinned broadly at him.

He looked down at her and laughed heartily at the underlying irony in her voice. Yes, there was some truth to it, for Ragnar, James and Ecberht were indeed never far away when there was something to celebrate.

Soon the two siblings had reached the marketplace and were watching the colourful swirl of lights, dances and different clans. Happy laughter accompanied the sound of the Goron clan's taiko drums, the Rito's accordion and sweet singing, the Sheikah's shakuhachi flute and the Gerudo's oriental-sounding instruments. Various smells from the stalls rose to their noses and stimulated their curiosity and appetite. Although it was freezing cold, this place seemed like a warming oasis and warmed the hearts of the people. Sporadically, Hylian knights danced with women from different clans, twirling them as their clothes were stirred up by the gyrations.

Link looked at his little sister, who was beaming with joy. At moments like these, he wished his sister could enjoy a simple life, away from the castle.

But then the booming sound of trumpets interrupted him and everything went quiet. The guards had just announced the arrival of the royal family.

All eyes were now on them.

Link felt a strong hand on his left shoulder and looked up.

End of part one

Notes: based on the Zelink reversed roles AU Art of @/TheNebulace on Twitter I had the inspiration to write this multiple chapter Story of Zelda being a healer and Link being a Heir to the Throne.

Many characters name's are based on real npc from botw or are legendary/historically personalities.

Selim:historical chronicles says he was a ruthless and mighty emperor of the ottoman empire who protected the sacred religious grounds until his last breath. Lived in the 15th century

Ragnar: legendary Viking king and (is here) based on his Viking Series character

Lagertha: legendary queen, wife of Ragnar and warrior (here based on the Viking Series character with no relationship to her half brother Ragnar)

Queen Bonduca: [aka Boudicca] historically British Queen and Commander of a Legion 61 AC (here the mother of Ragnar)

Queen Seaxbourgh: historical mother of the historical Ecberht

Ecberht: King of the Wessex in 8th century, fought against the invasion of the Vikings, also here based in the Viking Series character

Queen Elizabeth: historically daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Tudor-Family. Lived in the 16th century.

James: historical successor of Queen Elizabeth Tudor, has here red hair to honour the red haired Queen Elizabeth Tudor

Nebb & Celessia: NPC from Botw

Part two:

https://freshbreezesworld.tumblr.com/post/639445306711375872/until-my-last-breath

[talkfastromance4]

The Click-- Calum Hood (soulmate!au)

It’s here! I’ve never written soulmate stuff before so this is probably really different from what you’ve normally read, and it’s different from what I normally write but this really has a part of my heart in it.  Inspired by Lang Leav’s wonderful works (the poems up above) and some weird instances I’ve been having.

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: none, no smut whatsoever (I know who am I?)

Son inspiration: Then I saw You by Tatiana Manois and Surrender by Natalie Taylor

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. *copyright is listed at bottom*

• • • •

Two strangers both alike in mind have a book propped open with words inked in of love and heartbreak and other musings. They are alike because they mark their favorite poems by dog ears and highlights with little scrawls of their own thoughts scratched into the margins.

Late night for her, early morning for him as they’re on two different sides of the country, it’s not just miles that separate them, but the day and night. The moon comforts her and is her light as she reads of a love shared between two poets. The sun is his friend and a warm embrace as he delves deeper and deeper into the pages of the same love but tinged with an air of sophisticated provocativeness.

While on their Spotify playlists, the same artists and songs are shared between the two. Music and lyrics, words, and prose, two hearts longing for the same thing. 

A love to be written about, a love to be shared, an adventurous love that is unique because it is their own. In both their minds, that kind of love doesn’t seem tangible. To be added to their likeness, they’re both the only single ones amongst their friends and have been for a while. 

Calum showered his friends in love, giving his friends small gifts and helping in any way that he could. He was always down for a good time, sharing laughs and making memories. Rose was the same, she enjoyed being with her friends and family. 

In the daylight they appeared fine and well put together but going home to an empty house in a lonely bed is where they felt the weight of their ache. Sometimes it kept them both up, reading their poetry books or writing their own. His were songs while hers were just words but the premise was the same, dreaming of love. 

She received an opportunity of a lifetime to go to school for her writing. A quiet dream she’d held safe in the privacy of her own mind. It was thrilling yet terrifying moving to a whole new city, the city of angels. Her best friend stayed with her for a week helping her adjust in her new albeit small studio apartment.

It was a steal that was right above a coffee bookshop, a place where she’d also received a job. When she wouldn’t be in school, she’d be working to help pay for rent. While she unpacked and decorated her place, she kept pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. 

When her classes started, she was up by 4 a.m. because of her nerves and her excitement, it bundled up inside her. She ran through her schedule three times, checked her bag that she had the right textbooks and her small laptop.

She read her favorite poems until it was time for her first class. The owner of the shop already had her coffee made to her liking with a cranberry orange muffin already in a bag. 

“Thanks Teresa,” she smiles, taking the goodies.

“Have a great first day! Do you want a picture with your bag?” Teresa is a kind, thirty-something year old woman. She’s living her dream owning a coffee bookshop and has the kindest smile. 

“I’m okay, don’t need a reminder I’m starting with kids fresh outta high school.”

“You’re not that much older, twenty-five is still young, Rose,” Teresa smiles. “Enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” she smiles then waves with her pinky. 

Her first day of classes is just how she thought they’d be, the awkward introductions that she rehearsed in her head before speaking, going through the itinerary for the semester and then reading a few chapters and taking some notes. Rose loved every minute of it. 

During lunch and her breaks, she reread through each itinerary again and bookmarks the pages in her textbook she’ll be needing. In between that, she reads her poetry book and jots down a few of her own thoughts. 

Then, the day is done and she starts her four hour shift at the bookshop that would last until closing time at 9:30. Rose quickly discovered that this would be a very easy job because it didn’t get a rush of people for dinner. 

Some other students she passed on campus would stop in with a friend and share a cup of coffee or tea. By 7:30 there were only a couple of people scattered about the shop, books, or tablets in front of them as the soft indie music played throughout. 

Rose gathers her books into her bag behind the counter before she moves to the bookshelf wall to restock the books left on the small wooden tables. She finds herself humming along to a song she knows when there’s a commotion outside.

The other guests inside turn to look as well through the windows framed in the purple and blue twilight shade to see a couple. They’re the source of the noise as both their voices rise over the other and when he throws his arms in the air that’s when Rose turns back to her task.

Clearly whatever was happening outside was a private moment and Rose couldn’t help but smile at the irony of the saying ‘outside looking in’ while she’s inside but was just looking into their outside debacle. Her mind always thinks of outlandish things like that, she calls it her circle thinking because she can run with the same thought over and over. 

It doesn’t make sense to others, but it does to her.

After a few moments, she glanced outside, and the couple was gone. The streetlights had flickered on and she could see stars poking through the darkened sky. She hopes she’ll see the moon upstairs. 

After the last guest leaves, she locks the door and sweeps up the shop, wipes down tables and locks the cash drawer in the small vault in the back. She checks that the back door is locked after tossing the garbage out quickly and runs upstairs to her studio apartment. She makes a cup of hot cocoa before bed and reads and writes into her favorite poetry book, her journal next to her. 

The hot cocoa made her sleepy and she fell fast asleep with her book atop her chest. She dreamed of someone that held a powerful connection with her, he understood her and made her smile. By morning, the dream slipped away with the stars and she started her new routine over again. 

***

Calum’s fingers tap impatiently on the laminate surface of the table as he sat through this meeting. It was mundane but necessary that he be here because the band had decided to take a year off. The world is still in recovery from the pandemic and they agreed collectively to hold off on anything until there was some decent footing again. 

He’s been in a bit of a mood since he and Zoe fought a few weeks ago after having dinner. They weren’t exclusive, only seeing each other on occasion and that night she brought up soulmates. She was almost nagging at him that he wasn’t hers and that they were wasting their time when he reminded her, she was the one to call him. 

He hasn’t heard from her since. 

His mind wandered throughout, thinking of ways he can occupy the next 365 days when he wasn’t writing music. Music is his life; it’s always been a constant and has pulled him through some tough situations and has uplifted him in joyous ones. On the TV stuck to the wall there was a news report scanning at the bottom that the university not too far from his home has the highest enrollment rate.

That piques his interest. He reads the closed caption below the broadcaster as it says open enrollment has become the new norm, welcoming students from all ages to attend. This information strikes a chord within Calum and he’s found what he wants to do with his year off. 

When the meeting had finally finished, Calum decided to head over to the university and see if he could still enroll. The semester started only a few weeks ago but with this new window of free time, he’s sure he could catch up. 

Enrolling turned out to be easy. He had a meeting with a counselor to discuss what his intentions were and if there was any specific study he wanted to get into. He selected creative writing and psychology, bought his books, got his schedule and he was officially a college student. 

The night before his first class, Calum is restless. He tosses. He turns. He stares out the window of his room, the moon winking at him through the small opening of the curtain. Duke is snoring softly to his left and Calum’s mind is racing. 

Thoughts tumble over one another, scenarios flash across his mind and then he hears a random melody in his head that sounds too familiar and it helps him drift off to sleep. 

***

Calum is racing to get to his first class, he didn’t wake up to his alarm until thirty minutes after the intended time and he blamed it all on a dream. A dream that felt so real he thought the woman in his subconscious was still speaking to him in his ear. 

He threw on the first article of clothing his fingers touched, gargled with mouthwash, and shoved a beanie on his head. Regrettably, he didn’t have time to stop for coffee and he hoped there would be some sold on campus somewhere. 

Calum just got settled into his seat at the back of the lecture when the Professor stood at the front and began to speak. Thankfully, Calum retrieved notes from the three weeks he missed and read them all weekend, so he picked up easily with what the Professor is talking about. 

He smiles to himself, maybe he is cut out for school. 

Calum is surprised how drained he feels after his first day. His head is swimming with new knowledge and he’s anxious to get home and get to work. On his walk back to the parking structure where his car is parked, he sees the coffee bookshop he and Zoe fought in front of almost a month ago. 

The sign above the bay window reads ‘CBS’ and in smaller print below that it reads ‘coffee bookshop’ and he smiles at the simple cleverness. He remembers Ashton has gone in there a few times and said the coffee is great. Calum makes a promise to himself that he’ll stop there tomorrow morning before class to grab a cup.

His night is spent reading over the homework and answering a few of the discussion questions while Duke sat in his lap. Calum tried writing down the lyrics of the song he heard this morning, but he couldn’t distinguish what they were. To wind down, he had his favorite Michael Faudet book propped on his stomach as he read through each page.

He reads through his own writing; his words transport him to that point in time when the words flowed out of him effortlessly. One poem resonates in his mind as he reads about love being compared to that of a rose and the lilting melody from this morning trickled into his ears again and he instantly relaxed. His mind quieted and his eyelids felt heavy as he replayed the same simple notes over and over. 

A beautiful melody without any words.

The loud vibration of his phone woke him up before the actual song did, but he leapt out of bed immediately. The promise of a hot cup of coffee egged him on to take a shower and dress in something nicer than a wrinkled band shirt he had on yesterday. 

Traffic wasn’t that bad, and he parked his car on the first level of the structure and he still had forty-five minutes until his first class. Today is shaping up to be the start of a good one and just as he locks his phone so he can open the door of the CBS, he collides with a body. 

Books go flying. His phone clutters to the ground and he panics at the fatality that could be evident in the million cracks of his screen. Rushed ‘sorry’s’ are exchanged between him and the stranger as they scramble to gather their things. Their bodies twist away from each other as he shoves his books and pens back into his bag. 

When he stands to apologize again, she’s already bustling away, her red scarf blowing behind her in the morning breeze. He sighs then heads inside to examine his phone, but he looks back again to try and get a glimpse of her face. She’s already gone. While they were scrambling to get their belongings, he noted how the smell of coconuts, vanilla, and something else he couldn’t put his finger on, invaded his nostrils. It made him think of the ocean.

He examines his phone to find there isn’t a scratch on it and when he unlocks it there’s a picture of the poem he read last night. Roses. The girl he bumped into smelled of roses. 

***

Rose is having an off day. Her alarm didn’t even go off and she put in a generous amount of dry shampoo in her hair but resulted in putting on a hat. She didn’t even have time to get her coffee and muffin from Teresa for she rushed out the front door and collided with some guy. 

Without her coffee it was hard for her to focus and when she got called on in class, she had to ask the professor to repeat the question because she didn’t hear it. Then her laptop crashed, and she couldn’t work on an assignment that’s due by Friday. 

By the time she made it to CBS, she didn’t want to work her shift. Customers were being needy and rude and all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and read. After eating a quick microwave dinner, Rose took a hot shower then turned on her favorite playlist titled ‘Blue’ for moments like this. 

She opens her bag to grab her poetry book, ‘The Universe of Us’ but finds its exact counterpart of Lang Leav; Michael Faudet’s book ‘Cult of Two’ lays on her table. 

Did she put that in her bag by mistake? 

It was a rough morning so it is possible, but she could have sworn she grabbed the book from her bedside table. Sighing, Rose takes the book to place it back on her shelf then becomes more confused when she sees the same book in her hands, perched snugly on the shelf with her other poetry books. 

Rose knows she only has one copy, so where did this one come from and where is her book? She tosses the white paperback onto her bed and empties her whole bag, checking each book twice. How could she have lost it? It’s always buried safely in the bottom of her bag and she didn’t take it out all day except--

Rose gasps. This morning when she was leaving the shop she bumped into a guy and all their belongings went flying. She must have grabbed his book by mistake, and he grabbed hers. Panic sets in, she’s written down some of her innermost thoughts in that book, personal things.

Now this random stranger has her soul in his hands, and she might never see him again. With angry tears in her eyes she crawls into bed while Lewis Capaldi’s voice thrums around her walls. Needing comfort, she opens the strangers’ book then snaps it shut just as fast because there’s handwriting on the pages. 

Just like hers.

***

Calum is reading about the red string of fate. After that run in with the girl outside CBS a month ago, he read through her book and became transfixed with those words she wrote down. He knows he shouldn’t have read her thoughts, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. Clearly the poetry captivated her, but her words captivated him.

The red string of fate is a Japanese legend meant to tie soulmates together by their pinkies. No matter the circumstance, the time or place, the two will always find each other. It may stretch and it may tangle but it will never break. He’s never heard of it before now, but he’s become obsessed with the idea of it. 

Every morning he’s stopped by CBS to see if he’ll run into her again so he can return her book, but he’s never seen her. His classes are going well and he’s learning so much, his creativity is overflowing. Much of that is because of this girl’s book. 

Its spine is overly creased from endless love of reading, some words are highlighted and circled. Pages are dog eared on what he assumes are her favorite poems. Calum smiled the first time he paged through it all because he’s written in his book as well. He wonders if she’s read any of his musings yet. 

“Bro, I haven’t seen you without that book. Where’s yours?” Ashton asks while they’re out for lunch. 

“Um, I lost it actually. I bumped into this girl outside the CBS and our things scattered everywhere. We switched books,” Calum explains flipping the pages. “She writes it in like I do.”

“You read it? Mate,” Ashton sighs exasperatedly, “that’s an invasion of privacy.”

“I know, I know! But I can’t get enough of it. She’s smart and passionate in what she writes. I wish I got a better look at her when I bumped into her so I could return it.”

“There’s no name inside?”

“Nope. She could be in one of my classes for all I know,” Calum sighs then picks away at the corner of the cover. “What was it like when you and Ruby found each other?”

Ruby is Ashton’s soulmate and they’ve been together for almost two years now. Calum remembers the change in Ashton when she came into his life, he was lighter. 

“I heard her voice in my head.”

“What did she say?”

Ashton smiles, “My name.”

“Then how did you find her?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain,” Ashton’s brows crease. “It was only a few days after I heard her voice that I knew her name. It came to me out of the blue. Do you remember anything about her?”

“She had on this red scarf and smelled like a rose.” Calum suddenly felt a wave of dizziness swim in his head and he held onto his temples.

“You okay?” Ashton reaches over as if to help but he’s not sure what’s happening to his friend. 

“Woah, that was weird, I got super dizzy,” Calum says blinking a few times until he can see straight again. He removes his fingers from his temples and Ashton is giving him a funny look. “What?”

“What did she smell like again?” he leans forward.

“A rose, why--fuck!” the wave of dizziness crashes into him again and it’s like his brain is spinning in his head. When his vision returns Ashton is smiling gleefully. “Glad to see you enjoy my pain.”

“Don’t you see?! You got vertigo as soon as you said rose. That must be her name.”

“Really? Is that what happened when you said Ruby’s name?”

“Yeah basically, but it wasn’t this strong. She must be close,” Ashton looks around him as if she’ll appear out of thin air. “I suggest going to CBS morning and night, she’s gotta be there at some point.”

***

Rose is flicking through the pages of the new poetry book she acquired. Curiosity killed the cat and she just had to dig her claws between the pages because she’s sure he’s already done the same or will soon enough. 

Some of his thoughts left her breathless and with an odd familiar feeling at the way it’s structured. Some of his sentences seem more like lyrics that she’s heard before but can never find the tune that goes with it.

She hadn’t been feeling well this morning, nausea and dizziness made her skip her classes and she laid in bed all day. It would come and go throughout the day and right before bed she drew herself a bubble bath with some candles. The flickering light created the perfect ambience while she read Faudet’s words and the mysterious stranger. 

Where her notes are written in paragraphs or stanzas, his are scattered about the page. Sometimes she has to turn the book to read it upside down. The curse words make her laugh and sometimes there’s a fun little drawing. 

It isn’t until she reaches the last few pages and she’s reading about a blue angel and knocking back a shot when she stumbles on a name that is not the author. It’s a name she’s heard before, a name she’s known of and has seen floating around her social media.

“Calum Hood,” she mumbles, and she instantly becomes dizzy again. It happens so fast it startles her, and she nearly drops the book into the bubbles. Somehow in her bewilderment she managed to let it flop onto the bathroom floor. 

The bathwater and bubbles slosh over the sides as she reaches for the book again. Did she read that right? Her fingers leave dark, pudgy circles on the pages as she goes to that page again. 

“Calum,” she breathes, and the room spins again causing her to drop the book once more. “Okay, okay, okay, okay. . .”

Rose gets out of the bath quickly, letting the water drain noisily as she dries off and puts on her pajamas. The spinning has stopped, and she sits cross legged in the middle of her bed, the poetry book open to the poem and her phone opened to Instagram and Twitter.

She’s been an avid fan for quite a few years now and to think if he was the one, she bumped into? With her thumbs hovering over the keyboard she closes her eyes trying to remember anything about him from that morning. 

All she can remember is the rush to gather her things and his soft husky voice as he said sorry. She didn’t look at him once and it’s very possible she bumped into Calum Hood. Her mind racing, she texts every one of her friends that have already found their soulmates asking what and how it happened. 

She needs answers because how odd is it that she’s felt dizzy and nauseous all day then sees his name, says it, and gets dizzy all over again? Is that what’s supposed to happen? Does this mean he’s been saying her name all this time as well? 

Her friends' responses were pretty much the same. In each instance they heard his or her voice in their head say their name. Why hadn’t she heard his voice? Could he hear hers? Rose unlocks her phone and searches his name, turns out he’s gone back to school. The same school she’s attending but it doesn’t say what he’s studying, which is good because it must be annoying having everyone know what’s going on in your life. 

Rose falls back onto her pillows burrowing under the covers and shuts off the light. 

“Please let me go to school tomorrow, Calum,” she huffs then turns over to hug her pillow. 

She swears she hears a ghostly laugh in her ear before sleep consumes her. 

***

“I bite back.”

Calum still hears the soft voice from his dream, he can still feel the soft brush of her lips against his ear as she said those words. He’s staring up at the ceiling replaying the dream of sitting next to a girl. In his subconscious it felt like he already knew her, and they carried a conversation well. He doesn’t remember exactly what he was saying but he can hear those three words as if she were laying right next to him. 

He greets Duke with quick kisses before letting him outside and Calum washes his face, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed. After he brings Duke in, Calum gathers his bags making sure The Universe of Us is right at the top. 

He’s been going to CBS early each morning so he can sit and try to watch for the girl he bumped into. He has one cup of coffee and reads through her pages until it’s time to go for class. A few times he thought he recognized her, but the girl in question always turned out to be just a fan and wanted a quick chat and photo. 

They never smelled like roses, so he knew it wasn’t her.

After his final sip of coffee, he flips to a page with the title ‘The One’ and he immediately goes to the girl’s handwritten words. 

‘And I want you to be the one for me. The one who brings out my storm but also calms the waves. I want you to be my perfect counterpart. Is my red string frayed?’

Calum smiles at the last sentence. He wishes he could tell her that no, it isn’t frayed and he’s trying his damndest to find her. He gathers his things and heads out the door because his first class is starting in fifteen minutes.

Just as he walked out the door, if he would have waited one more minute, Rose came by his table and cleaned up his dishes to help Teresa out before she went on her way to class. 

“How are you feeling today Rose?” Teresa asks, taking the dirty dishes from her. 

“A little better,” Rose shrugs, “I can’t miss two days. Are you sure it’s alright I can switch my shift from tonight to tomorrow?”

“Of course. You need to catch up on what you missed, Colbie will cover for you. Take it easy, you still look a little pale,” Teresa frowns. 

“I’ll be fine, but thank you,” Rose smiles then waves. “I’ll see you later.”

***

The day runs as normal for them both. Calum has felt this growing energy within him as if something is about to happen, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’s been looking at every woman he passes waiting to see if there’s a connection or a siren that will go off as if to say “that’s her! That’s her!” but he comes up short. 

Rose still feels a little queasy throughout the day and she’s distracted because all she wants to do is read Calum’s poetry book to try and find another connection. 

When the school day is over, she sets up her workspace at her favorite table by the bookshelf in a large, plush chair. Her own latte sits next to her while she quickly does her homework and opens the book. From the corner of her eye a tall figure sits in the chair on the other side of the table. She pays it no mind until there’s a loud crash.

The stranger knocked her cup to the floor, and it shattered, white foam and coffee filling up the grooves in the tile. 

“Shit, I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” she says automatically. 

They both reach for the largest fragment of broken cup; their pinkies touch and Rose feels something click inside her. Her skin is hot where he touches her, and with her heart pounding like a thousand horses running, she looks up. 

He knew who she was before he looked into her eyes, when they came in such proximity, he smelled the roses and the coconut and the vanilla. When their pinkies touched, he felt a spark shoot up his veins, that’s the siren he’s been waiting for and when he looked into her eyes? Everything clicked into place.

“Rose?”

“Calum?”

They both laugh nervously, their pinkies still touching. Rose feels her cheeks warm and Calum can’t stop smiling at her. After their small moment, they clean up the mess of the broken cup and sit back in their respective chairs. 

“I think this is yours,” she holds out his book that she was currently reading. 

“And I believe--” he pulls out her book from his bag holding it up “--this is yours.”

Having it in her possession again makes it feel like a lost limb has been returned home. Calum flips through his own book noticing the wrinkled pages. He knows she read it and he’s so glad she’s the one who did. He watches her rifle through the pages, soft fingers tracing over words that have been printed and words she’s inked in herself. 

“You’re a wonderful writer,” he comments, and her eyes flash up to him.

“You are too, but you’re a musician so that’s no surprise,” she giggles, and Calum loves the sound. 

Talking comes easily between Calum and Rose, but how could it not when they’re soulmates? As the night gets longer and the shop is about to close, Rose invites him up for some tea and he gladly accepts. 

While she’s setting up the kettle, he examines her bookshelf, some books he’s read, and others grab his attention that he wants to ask her about. Soft music fills the room and he smiles because this is on one of his playlists as well.

“How do you like your tea?” she asks, and Calum moves back to the kitchen area. 

“Little bit of milk and honey and some sugar,” he smiles, watching her add the ingredients.

Their fingers brush again when he accepts the cup from her, another spark ignites but it starts a different type of warmth. Calum becomes very aware of both their actions. He’s aware of how close she sits next to him on the couch, he’s aware of the way she licks her lips and how badly he wants to kiss them. 

“So, this is . . . a little crazy, right?” she laughs awkwardly, her finger circling the rim of the mug. “How did you find me? Did you hear my voice? Because I didn’t hear yours.”

“What did you experience then?” he asks, setting his mug on the small table in front of them. 

“I was home for a whole day because I just felt really dizzy and nauseous, then when I was taking a bath and reading your book, I saw your name, said it out loud and had another dizzy spell. I think I dreamed of you, too. . .” her brows furrowed in confusion.

Calum tries not to let her small tidbit of information that she was in the bath when she said his name get to him, but he knows exactly what she’s talking about. He was at home playing with Duke when he felt another wave of dizziness hit, it came upon him so fast that he practically fell onto the couch. It felt different then when he said her name, it was stronger. 

“I’m sorry, when I discovered your name, I kept saying it,” he admits fiddling with one of his rings. 

“How’d you find out my name?” 

“I was talking with my friend, Ashton and I told him about the day we collided and how you smelled like a rose. You know what’s funny? When we said each other’s name downstairs I didn’t feel dizzy, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” she shakes her head then looks at him, “what does that mean?”

“I--” he stops short when the song shifts, and he gasps. “I’ve had this melody stuck in my head for weeks, is this you singing?”

“Absolutely not,” Rose laughs and rises from the couch to turn it up on her phone. “It calms me down, so I play it a lot. What was--oh!”

She spun around and Calum was standing right in front of her. She didn’t realize how tall he is until right now and the scent of his cologne and laundry detergent reminds her of a home she’s come back to. 

“I have an idea as to why we didn’t hear each other’s voices,” he says, stepping even closer. 

“What’s that?” Rose licks her lips.

“We feel things, and instead of vocalizing them, we write them down or listen to it in music,” he tucks her hair behind her ear. “Even the books we read the authors are in love.”

Rose chuckles at that. “Yeah, what are the odds they’re our favorites?”

“Pretty high, since we were made for each other,” he smiles. His fingers tickle her cheek as he tilts her head up, her eyes are shining, and the smell of roses invades his senses. He inches his mouth closer to hers, “I’m ready to surrender to this, Rose.”

She nods and closes the small space between their lips and it’s as if everything stops. The only thing she can feel are his soft, warm lips on hers, the calluses of his fingers on her cheek and the way his other hand wraps around her waist. He pulls her close and she grabs hold of his shirt, kissing him is like a breath of fresh air. 

He pulls her even closer, chest against chest and she gasps at the movement but welcomes his tongue excitedly. They kiss feverishly, as if this is the only time they have. But they have many more days and many more moments to make memories of. 

They’re breathing heavily when they break the kiss, she feels him smile against her lips and gives her two soft pecks. 

“Calum?”

“Hmm?” his thumb strokes her cheek affectionately.

“You made my world stop spinning.”

• • • •

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

Taglist: @galcalirwin​ @cashtonasff5sos​ @wokeupinjapanisabop​ @myloverboyash​  @rotten-kandy​ @tea4sykes​ @jannimoeller3​ @loveroflrh​ @iovehemmings​ @cxddlyash​ @princesslrh​ @here-for-the-uproars​ @katiaw2​ @g-l-pierce​ @fairyintheglass​ @gosh-im-short​ @banditocth​ @dezzym17 @loverofmineabi​ @lukeisbaby​ @spicycal​ @mysticalhood​ @thesubtweeter​ @wastedheartcth​ @atlcalm​ @itjustkindahappenedreally​ @calumance​ @babylon-corgis​ @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt​ @lanternlover2​ @istaywithmyjonas​ @calteahood​ @sarcastically-defensive17​ @allier59​ @calumhoodaf​ @frontmanash​ @philthepegacorn​ @mantlereid​ @lukedorkyhemmings​ @addietagglikesbands​ @kikixfandoms​ @sanrioluke​ @mayve-hems​ @morguelth @galactic-golden​

[ajoy3fanfics]

101 Ways to shut up Granger p.3

Find it on AO3!

Fifth year

Bellatrix Lestrange had been beautiful once; Draco knew that much. Though the Malfoy’s did not hang portraits of Bella in their home, Draco had privately seen pictures of his aunt as a young woman, full of smiles, wide and toothy, laughing with her sisters. She looked striking- hair as black as ink, long and thick, twisted into loose waves that fell around her shoulder. It was a stark contrast to her pale skin, cheeks rosy with youth. She had the same eyes as his mother. Darker, to be sure- Draco had inherited his icy color from his Narcissa- but Bellatrix had the same heavy lidded look; When he looked long enough, he could see traces of his mother in her face. This was the woman his mother remembered. The sister she kept secret, hidden away in nightstand drawers and only took out when she had too much to drink.

The wanted picture showed a different Bellatrix. She looked almost grey, sickly. Her face was gaunt, starved. And her eyes-

She was just as crazed as he remembered.

Draco had only ever met ‘Aunt Bella’ once. Lucius had pulled some strings and made several sizable donations to secure the Malfoy family a visit to Azkaban. He could remember the click of his mothers heels on the stone floor as she briskly walked down the corridors, the blistering wind that cut to the bone.

And the mad woman locked inside. That, he could never forget.

She looked wild as she lunged from the table, chained and dirty. Draco had never seen a creature so unkempt. Her deep voice called out “Cissy!” in such tormented sob that Draco had been afraid that the creature was going to hurt his mother, and was astounded to see his father do nothing but look on as the lunatic pawed at Narcissa. She gripped his mother, the woman's dirty nails digging into Narcissa’s shoulders and wept. It was not until she heard his mother choke out a sad string of, “Bella, Bella” that he realized this was his aunt. Tears trailed down her filthy cheeks as she finally crouched down to inspect Draco. Her bony hand reached out, gripping his chin as she turned his head left to right.

“He’s got a bit of Black in him, eh?” She murmured, a crooked smile revealing rotten teeth. She began to card her hands through his hair and Draco froze, locked up in fright. It was all he could do just to breathe. “A little too much Malfoy, but we can work around that.”

“He’s a credit to both houses.” His mother said proudly.

“He’s a Black, Cissy. The last one. He’s got to carry on the legacy.” She looked at him seriously, leaned in to get a better look, and spoke slowly. Dangerously. “When the Dark Lord calls again, he must be ready to answer for the House of Black.”

He felt his mother pull him back, a hard tug on his shoulders, away from his aunt. When their time was up, they made no moves to visit again.

Bellatrix terrified him as a child. The witch she was before Azkaban was not the same as the one now his mother always said. She had always been a bit untethered, unpredictable. But the time in Azkaban, the isolation, the shame of losing her war, it had driven her mad, depraved.  She had once worn silk robes, but now she was draped in chains, stripped rags falling off her shoulder. Snape handed Draco the paper, his aunt holding a placard that read ‘prisoner 93’. She screamed, silent, unheard, as her matted and tangled hair flew around her. Draco swallowed as he tore his eyes away, pushing the paper towards his professor.

“I knew your aunt. In school and from… other associations.” He said evenly. Steady; Unashamed. “She will try to contact your family. She will try to contact you.” Snape looked at him seriously, “You must inform me if she does. I cannot stress the importance of this.”

Draco bit his tongue, did little else but nod. He turned on his heels to head back to the dungeons. He knew all summer that something was going to happen, felt the change in the air. It had been building up, winding towards a climax.

The coil was snapping.

~.~

Draco knew it was his aunt.. But until that moment, she seemed abstract. A portrait hidden away, not a flesh and blood family member. She was not someone he had to claim- not someone he could claim. She was too far removed from his life to be real. Until then.

A few Slytherns clapped him on the back, congratulated him that his aunt was free. Like they had been waiting for it. Like Draco should have been waiting for it.  

“To think they put a pureblood witch in a cell, just because she took up against muggles and mudbloods?” one had said. “Maybe she’ll keep up the work now that she's out again, eh? Good riddance!”

They seemed to have forgotten that she did not set her sights on only muggleborns, but on any wizard who disagreed with their cause. She followed blindly, faithfully.

Longbottom avoided him in the halls, and up until that moment he had always thought him a coward. Bellatrix was safely contained by the dementors, nothing to be afraid of. And yes, maybe their interactions did not leave the kindest impression on him, but Draco had never done more than sling an insult.

He was afraid, and had every right to be. It was easy to lock Aunt Bella away for Draco. She could be tucked nicely into a side drawer and forgotten about.  For Longbottom, she was just as present and cancerous as the day she cast that curse on his parents. Draco had only tasted this fear, and it left him in shambles.

Longbottom- Shit, he lived with it every day. He was stronger than he gave him credit for; not that he’d tell a soul that. Not when his housemates were giving him sly smiles, whispers of congratulations.

He knew he should share in their excitement; It would look odd if he didn’t.

It made him feel ill.

Draco couldn’t help but notice that Hermione looked as sick as he felt as she read the paper over breakfast. She folded it, a deep frown on her face as she stuck it into her bag. A mass breakout, they called it. He could see Potter and Weasley, shoulders hunched and faces pinched. From his spot, he could pick up bits of their conversation, all focused around Sirius Black. The two oafs were not as quiet and discreet as they thought themselves to be. Unsurprisingly, she seemed to be the only one who saw it for what it was.

He wondered if she felt it too, like they were at a precipice. Wished he could tell her how uneasy he felt.

Wished he could do more than steal glances over his morning tea.

~.~

The days passed, and no mention of Bellatrix came for him. Weeks after, he waited for the owl each morning, looking for clues in his mothers letters to let him know what was happening. They didn’t look any different than usual; she still sent sweets and her warm regards.

Draco held out hope that maybe Bellatrix used this opportunity to start over, to lay low.

All he could do was hope.

~.~

She seemed a little more cheerful, smiled a little more.

It was nice to see the color in her cheeks, the liveliness brought back to her. Felt good to focus on her instead of worrying about a psychopathic aunt raising the manor while he was tucked away at school.

He noticed that she was meeting with a larger number of students. Secretly, of course, and never for long. Never would he tell.

It wasn’t just Gryffindors she was associating with. Every house but his own was making contact with Granger, passing her notes, discrete nods in the hallways. The exchanges happened so swiftly, so often, that it was almost infectious. Several times Draco almost found himself nodding in her direction, before he clenched his fists to remind him that no, he and Granger were not involved in whatever she had going on. Fuck, they weren’t even amicable. It was like she was a damn ring leader in a cult with all the attention she was getting. Not that one would notice on the surface. You had to really watch Hermione to see those things going on. But luckily for Draco, that's all he had to do.

Umbridge had officially asked him to trail her, was sure that Hermione was the key to whatever she was trying to riddle out. He smirked as he accepted the mission, “I’ll be on top of her, professor.”

Fuck, he wished he could be.

Or under, or behind. Hell, he’d settle to just be near her, skirt hiked high so he could see her white panties. In the library, against the stacks. Or in his bed, hands twisted into his sheets as he gripped her thighs and drove into her. He’d take her right on Flintwicks desk if she’d let him. Merlin, he would give her anything if she would let him.

She walked by with Weasley, purposefully leaving Potter alone with Chang. She had her petite hand wrapped around her elbow as she whispered something about ‘space’. She was trying to contain a smile- awful at it, really. And looking at Weasley in a way that turned Draco’s stomach. Big, brown doe eyes, stealing glances. She had thick, heavy lashes- how had no one ever mentioned that? Never talked about her bedroom eyes?

Maybe because they were always directed at a bloody weasel, no one could take notice.

He noticed.  What he wouldn’t give to have her look that way at him.

Merlin, they weren’t even amicable.

~.~

It occurred to Draco that he may have a problem.

A small one. People all over the world suffered, people died everyday. He just had an infatuation.

A slight obsession, perhaps.

Mild. Completely mild.

Fucking ludicuris.

He and Hermione were not friends, yet he knew so much about her. Too much, some might say. He memorized her schedule, how she liked her tea. Knew she preferred cappuccinos should they be offered. Knew that when she stretched, she always put her hands high above her head and twisted to the right first. Knew that when she did that, the hem of her shirt would ride up, exposing the slightest amount of skin that left him salivating. Knew she often scoured informational texts, but far preferred fiction. Knew she liked to twist a loose curl around her finger as she read, idle, preoccupied. It drove him mad, made him want to demand her attention. She never fucking noticed.

That wasn’t even the problem. He was perfectly self aware that he was a sick bastard.

The issue was everyone else.

What would Slythern think if they knew Draco Malfoy was half hard every time he watched Hermione Granger take house points away? He’d be exiled, ridiculed. And if the news ever got back to his mother- she wouldn’t be able to handle it. The tears and theatrics that would ensure already gave Draco a headache. Merlin forbid his father found out…

History has shown what happens to pureblood wizards in his family that married beneath station. Marred their bloodlines so badly they were burned out of family records.

And for what?

It’s not like she would choose him anyway.

~.~

Ron Weasley was a terrible prefect. He liked to take house points away as an act of power, a way to boost his ego. Draco found it incredibly pathetic that Weasely needed a silver badge to feel important, but that was not the part that bothered him.

It was that he idiot didn’t even take it seriously! He seemed to make up his own rules, dock points based on his mood. And it became abundantly clear that if your skirt was short and legs toned, Weasley would let you off with a warning.

Even more infuriating was that he was paired with Hermione. He’d have to see them walking together, talking about Merlin knows what. Sometimes he’d make her laugh, but most times, he trailed behind her like a sad puppy.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered how different it would be had Hermione been sorted into Slytherin. He was certain she’d look stunning in green.

~.~

It was a hard pill to swallow, knowing how disgustingly one sided it was. Logically, Draco knew that he and Hermione were never going to happen. Never meant to. Never would be.

That did little to curb his imagination. It was so wild that it was hard to distinguish fact from fiction.

She didn’t want him, not like he wanted her. Hell, Hermione didn’t even like him.

No, not Hermione. Granger.

When had he started referring to her as Hermione? When had she begun to feel comfortable, familiar?

Granger. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Prissy little Granger who was the first to correct someone when they made a mistake. Stuck up Granger who knew better than anyone else in the wizarding world- maybe the muggle one too. High strung Granger, who had one hell of a right hook, didn’t take shit from anyone. Always the boss, had to be the one in charge. It made Draco want to push her down, make her submit. No, that was the wrong train of thought. Prudish-  Granger alway had her oxford buttoned up tight, wore sweaters. He’d bet anything she was wild underneath. Granger, who-

Fuck, he needed to get his mind off of her. Needed to get Hermione out of his head.

Draco took a deep breath and reminded himself that he didn’t know her. Not really.

Granger.

Granger.

Granger.

~.~

Snape had never been the sort of professor who took an interest in his students, let alone those from other houses. At best, Draco could describe his relationship with Snape as awkward, but tolerable.

When Snape had asked him to stay behind after class, his heart nearly stopped beating. It had to be about Bellatrix. He was delivering news to him, passing a message his way. Something too horrid, too secret that his mother could not even code it in her daily message.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Draco.” He said, much to his surprise.

“What?” He scoffed, both relieved and genuinely confused at what the professor meant.

“You may think you are keeping it under wraps, but you stare far too long at the girl.” Draco swallowed hard.

“Its none of your business.” He spat. “And it’s nothing to get upset about.”

“Perhaps.” He drawled, considering Draco’s words, the defensive way he crossed his arms over his chest. “But, if it were… something…. More-”

“-It’s not-”

“Then I should remind you that your aunt has recently escaped Azkaban.”

“I’m well aware of that, thanks.” Draco snapped.

“If she finds that you hold even the slightest bit of affection for Granger-”

“Affection?” He countered. Snape kept steady, kept pressing on.

“She will crave her flesh clean from her bone. Bellatrix will turn her fingers into jewelry. So should this be anything more-”

“How many damn times-”

“BUT SHOULD IT-” Snape's voice rose to a timber he had never heard, made the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “I may be able to help.”

Draco froze, almost too afraid to breathe.

“Help how?”

~.~

Pansy was nothing if not a good distraction. Better than the Greengrass sisters, and aside from them, there were very few options left for Draco.

Yes, there were others available in different houses. Pureblood ones too; but it was expected that Draco would bed and wed a Slythern. Asinine traditions and expectations.

He was becoming increasingly tired of expectations.

Like valentines day.

Whose brilliant idea was it that witches needed the red carpet rolled out for them, just because it was the 14th of February? Chocolates from Switzerland, jewelry that dripped in gems. Cards and romantic gestures, adding layers of intimacy to a relationship. It felt forced and unnecessary; He didn’t give a damn about it.

Pansy, on the other hand, could talk about nothing else. She was good at that, filling the void with conversation. She didn’t prattle on like Astoria did, but kept it going at an easy pace. They were friends, and it somehow made it more bearable to try and replace Hermione’s name with Pansy.

He wanted to hold Pansy. Wanted to lick his way down her neck, grip her curls- no, short, cropped hair, as he brought her head back to bite the junction of her shoulder, suck it until it bruised. It was Pansy he imagined accidently running into in the prefects bath, tanned skin- fuck, pale skin covered up only by a bath towel.

Pansy was the one to enact that with him, but it was Granger on his mind. To be fair, he couldn’t help where his thoughts strayed as he rocked his hips between Pansy’s legs- his blood was flowing away from his brain.

Of course, it left Draco with mixed feelings. The sex was good- of that he had no complaints. But it was unfulfilling. Not enough.

Empty.

At first he had felt guilty about using Pansy, taking his needs out on her while he fantasized about someone else. The first few times the guilt had gnawed at him so completely that he felt sick enough to almost admit it to her. But then he remembered that though Pansy may like him as a person, she liked his Gringotts vault just as much. That without his money behind him, she might not be so keen to take his arm.

They were friends. Cut from the same cloth. They both knew what it was.

When she hinted (heavily, multiple times) that she might like to go out on Valentine's day, Draco didn’t mind taking the trip to Hogsmead. They were official, though no one had publicly said so, and a gentleman must treat his witch right- even if he thought the holiday was total bollocks.

He had met her in the common room, earrings in hand, flowers in the other, bundled and ready to brace the winter's chill. She had accepted the gifts gracefully, tugged on his bottom lip as she kissed him in thanks, and before long, they found themselves strolling through Hogsmead. Pansy looped her arm through his as they headed to Madam Puddifoots for tea, bags from Honeydukes in hand. The day hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, but the throngs of people crowding the street, obnoxious in their love, decked out in reds and pinks set him on edge. Best of all, it was entirely Granger free. A day without running into her. A day without having to see her sandwiched between Potter and Weasely.

That was until they passed The Three Broomsticks.

It wasn’t even his idea to stop in, to freaking spy. But as they walked by the shop Pansy caught sight of Granger and stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is that Granger?” She twisted her neck to get a better look. “At the Three Broomsticks for Valentines day. Oh, that’s rich.” He couldn’t say that she cackled- no wellbred woman would- but the sound was dangerously close.

“Probably just waiting for Weasley.” He answered darkly. He hated the idea of the two of them together. Hated the thought of her waiting for him. Did Weasely know how lucky he was that she even gave him the time of day? What did she see in him anyway? It certainly wasn’t his intelligence. Revolting orange hair, freckles, lanky build, was that really Grangers type? The reason she tied her hair up with red ribbons, wore a red sweater?

“Think Madam Puddifoots was too expensive for a Weasley?” She snickered. “Let’s pop in Draco.”

“In- In there?” He balked. “Whatever for?”

“I want to see what the Golden duo does without their third. I imagine they’re terribly boring. I’d bet Granger quotes from the dictionary and Weasley pretends to understand.”

Draco often wondered the same thing. They had nothing in common. What could the two possibly talk about? He wasn’t eager to find out, felt mouth turning down at the thought of Hermione leaning in to kiss-

“You want to spend our date watching Granger?” He asked.

“And Weasley, yes. Draco, this is loads more interesting!.” She smiled as she tugged him towards the door. “Like dinner and a show!”

Well, she had him there. In his very limited free time, when he wasn’t busy following Granger from one place to the next, he was fantasizing about doing it. Weasley was just never part of it.

No, he was doing this to get away from Granger, not drag others into his obsession.

“Pans, why would we want to subject ourselves to what I’m sure will be a disgusting display?”

“For the laughs, of course.” Pansy tilted her head as she appraised him.

“Seems incredibly juvenile.” He turned his nose up, hoping she would take the bait.

“You used to be more fun, Draco. This sort of thing used to get a rise out of you.” She pulled him forward, dragging him along. Despite having followed her just yesterday, having company made it feel seedy.

He rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be lead forward, quickly claiming a seat near Grangers table. Not too obvious, one would really have to look to catch a glimpse of them- but still close enough to eavesdrop. Draco made sure to get the seat facing away from her. He didn’t fancy seeing her make eyes at a weasel.

“I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine. They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print." He recognized that voice. Draco turned to Pansy and mouthed “Who..?”

“That's loony Lovegood.” She whispered.

"I'm supposed to do this for free?" Skeeter? Why on Earth was Rita Skeeter meeting at Hogsmeade? With Lovegood no less?

"Well, yes.” Draco heard her voice and it sent a shock through him. “Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of Azkaban...."

Draco’s eyes blew wide, taking in the new information. Pansy seemed less interested, though she still listened intently.

"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" He could practically hear Skeeter seething.  

Draco couldn’t help the smirk; tried to control it by biting down on his bottom lip. His girl- she was damn good.

~.~

Umbridge is mad. No, that wasn’t even the right word for it. Livid, perhaps. Crawling out of her skin was a rage that was palpable, might be more accurate.

Thanks to his stunt and Hermiones brilliance, students were no longer allowed to read the Quibbler- not that he was anyway. Still, everytime another hammer hung up one of Umbridge's decrees, Draco felt himself suffocated a little more. Nevermind the fact that she was chomping at the bit to get Potter and his accomplices. He had thought that she saw him for what he was, but now he wondered if there was something more. Draco had his own reasons for hating Saint Potter, but Umbridge… it was almost as if she was threatened by him, for how harshly she reacted.

When Goyle had caught him talking with Lovegood and Longbottom in the hallway he had promptly split the trio up, and in the process, Potters glasses may or may not have been cracked.

And because nothing could ever be easy in his life, never achieve any sort of balance, he realized that if Potter was unhappy, so was Hermione. He couldn’t enjoy his nemesis getting what he deserved if he knew it would upset the witch that filled every corner of his thoughts.

He picked a fine time to give a shit about Potters well-being. Umbridge was hungry to make an example of him; it fell on Draco to tell Crabbe and Goyle to ease off.

Life just wasn’t fair.

~.~

He never used to care about what upset her. Used to call her a filthy little mudblood to her face.

Somedays, he missed that. Missed the time in his life when things were so uncomplicated. When he stopped making them complicated. At least if he could touch her, hold her, fucking taste her, it would make it worth it. What was it all for? What was the point of wanting someone so badly, crave them so completely that it made you question everything you thought you knew?

But then Draco would catch sight of her, legs curled as she read one of her blasted books, sunlight catching on her chestnut curls in just the right way that she looked angelic. Unashamed to be herself. Content with her own company. Smiling at whatever nonsense filled the pages. It must be a fiction story; must be one she was familiar with from the way she lazily turned the pages, like she had lived the story more than once. And in that moment, it would feel like Draco could finally breathe; like air was filling his lungs for the first time. It reminded him why it was worth it.

~.~

Why did prefects have to patrol with their houses? Just once- just once, couldn’t Malfoy and Granger be paired on the schedule? Perhaps to patrol someone outside, secluded, away from everyone?

Why was it always Pansy who unfastened his buckle in the empty classrooms, stroking his hard cock instead of Hermione? Pansy, who was caged between his arms, back against the cobblestone wall as she panted into his ear. He’d hike her thigh up higher, grip it tighter to lock her in place as he rocked his hips into hers. And when he’d come down, the ecstasy and joy washing away, he’d wonder “Is this what she’s doing with Weasley? Are they fucking at this very moment?”

The afterglow never lasted long when he was on rounds.  

~.~

They caught them inside the room of requirement. Caught all of them, red handed, wands drawn. Dumbledore’s Army they named themselves. Rule breakers was what Umbridge had said.

Draco had to be there. Crabbe and Goyle were practically giddy with excitement a Umbridge cast spell after spell to dismantle the wall. Pansy, who stood to his side, looked like she was going to burst from the drama. All Draco could do was try to remain calm. He willed the wall to hold, said every counter spell he knew to hold it up. He knew what the other members of the squad were doing, knew the curses and jinxes they gave as punishments. For all the rules plastered throughout the school, it was lawless. Worst, he heard rumors of Umbridge, and what she had done to Potter. He remembered the frightened look Hermione gave him as he tugged down his sleeve. Draco worried if she would see the same fate, once the wall was down.

What would he do? If Umbridge was determined to make an example of the golden trio, how should he react? He couldn’t sit by and watch her be tortured. He couldn’t just stand there and let her come to harm. He would have to do something; there was no scenario in Darco’s mind in which he could bear witness to Hermione hurt and in pain, with him on the sidelines.

He could see it all in his mind, a course of actions ready to be played out. All them leadinging to the rescue of his witch and the shame and isolation that would follow. Not just from friends and family, but also from her. She would never want to see him again if she knew in the inner workings of his mind; knew how desperately he wanted her. All of her. It wasn’t worth denying anymore. He was a sick fucking freak, and she would be better off without him nearby. And that would be the end of it- he would never see Hermione again.

He focused, begged, and willed the castle to listen. The room of requirement was supposed to fulfill a need, and all he was asking that the walls would stay up. It wasn’t good enough.

When Umbridge stepped through, the bright light of the corridor bleeding in, his eyes immediately went to Hermione. His stomach sank low to find she was already looking his way, looking at him.  

Each one was marched down to her office, made ready to give an account. All the while Draco formulated his plans and readied himself for his move.

~.~

On the list of things that Draco Malfoy thought to be unlikely, Dumbledoor taking the fall for Saint Potter and vanishing into thin air with a bird topped the list. He always figured he’d fuse himself to the chair inorder to avoid being cast out of Hogwarts. Leave it to the greatest wizard of all time to add the theatrics.

The whole school was in an uproar. He was certain his father would march down to the castle and pull him out, drag him back to the manor. His mother was over protective on her best days, and she would never stand to have her only child in a school filled with turmoil.

But when his father did not come, and Umbridge settled in behind Dumbledore's desk, he had a dreadful sense of foreboding that something big was about to change- and not for the better.

~.~

The Weasley's may be a menace, but the twins knew how to leave with a grand gesture. The only thing funnier than the entire fiasco was seeing how flustered Hermione had been.

~.~

Draco hadn’t meant to find her asleep in the library. For once, he was too preoccupied with his own studies to follow Granger around- O.W.L.S. were no laughing matter. The amount they were expected to memorize and recite was borderline criminal. No one would ever use half of the charms he was required to know, but he still had to spend his days practicing with wand and quill.

He had meant to get a book- just pop in and out- but as he walked to the stacks he saw her there, at her usual table, head propped on top of her folded arms. Her breathing was heavy, even, as her chest rose and fell with each intake.

Draco lowered himself to the floor and took a seat near her. They couldn’t sit at the same table, of course. But close enough that he could keep an eye on her while she slept. He picked up his wand and practiced charms, making paper birds dance overhead.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours before she woke. Draco wasn’t sure; it was like being caught in a haze to see her so vulnerable. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked herself awake, stretching high overhead, twisting to the right first, like always.

That was when she saw him.

“M-Malfoy?” She stuttered, embarrassed. It made him nervous to look at her so directly.

“Finally awake, Granger?” He snarked. “Thought you were going to spend the night here.”

“Wh-Why? What are you doing?” She was desperately trying to connect the dots, put the pieces together. Draco longed to drag it on, hold her there in the moment forever.

“You were sleeping, dummy.” It was quick, too quick. He should have put more thought into an explanation. “It's dangerous to be so carefree, you know.” He added.

“I must be dreaming,” She said, giving her cheek a gentle slap.

“Then you must have very boring dreams, Granger.” He smirked at her, unable to control it. “I like mine a bit more exciting.”

“I was sleeping-” She started.

“Thought we’ve covered that-”

“And you thought... you were the one to what, look out for me?” She was skeptical, and it was only fair. “Did you do something to me while I slept Malfoy? Do I have ‘idiot’ written across my forehead or something? Just tell me now and get it over with.”

“I didn’t do anything!” He objected.

“Sure, Draco Malfoy would just watch over me while I slept for no reason.”

He answered defensively. “I may be a lot of things Granger, but first and foremost, I am a gentleman. And a gentleman would never leave a witch in such a vulnerable position. You’ve no doubt studied charms. Not all of them are good natured. So yes, I looked out for you. My training as a wellbred wizard wouldn’t allow me to leave a witch alone like that.”

Hermione frantically ran her hands through her hair, trying to control the frizz and volume. Draco wanted to tell her to stop, that she looked fucking beautiful with it wild, untamed. But instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly. “No matter who the witch is.”

She nodded, as if any of the bullshit he said made any sense. As if he wasn’t watching over her for his own satisfaction, for his own peace of mind.

“Why didn’t you just wake me?” She managed, still eyeing him suspiciously.

Draco shrugged. “Have you seen yourself Granger? The bags under your eyes are incredible. You should submit them to a medical textbook.”

“Ha, very witty Malfoy.” She said, collecting her things into her bag. Draco did the same, stretching as he stood from his chair. “I- I just have been preoccupied- with my studies, I mean.” Hermione looked away from him as he rolled his neck; it made Draco immediately straighten, worried that he had become too casual, made her uncomfortable.

Of course he had! He was fucking watching her while she slept for crying out loud.

“Right.” His throat felt dry as he swallowed, then turned to leave. Two steps forward, and she in front of him, chocolate eyes holding him in place.

“Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t- I mean-” Hermione bit her lip as tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t often he got to catch her off guard, to watch the wheels work in Hermione’s head. When she spoke, her voice was lower, a sexy timber that shot right to his groin. “Thank you.”

Hermione took off in a brisk walk, leaving him behind.

It was a good day.

~.~

They had caught them by Umbridge's office. All hands were on deck looking for the group. Umbridge made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that nothing, barring death, was off limits. It set the group alight with a hunger for the hunt. Even Draco felt fired up to catch them.

If he didn’t get to Hermione first, who knew what would happen?

It was easy to find her, easy to know which set of footsteps were hers. He had trained for that moment, laid in wait, and now she was his. He’d crucio anyone who thought to put a hand on her. Draco led the charge, determined to be the one in control, needed to be the one.

Her hand reached out, ready to grip the door handle when he found them. They were quiet, even charmed their shoes to not make a sound, so to say Hermione was surprised to find Dracos large hand clamped over her mouth was an understatement. He worried that his ring knocked against her teeth, because the next thing he knew, he could feel her tongue dart out, as if licking a bloody wound. Her breathing came in quick bursts, hot and panicked. Draco’s other hand splayed across her stomach, pulling her in, closer than they had ever been before. The rest of the squad had followed suit, the sound of a struggle behind him.

She was making a strangled noise in the back of her throat, and Draco could feel the fear coursing through her. He leaned in, so small a movement it would be missed, until his lips were near her ear.

“Shh.” He begged, and felt her try to twist to look his way. Weasley let out a mangagled scream as his arm was bent backwards. “I won’t hurt you.” It was barely more than a breath, hardly a whisper. Hermione froze, eyes wide. Longbottom groaned as Crabbe knocked his head against the wall, a small trickle of blood running past his eyes. Hermione's voice began to hitch.

“Shh.” He begged, flexing his fingers that dug into her hips. “Please.”

Hermione was a smart witch- the brightest of their age. Draco silently willed her to understand.

If she made noise, if she struggled, it would have to look like he was hurting her. And for the life of him, Draco had no idea how to do that without traumatizing her. He ran his thumb over her cheek, small enough that it would appear to be a twitch, delicate enough that he prayed it was soothing.

“You got her, mate?” Goyle asked.

“Just brains and no brawn in this one.” He joked. “Granger barely put up a fight.” He squeezed her again, hoping beyond hope that his comment would not make her fight harder.

Remarkably, she stood still, her chest rising and falling as his arm crossed over it.

He didn’t miss the way Pansy looked him up and down, Granger held flush against him. He way his hands lingered on her skin.

“Let’s bring them into Umbridge’s office.” Pansy offered, “that’s where she’s expecting them.”

~.~

He should have kept a tighter hold on her- should have known she’d insert herself into any problem, try to solve everything.

Umrbidge had been tickled pink to see a job well done. More than happy to peg Potter as the main culprit. She wasted no time interrogating him; When Potter would not budge, not give up their secret weapon, she held her wand up, on the brink of the cruciatus curse. Draco felt his muscles weaken, his jaw go slack, felt energy drain. He heard her rumors, but that was nothing in comparison to seeing a professor ready to torture students. Wizards his age. Peers.

And if Harry was first, he could guarantee who was next.

Turns out, he didn’t need to wait for Umbridge to drag her forward; his damned witch offered herself up. Hermione rushed forward, and just like that, she was out of his grip, slipped away from his grasp. She was shouting, claiming that she knew where the secret weapon was, that she could take Umbridge to it.

In the woods. Of course it was in the bloody woods.

The headmistress pushed Potter and Hermione out the door, ordering the squad to keep a close eye on the rest of the group.

~.~

As Draco watched Ron Weasley run out of the office, he knew that the twit would brag to everyone that he had bested him in defense.

Not even in his damn dreams could Ronald Weasley beat him in defensive spells. Did he know that every summer, every holiday, his father made him train in them relentlessly? Did he moron really think he was able to bloody his lip and get that many right hooks in if Draco hadn’t thrown the match? Hell, he leaned in to every punch. When he let the jinxes render him paralyzed, Weasley hovered above him, examining his work. He smiled- wide, far too much gums, as he walked over him, stepping on Draco’s hand along the way.

He was oozing satisfaction, brimming with ego.

He could practically see him puff his chest out as he ran to Hermione to save her.

As long as he saved her.

~.~

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

Running Up That Hill

           You were kidnapped for two months before your dad, Andy, finds you. 

-

           You had been missing for approximately two months when you were found. It was like every other missing girl story; you’d just disappeared, the only traces of you your phone and your open car with the key in the ignition. Your family was heartbroken, especially your father. He often said that he loved you more than anything, and when the police stopped searching, declaring you a lost cause, he fell off the rails. He changed into a completely different man, citing your disappearance, and every day he went looking for you still.

           He was conducting a raid when it happened. This guy was absolutely sick – he’d already been charged with kidnapping but gotten out three years ago on a loophole, he was a registered sex offender, and he’d been charged with possession of child pornography twice. He was a terrible man. Andy couldn’t lie – as he sat in the car, waiting, he thought about you. He knew there was a possibility that this guy could have been responsible for multiple kidnappings like yours, but never did he think you were just inside the house.

           “This guy is fuckin’ sick,” his co-worker said, shining a flashlight into the house.

           “Yeah,” Andy said absentmindedly. “I’ll go look for anything that might be violating parole. You just check over the house and make sure our guy’s not hiding before we send more units out to look. The last thing we want to do is spook him into running again.” His co-worker nodded, taking the three police officers that had broken down the door with her. Andy proceeded down to the man’s makeshift office, starting to look through papers for anything that might lead to a conviction. He must have been there for five or ten minutes before he got the call from his co-worker.

           “Andy, we need you to come down to the basement.” Andy cringed, hanging up the phone. He prepared himself to see a body, maybe more than one. He walked to the kitchen and down the stairs to where the flashlights were focused on something specific. You. Alive. It was obvious that it was you; you were his spitting image, right down to the pleading blue eyes. You were tied up on a cot by the far wall, your knees forced up to your chest and your arms tied around them. There was a cloth laying beside you and one in your mouth, keeping you from talking. Your voice was too hoarse to do anything anyway. Andy saw you and his heart started beating faster than it ever had before. He ran forward, pulling the cloth off of your mouth, and he kneeled in front of you. Your wrists were raw from being held together, blood covering the cloths you were tied up with.

           “Oh my God, Y/n, baby,” he said, touching the side of your face. You were so pale. You were so skinny, you always were, but your shirt that wasn’t yours hung off your chest. You barely reacted at first. Maybe you were dreaming. But when your dad started un-doing the ties that bound you, you started to realize. You were free. This was your dad that was here, and the cops, and people who couldn’t hurt you. Your dad brushed your greasy hair behind your ear and you could feel that he got the ties away from your wrists. You could move. You reached out toward his neck and even though you were too weak to hold on, he picked you up.

           “Dad,” you tried to say. You couldn’t speak. You could feel him say something about an ambulance as he carried you up the stairs. The open front door was the first sunlight you’d seen in two months. It hurt a little, but the heat felt good. You were so cold. Your father’s massive hand pulled your hair back and off of your face as he held you. He was still then, until more sirens rang in the air. You tried to grab onto him and hold him, but he did all of the work for you. You couldn’t imagine how you looked – a sixteen year-old girl being carried by your father because you couldn’t walk yourself. Or could you – you didn’t know. You didn’t know what you could do. You only knew that you were too weak to be considered human.

           “Hey, baby, they’re just gonna take you and check you over, alright? I’m gonna call Mom and Jake, let them know where we are, alright?” You nodded. “Okay. I won’t be far.” He wrestled his jacket from his arms and placed it around your shoulders, big enough to be a blanket on you, and he sat you down in the back of an open ambulance. He kept looking behind him even though he walked away, calling Laurie.

           “Andy? What’s up?” She asked him. She could hear that something was wrong.

           “I found her. In the raid. Y/n. She’s alive,” he said. “She’s alive.”

           “Oh, my God, is she okay?”

           “They’re checking her out right now. I don’t think I’ll be able to take her home right away, the police are gonna wanna talk to her before then. But she’s okay. I’m not leaving her.”

           “Okay. Tell her I love her.”

           “I will.” Andy hung up the phone and called Jacob, who answered right away, too. That was right – he had a free lunch period. “Jake. I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone yet, I don’t want news getting out yet.”

           “What?” Jacob asked.

           “I found your sister. She’s alive. I don’t know how bad she is yet but she’s alive.” Jacob didn’t know how to respond at first. He didn’t know what to say or think or do.

           “Will she be okay?”

           “Maybe not now, but she will be. I don’t want you to tell anybody, just, um, when you get home can you change her sheets for me? And put a load of her laundry in?”

           “Yeah, anything.”

           “Alright. I love you, Jake.”

           “I love you too, Dad.” Jacob hung up and Andy immediately turned back to you. The EMT’s were looking at your arms and your legs. That was the worst – the cuts because of the way you were tied up. There were no other signs of external torture except how tired you were, but when they asked if you’d been touched you nodded yes. Your dad walked back over to you, watching them.

           “I’m her father, how does she look?” He said. One of the EMT’s, a woman in her twenties or so, stood up and took him aside.

           “She looks alright on the outside. But she’s definitely malnourished, we’ll need to get her on some fluids in an IV. We found some signs of sexual assault that we want to check out at the hospital.”

           “Can I take her home tonight? She needs to be home, with her family.”

           “I think you should be able to. She could use some family right now. But who am I?” The woman left him to go to the front of the ambulance as they started to carry you onto the stretcher. Andy sent a text to his co-worker, explaining that he was going to be with you. He was Assistant District Attorney, but he was your father first. Especially now. He climbed into the ambulance right before they pulled away and shut the doors.

           “They’re just gonna give you an IV right now, okay?” Andy said when he saw that you were looking around, your eyes unable to focus on anything. He grabbed onto your violently shaking hand, steadying it. One of the people in the ambulance started giving you an IV, but you were so lethargic you didn’t even notice. You just curled up next to your father and let them prick your arm until they found a vein. You almost fell asleep, but not quite. When they got you to the hospital the IV was done and you could feel it taking effect. You felt better, your cheeks were returning to their normal color, and you felt like you had at least a little energy. You let them do whatever to you – you let them inspect you, head to toe, and you wore some clothes that had been donated so the police could take your clothes for evidence. You were good. And finally they told your dad he could take you home.

           “Are you hungry?” You tried to speak, but nothing came out. Your dad took that as a yes and got you some food, sitting in the parking lot so you could eat all you wanted, and after a full meal you were done. You felt like you were going to throw up because it was the fullest you’d been in two months, but you didn’t care. You were grateful for the food. And you were grateful for the way that your dad held your hand the whole drive home. You tried not to fall asleep – you wanted to see your mom, your brother, and you wanted to remember what it was like to exist.

           “We’re home, honey,” your dad said softly. “You think you can walk? You could a little earlier.” You nodded and swung your legs out of the door, your feet on the solid ground of the driveway for a minute. The house didn’t look different, but it felt different. Everything felt different. Your mom’s hug when she greeted you at the door felt different. Your little brother’s hug felt different. You wanted to accept it, but you felt the food swimming in your stomach and ran to the downstairs bathroom.

           You were fine, you insisted your mother as she walked into the door and rubbed your back. You were just overwhelmed, and even though you couldn’t say it, she saw it in your eyes. She helped you get up the stairs to your room, where Jacob had done your laundry so you had clean clothes and changed your sheets and un-made your bed for you. His room was right across the hall, your parents’ room right next door, and you felt safe enough there.

           “Do you want to sleep now? Or take a shower first?” You couldn’t really answer her, so you nodded your head at the latter. She brushed her hand through your hair before telling you everything was the way it had been before. Before. Before the absolute hell your life had become. Before you were abducted from a parking lot because it was the one time you left your car unlocked. Before you had died on the inside just to stay alive on the outside.

           “There’s my girl,” your dad said later as you walked down the stairs, dressed in an old t-shirt and your favorite sleep shorts, your hair so wet that it was dripping onto the hardwood floors. It was something they normally would have yelled at you for, but right now they didn’t care. You walked into the living room behind your dad to see that there were two cops and two men in suits, and you knew what they wanted to hear.

           “No,” you said. That was the first time you’d been able to speak, and you grabbed onto your dad’s hand and shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to talk about anything. You just wanted to exist.

           “I know, honey, but you need to. They need a statement. The sooner it is the better, alright?” He didn’t push you into the room, but you knew that he wouldn’t have let them in if he thought it could wait. So you sat down in the same armchair as your dad, leaning on him for support, and you started talking. You told the room full of men everything. Everything – even when you felt your dad shift uncomfortably. Even when you realized there was a video camera in there, recording everything that you’d been saying. You thought for a minute that Jacob and your mom were listening, but they were gone. You could tell because her car was gone from the driveway. It was getting dark outside, too, by the time you got up to the point where your dad had found you.

           “I’m sure she’s exhausted. So if you could save any questions for another time, that would be great,” your dad said to them when he saw your eyelids drooping. He was right – you were so tired. At least before you’d had a little bit of adrenaline inside of you. Now you had nothing. You were warm and safe in your home.

           Your dad eventually got the men to go away and leave you alone as long as you promised to come by the police station the next time you woke up. You slept for almost two full days, only waking up to go to the bathroom, take sips of water, or throw up. Someone was always with you, sitting in the armchair in the corner of your room or watching you from across the hall, so that you were never alone. Half the time they just couldn’t believe that you were back home. And they knew it was you, you knew it was you, but you also knew that you were different. You’d seen things and been through things that Andy had literal nightmares about.

           They used everything – the video of you at home talking, your clothes, the marks on your skin, the evidence they’d collected around you, to prove that this guy was a monster. He already was a monster, but that he’d kidnapped you from your car and intended to keep you. Your dad was on the case, on your side, doing everything in his power to make sure this guy never saw the light of day again. And then the day came that you were supposed to testify on the stand, just to get it to go to trial. You were one of three girls he’d kidnapped in the past, and your dad had them testify, too. But they were the hardest on you.

           Your dad had given you his pendant that morning, he one he always wore. Always. It was St. Christopher. You knew he was raised Catholic, but you’d never thought of it beyond that. But when you pulled it over your neck, you felt protected. Even through all of the questions that would haunt you for years and years to come.

           “How would you say your relationship was with your family before you left?” The other guy’s lawyer, a known shark, asked. You hated his choice of words.

           “I didn’t leave willingly.”

           “Answer the question, Miss Barber,” the judge said to you. You looked up at her and then back over at your dad, who was nodding.

           “Happy. But strained. My dad and I were really close. My brother and I fought sometimes and got along other times. But my mom and I almost never saw eye to eye, on anything.”

           “There are multiple records from fellow students at Archer of nights when you would engage in risky behavior at parties. Would you say that the relationship with your family led to your behavior on those nights?”

           “I’m bipolar,” you responded. “I wasn’t on the right medication and sometimes I just did stupid things.” You hated saying it out loud, but your dad had told you that you had to tell everything, answer all of their questions, and there was no possible way you could lose.

           “Your medical records show that you were on multiple controlled substances for your bipolar disorder, all of which you had taken on the day you disappeared.”

           “Yeah.”

           “The same ones that influenced your behavior on those nights. You were on that specific set of medication for six months.”

           “Are you saying that you think my medicine and my relationship with my family made me voluntarily go with that man?” You asked. You could tell that was what the lawyer was getting at, even if he wasn’t saying it directly.

           “Why, was that a possibility?”

           “No. I got in my car that I’d left unlocked and some guy grabbed me out of it. If I went voluntarily, I wouldn’t have left my car and my phone like that.”

           “Miss Barber, we’re not asking you to explain the evidence. This is a question for you to answer.” You looked at your dad when the judge spoke.

           “No. I didn’t want to leave my family. My medicine wouldn’t make me do that.” Your eyes teared up just at that statement. They kept asking questions, some of which were to your advantage. But they were making it seem like you wanted to leave and eventually that was what broke you down. You shook your head, drying tears as you looked around the room and saw almost nobody on your side.

           “We’ll reconvene in half an hour,” the judge finally said when you were fully crying. You stood up and your dad walked over to you, pulling you into a hug, as the rest of your family walked over to you.

           “Come on,” your dad said. He led you into the room you’d been in earlier, a meeting room, where your lawyer was standing.

           “Why are they trying to make it look like I left?” You asked. “Why are they trying to make it seem like it’s my fault?”

           “Sweetie, that’s just their angle,” your dad explained. “It’s the only thing that they could dig up. They’re just trying to deflect.”

           “They’re making me look crazy. You told me to tell them everything,” you told him, crossing your arms over your chest. Your brother was holding a bottle of water and handed it to you, looking over at you.

           “You don’t look crazy,” he said quietly. “You look like someone hurt you.”

           “Thank you,” you said.

           “They’re going to put your family on the stand, most likely. And then this will all go away when they confirm that you aren’t crazy,” the lawyer said. You sat down in one of the big chairs, pulling your feet up to your chest, and tried to calm down.

           “I didn’t run away,” you insisted to your father as he sat down beside you. “I wouldn’t. I told them that.”

           “Everything’s gonna be okay, babe. I promise. If they try to fight with us, we’ll just fight back twice as hard. I need you to believe me when I say that this guy is going to go away. Whether it’s because of what he did to you or someone else, he’s going away. And he’s never gonna be able to hurt you again.” You nodded, doing your best to believe him.

           “We got your back,” Jacob put in.

            “If I could trade places with you, I would. In an instant. But I can’t. And I need you to be the strong girl I know you are.” You looked at your dad again, seeing nothing but pride on his face. Your mom just smiled at you – you’d been getting along so much better now that you were having to talk things through.

           You went back out there, sitting up tall, and answered every question they asked you. They tried to fight you, but you didn’t back down. You weren’t going to. And the jury decided to indict the guy who did it. The trial was set for six months ahead, and even though it was a long time, there wasn’t a day your dad wasn’t trying to figure out how to make sure this guy pay for what he did.

A/N: This has to be one of my favorite requests yet! I loved writing this so I hope you like it too! 

[batfamscreaming]

 Dick’s first day of school snuck up on them.

 Bruce drove him down in a rusty small blue honda civic from the 1990s. They’d picked it up off the lot for under 3,000 and were using it as a way to ferry themselves to the junkyard to pick up parts for their      special    car--but for now, they were using it to drop Dick off at school.

 Drop Richard Malone off at school.

On paper, Alfred paid for Dick to attend Gotham academy. A private school. It had both boarders and day students. Dick would be a day student, so long as it was feasible. 

...on the first day of school, Bruce drove Dick down to his alma mater (which translated to ‘place you never wanted to visit again,’) and dropped him off outside the gates.  

“Want me to walk you in, Chum?” he asked, despite it not being any  Malone’s alma mater yet, and Dick glanced back at him and shook his head sharply, mumbling a quiet “see you later,” before going off towards the gates. 

Bruce turned to drive home and realized, belatedly, that Dick had never  not been homeschooled. 

He waited for afternoon to pick Dick up again, and resolved to remember to pick up milkshakes on the way back, so he can ask how the day was with a backup plan. 

--

“It is not the right time of year to prune,” Alfred told him. It was far too close to school starting. Far too close to fall. “But, I suppose, it isn’t  impossible . It will just be a good bit trickier to know which branches need it.”

Bruce obligingly bought a new plant from a chain store--a nursery would’ve properly pruned it weeks ago, but chain stores didn’t have that same attention. Alfred brought it home in a little green planter: a tiny bush cut into a lopsided circle.

“This isn’t, in fact, how to do it,” Alfred said, setting it beside Bruce on the patio table. “Can you tell me why?” 

“..it doesn’t target the dead branches,” Bruce said, and Alfred gave a nod. 

“It’s indiscriminate. And  quite sloppy.” 

He handed Bruce a pair of pruning shears. 

“With it cut like this, it’s a little difficult to find the dead branches, but you’ll manage.”

...after a moment, Bruce shoved his hand inside the bush and just… gripped one of the little branches that didn’t have any leaves on it between his fingers. He glanced at Alfred, who nodded obligingly and gave a smile that felt far too much like it was meant for a child. 

“How far back do I cut?” 

“As far back as you can.” 

Bruce nodded and pushed the shears in. And snipped.

The metahuman had power over plants, the paper the day before had said. She argued she’d been acting in self-defense. Her children were crying out for help. And so she helped.

(“‘ I is hearing the scream of a flower as its stem is twisted from the ground,’”  Dick read aloud by Bruce’s bedside, trying to work through the recommended reading list for his level. One year behind his age level wasn’t bad for three years on the road, but it was a lot to catch up on all the same. “‘  I is hearing the soft moan of the old oak, like an old man dying, weeping, when it is felled.’ ”)

As the state of New Jersey did not recognize plants as people or her as the property owner, her appeal was denied. She would spend several years above minimum in Belle Reve for aggravated assault.

(even though the one she assaulted wasn’t there. Bruce hadn’t stepped into court. Bruce hadn’t said a thing. There was one phone call, and a woman, naked, trapped outside on a Gotham street, and then  five other people stepped forward, claiming to be someone she’d attacked. 

And he didn’t know what to think about that. If what everyone said was true was true, or if it was just falling into the fallacy of mob mentality. If it was easier to accept what was said as true. Even if he'd seen the violence first hand, it was  him  being attacked, that was  different--)

He kept his mouth shut, and reached for the next dead branch, and clipped. 

“...and how would I trim something that’s not dead, but it might… be overgrown? Or the wrong height?” 

“Hmm,” Alfred said, still watching him. “Well, first we will need to get you a proper ladder.”

Justly imprisoned or not, the metahuman--a former botanist called Pamela Isley--would be in Belle Reve for several years. 

Maybe he could change something in this town while she was gone.

Therefore, Mr. Malone came to the Gotham Parks and Recreation office, asking if when he got this 501c3 approved that he be allowed to enter Robinson Park and clean up the place.

And the budget-starved Parks office said  fuckin’ do it if you’re brave enough, man , and sent him on his way. 

It was… much easier than he expected, really. But perhaps the Parks department carried so little influence no one had even bothered to bribe them to keep people out. All the same, he’d listen to that backwards warning. 

He drafted the papers in two days. He worked over it at dinner, trying to fill the gap that had once been occupied by discussing with Dick where to travel next and how to best avoid a million impending dooms. He had a free consultation with an attorney in the morning who looked up at Bruce over his glasses, eyebrows up, and reminded Bruce that the park was where mob deals went down and that grassy lady attacked a fella the other day. 

Bruce said that was fine. He knew. He wasn’t here to cause a ruckus.

Legal documents. Articles of Affiliation. Mission Statement. It was helpful to have a second pair of eyes that actually expected the little bureaucracies innate in law, things that Dick and Alfred preferred to grumble at rather than knot through. Not that Bruce had been trained in law himself, but his school friend, Harvey Dent--

(was still in the hospital. Burn ward. He’d stabilized, but wasn’t often conscious--)

...Bruce submitted the paperwork after the Parks commission met with him, and then all he had to do was draw up a budget and wait. Alfred ‘lent’ Mr. Malone the startup money to establish a paper trail. After the initial donation, Bruce could make periodic donations to himself in various names; have miraculous windfalls whenever cash grew thin. Even without any backing or campaigns, he could make this startup impossible to fail.

--

...the problem is, Bruce has long proven his judgement is impaired.

When Dick returns from school not sniffling but  vibrating with stress all the same, Bruce’s first thought is to run and start over somewhere else. 

He thinks it might be an averted suicide response. The need to pack up and leave the current problems behind. With a hardline against being able to die, his mind latches onto another option. A fight-or-flight response that only hits  flight when the problem isn’t something that can’t be physically fought off, like a tween coming into the car and sitting down in the passenger seat with a deep sigh. 

...Bruce asks how his day was. 

Dick says it was fine. 

Bruce doesn’t ask if he wants a milkshake. He goes through the drive-through and buys some anyway. They go home and work how to install tail fins on the car frame slowly coming together in their garage.

--

...the ‘suicide’ response isn’t the only thing that lingers. Bruce isn’t really sure ‘lingering’ is the right term, actually. The flight response only arises when things can’t be handled directly in front of himself anymore, but the fight response--

Bruce has impaired judgment. 

He proved it as soon as his first ‘suicide’ response sent him to the League of Assassins, and he decided to not flee the moment they made it clear nothing would continue until he took a life. He proved it when he wasn’t able to avoid dragging a literal child in the middle of a personal crisis into his mess, rather than leaving him somewhere safe and far, far away from him. He proved it with each near-death experience from Deathstroke in Metropolis to Isley in Gotham. 

And yet, here he was again, finding himself cleaning up the Batman suit long after Dick was put to bed, adjusting it with better material to withstand a bullet’s penetration. 

The people at the parks department weren’t wrong. It would be dangerous to work the area while the mob still operated widely inside it, and he would not cooperate alongside the mobs for protection. The alternative was therefore relatively obvious: get rid of the mobs. 

Mobs weren’t  exactly like a snake, but they did function well enough like one. Cut off the head. And like a hydra, if new heads sprouted--smother them. 

...that, at least, he knew how to do. Kidnapping and recon, and finding information. Find proof of a mob boss’ wrongdoing and get a prosecutor not so cowardly to be bribed. Hand the information over. Don’t let them fail the charges. High profile dangerous people wouldn’t be kept in a local jail, but would likely be transferred to a higher-security prison, circumnavigating the cluttering, and with a focus on high-priority prisoners rather than most random people out on the street, they would be moved through the system more quickly, hopefully at least stalling out their operations in the meantime, if not shattering the whole system beneath them with the sudden departure. 

This was the best plan he had, and it relied far, far too much on too many external variables--finding a clean court, getting a jury that felt safe enough to actually put their foot down, finding witnesses willing to testify, a prosecutor who wouldn't be bribed--

(fuck) 

--and dealing with a Commissioner whose good graces he might’ve worn out. 

…

But the alternatives were to allow this to continue growing, complicit by his own inaction. 

(he was already complicit enough in too many crimes.)

(How did you clean up a world that you yourself aided in the destruction of?)

--

Prosecutors that couldn't be bribed?

They ended up like Harvey Dent. 

--

Batman appears without Robin that evening, because it is a school night and Dick needs to sleep. He stops what crimes in progress he comes across and starts watching Robinson Park more closely. 

He doesn't interfere inside it. He just watches. Plants cameras in the bushes and on the branches of trees, and zips his way out, to watch the footage and get to know the day and nighttime patterns of the area. 

It… will take time. That's something he's not used to. Dick and he worked fast on the road, and even before that he was either handed his information by the ones lower down the chain or only spent a handful of days doing legwork to verify things that'd been missed. Instant gratification, he guessed he could call it. Just… dealing out a death and being done with it. 

(And somehow, he'd drawn the line at known violent mobsters and Deathstroke.)

...he had to do a  lot of meditation to get through the park video feeds. He had a lot of work stacking up between tracking down faces from the feeds. Police database of mugshots helped more than he expected. He started a tally of how many people in the mugshots were brought in bloodied and who brought them in to look into later. 

After all, if Gotham was going to get rid of its mob problem, the police force would need some pruning, too. 

--

Gotham recidivism was above 80%. Bruce gargled his coffee and tried very hard to not spit it out somewhere, because somehow, he was more tired by this statistic than shocked. A bit of, ‘oh, I knew it would be high, but  really?’

No fucking wonder there weren’t enough cells in the world. 

(What do you do when you can’t put anymore garbage in a landfill?

Learning what a  fucking recycling program is might be a good first step.)

It's okay, though. He's totally got a handle on this. He's already been looking into what makes recidivism lower, and the difficulty of access to jobs for felons seems like a big one. Lack of change to living situations that caused pettier crimes like reselling material or shoplifting. The inside prison situation has an effect, according to Norway, which has a prison system Bruce isn't even hoping to replicate, even if he were a living millionaire with a clear conscience. 

Reading other people's’ writings on recidivism has… definitely helped clarify things for him, even if all he can think of for the worst of criminals is still to lock them in a cell far away from  everyone or until the death penalty finally takes it out of his hands. 

But it is one thing to lock up a murderer who sabotaged a family performance and killed in front of an audience, and children, and  child … versus locking up the child who killed trying to protect their family from an abusive partner. 

They’re different. They have to be. 

If Bruce has any right to be alive, he has to be able to believe in gray areas. 

--

Bruce drops the first of several Maroni forerunners on Gordon's desk in the northern precinct. When he finds the precinct desk vacant, he pays a visit to the commissioner’s house instead. 

The thought process is that it would probably be best to clarify that the dropoff isn’t an attack on the commissioner's authority. It’s an opening for compromise. Bruce will be mindful of the incarceration rates, but he won’t be leaving Gotham and he’d like cooperation from the police when it came to prosecution.

Unfortunately, he proposes it in the form of a paper note (written in his off-hand) slipped onto Gordon’s bedroom table where the man will notice it as soon as he returns for bed, which is much more threatening than he fully realizes.

(He doesn’t imagine Gordon’s daughter will find the note first and replace it just as she found it after reading. Then again, he doesn’t ever find out it happened, either.)

--

The county’s defense office wants to cut a plea deal with the gangster brought in, because no one wants to be the next Harvey Dent. The Assistant DA, a woman named Rachel Dawes, seems willing to try, but the department is extremely reluctant to support her, even as she steps up to take Dent’s place until another election can be held.

In the precinct, Bruce’s audiobugs catch officers he’s tracking placing bets on how long until someone finishes Dent off in his hospital bed.

Bruce decides he needs to be more aggressive.

-- 

Twenty-seven aggressive anonymous tipoffs and two synchronized FBI raids half a month later, and Bruce is startled when the door to his bedroom opens and Dick walks in. Bruce doesn't really jump in surprise anymore-- it’s more of… half reaching a position to fight, and stopping in a split second as he realizes the threat doesn't exist.

“Ah,” he says, “do you need--?”

“I was at school,” Dick says, answering the question in an odd way. He didn't need anything, he'd just come back from school--

Bruce’s neck snaps up to look at the clock, while the other part of his brain realizes that it’s nearly dark outside. 

“Did Alfred--” he says, a panicky shame he’s not used to rising up within him. 

“No,” Dick says, shrugging his backpack off and slumping onto bed. “When I realized you weren't coming I walked home.”

Bruce's throat feels tight. “You should've called.”

“Figured you were busy,” Dick says, watching the ceiling, “you've got more important stuff than school.”

Bruce remembers, the pain less raw with years, the slow agony of a school day, knowing there must be more he could do than sit through the farce. 

He remembers that agony of adolescent uselessness clearly, pain dulled or not, but he’s also wisened to its falsehood over the years. There was little he could manage at the time.

“...I’ll set an alarm next time, but school isn't unimportant,” he says, keeping calm and controlled for an extra moment, before doing a double-take on the thought he’d had just a moment before. 

Adolescence?!

--

School is over a month in. Dick’s anniversary is coming up soon. Bruce has gotten the Feds back in Gotham and an internal investigation into the police force for corruption. His nonprofit is finalizing some paperwork and looking into how to hire nonviolent offenders and start training them for small-time landscaping and cleanup by contracting with a local pre-established landscape crew that mostly does the outer and northern Gotham estates. Harvey Dent is conscious but minimally verbal in the hospital. And Dick is thirteen, officially a teenager. 

Bruce does not know how teenagers are different from younger children. He does not recall being any different than he is now at either age. Only morose haze interspersed by flashes of overwhelming tension and temper. 

Harvey once knew him at that age. Not that Bruce could talk to Harvey--not… as himself. The man Harvey knew was long, long dead, (or, it would be simpler if that man was dead, and Bruce as he was now was a new man entirely--) and it’s not as though Bruce could ask advice anyway. 

Still. Maybe he will send Harvey some flowers they’ve started in the backyard...

Once the Justice League gets out of his living room. 

Aside from Superman calling over the phone whenever he seems to please, once a month Martian Manhunter seems to show up, posing as just another social worker or lawyer or family friend, here to check in on how things are going with adoption, or the 501C3, or the… latest cookies out of the oven. 

And if it’s not Martian Manhunter helping Dick sneak cookies off the cooling rack, then it’s Wonder Woman, which is somehow even worse. 

There are not a lot of situations when Bruce would rather a mind reader with incredible telekinetic powers who could mentally and emotionally cripple him with a thought be in his presence, versus just a very strong lady who could rip him in two by breathing. 

Diana Prince has made that situation a monthly occurrence.

She came this time while they were in the garage, putting together a much-overdue car engine. Alfred had insisted on dinner before business. Diana Prince stands in his house for over an hour by the time the rope finally came out and they got down to business. It is an hour too long. Bruce doesn’t think he’s had more than a few words of conversation with her since they moved into Alfred’s townhouse late summer, but he has heard the same questions out of her mouth far too many times. 

“Have you been hurt lately?”

“No,” Dick says, because he only patrols on weekends, and Bruce makes sure he’s kept well away from anything that looks like it will have guns.

“Are you being treated well?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you happy?” 

“Y…”

...Bruce blinks for a second, before he realizes that Dick’s teeth are clenched tight and his face is turning faintly to another color. 

“Dick…?” Diana says, before Dick gives into the rope, and says the truth.

“No.” 

He’s not sure if anyone else can hear the air leave the room, but it does, and Bruce feels his lungs collapse in the vacuum left behind. His stomach shrivels into a ball. 

He wants to run from the room, but his feet are too heavy and slow to move, so he just crosses his arms even tighter, and digs his fingers into his ribs.

“...why is that?” Diana asks. She doesn’t even glance back at Bruce when she does it. She doesn’t even glance away in the first place, even as Dick is screwing his eyes shut. The color his face has settled on is red, and blotchy, and fast. 

Dick drops the rope from his hand and hiccups. 

Bruce can’t move to comfort him. 

...Diana looks between Dick, and the dropped rope, and pulls it back into the lasso loop. She stands. 

“...I’m going to head outside for a bit and give you two some privacy.” 

She turns and walks out to the garden, where Alfred is still watering the flowers. 

Dick hiccups again, and Bruce is a stranger in his own body as he sits on the floor cross legged, and pulls Dick into his arms. 

...he’s a lot bigger than he was when he was eight and curled into Bruce’s side, just minutes after his parents fell. Bruce puts his hand on the kid’s head, fingers running through the cropped dark hair. 

“...Dick?” Bruce says. “Dick?”

He doesn’t get a response. He sits there, uncomfortably rubbing Dick’s hair, until Diana returns some long minutes later, announcing it’s about time she headed out. 

“I’ll see you next month,” she says, mostly to Dick, who still hasn’t looked up. 

Even as Bruce wonders if it’s a threat, something in his chest loosens when Diana leaves and Dick stays behind. 

Eventually, they get up, and try to get ready for bed. 

—

Harvey Dent wakes up again.

The last thing he remembers is a gun being pulled on him; a court case that he  had to win, no matter what—

The nurses are alerted to his consciousness by the sound of his screaming. 

Bruce Malone has no reason to visit him. No clearance. No nothing. All he does is run a small nonprofit startup, currently sending out applications to the very criminals Harvey put behind bars. 

He doubts Batman would be welcome.

— 

Gotham elects temp-head Rachel Dawes to permanent DA to finish out Harvey’s term by seventeen votes. Bruce doesn’t rig the election, though he thinks of doing so. Instead, he spends the week beforehand trying to disrupt the bribery network connecting the ballot counters to the remaining mob and asking Robin to go make sure the paperless polls aren’t hacked the night before.

...Robin isn’t happy with Bruce going out on his own still. But they compromise, some. 

They send Harvey flowers.

They leave a note on Dawes’ desk. An offer, if she needs anything. They don’t want her to end up like her predecessor. 

—

In the morning, at the first hint of workable weather, Bruce has some on-parole inmates and recent-releases standing in the middle of the park, shivering, holding shovels and rakes. 

This is the first day they’ll be working together and training on the job. There will be a stipend associated with the work. Tools are provided. There’s just—they haven’t done this before. And neither has Bruce Malone, who failed to shake off his kid, Richard, who is sitting off on a picnic table not far away, arms wrapped around his snow pants and pouting furiously. 

...He stays quiet as Bruce starts showing the group what they’re supposed to be doing— first snipping the large bushes down to size, raking the sticks and leaves into piles, and then coming up the back with shovels to help define areas for mulch beds around the bushes. Generally they would not be pruning this early into fall, but… the bushes have to go. 

It’s step one (ignoring Bruce’s personal twenty-step plan midway through execution) to help keep the park safe and free-er of illegal activities: just being able to see into the damn park. 

Once they actually start working, Richard gets up from his perch and glumly takes a rake, helping follow along and pulling the old foliage and branches into a set of neat piles a couple feet out of the way. 

It would be one thing if Dick seemed to be having fun, but… he doesn’t really. He’s tolerant enough with the car (whose construction has largely stalled) but he’s never really had the kind of brain like Bruce’s which likes the simple, repetitive patterns of gardening, or kata, or math. 

(“I don’t  want to stay home,” Dick had said that morning. 

“Then wouldn’t going out with a friend be better?” Bruce said over breakfast. 

“I don’t  have any friends!”

Bruce did not respond to that, and had escorted Dick to the park.)

...they pack up in the later afternoon, when the sun is still high but before banks close-- Bruce gathering up all the direct deposit information for the ones who sound interested in coming back, and paying the rest with checks. Dick waits in the car.

When they drive back home, something big, and blue, and midwestern is already in their kitchen, and is talking to Alfred about pie crust technique. 

( Hell. )

Superman is wearing his full goddamn uniform as they enter. He turns and smiles when they come into the living room, raising up one big hand to greet them.

“Hey there! Decided I’d stop by.” 

“....You did,” Bruce agrees, while Dick seems to perk up, eyes widening at the very large and blue man leaning on the counter. 

Dick had  met Superman already. Spent a week at least on the same spaceship as him. Stared him down over Bruce’s unconscious body. Somehow, it wasn’t stopping him from having that bright excitement in his eyes, now. 

Maybe Superman was more exciting when he presumably wasn’t here to arrest anyone. 

Presumably. 

“Uh-huh,” said Superman. “And Mr. Pennyworth was telling me some about how things have been going for you here! Community service work. Sounds good.” 

Sounded  innocent was more like it. Sounded like prisoners in bright orange vests on the roadsides picking up litter for fifty cents an hour. Doing time, paying back society for all he’d done to it— yeah, he figured it would sound good to Superman. 

“It is,” said Bruce. 

Dick, maybe in a better mood now that they were out of the Gotham smog, saves him again. 

“Are you here for dinner?” Dick asked, not quite on his tiptoes—not on his tiptoes at all, actually. 

He’d grown again, Bruce realized. Now he stood almost to Bruce’s ribs, where once he’d had to stretch to reach. 

“No, I didn’t think I’d be  that  welcome,” Superman said, smiling sheepishly, and  good.  At least he  knew.  “I’m just the messenger this time. Because we  are going to have to start cashing in on that deal we made.”

For a moment, Bruce’s heart stills, and he feels Dick tense just a little bit beside him. 

(Is it wrong, for a moment, that he’s still glad that Dick tenses when they both know it won’t be him attacked?)

“Woah, woah, no scary faces—“ Bruce’s face had  not changed. “We just need your input. Information sharing, remember? Flash has had some weird things going on in his neighborhood and we thought maybe it’d be something you’d recognize.” 

...Right. 

Right. 

He was getting protection from This League in exchange for cooperation, not just his dignity. 

Before he could pull himself back into his body, Superman added, “and Robin too, of course.” 

“Robin doesn’t  need to—“ Bruce began. 

“—Robin would be  delighted ,” Dick said, raising his voice unnecessarily high and drowning out Bruce’s own. 

Bruce looked down at Dick, mouth flat. Dick stared back up at him, scowling and arms crossed. 

“You  hate busywork,” said Bruce. 

“It’ll be fine!” Said Superman,  suddenly in his face  , arms moving between him and Dick, pushing them apart, like they were  dangerous to each other— “Flash was just going to bring his kid, uh, flash along with him, and thought it would be good for them to meet. Should’ve led with that. Just, giving kids friends in their own age bracket.” 

Bruce had stood rock still, staring at the same spot Dick had been, now blocked by Superman’s arms. He did not look away. 

“Yes,” Bruce said. “You should’ve led with that.” 

—

...the next evening, his attempts at trimming his hair were interrupted by Alfred, who was quick to steal the scissors away and finish things himself. Soon, it was short enough he could slick it back for the first time in… a while. He pulled on one of his better dark turtlenecks. Business slacks. Dark shoes. Dark. Maybe too obviously a hide-away-in-the-background type dark. 

They met Flash… on the other side of a zeta beam. Bruce hadn’t ridden one since first being escorted from the Watchtower to Gotham. 

He hadn’t  forgotten how uncomfortable it was, but it was one thing to remember in the mind and another to be given a reminder in the body. 

Neither he nor Dick were in costume. There was no reason for Batman and Robin to suddenly be in Central. There would hopefully be no reason for anyone to suspect Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson to travel so far away from their little safe haven and attack.

Flash, however,  did have some things to protect still, and so he waited on the other side of the zeta with his bright red costume made darker in the night, and an unfortunately bright smudge of yellow standing beside him. 

“Hey, Bats,” Flash said, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you  nicely this time.” 

Bruce was really glad he hadn’t given in to breaking this guy’s legs. That would have made this reintroduction unbearably uncomfortable. As it was, he met the hand slowly, and enough of a sound for acknowledgement.

Flash didn’t say anything about it, turning instead to Dick. “And you! Also glad to see you’re doing fine; hooow’s the ankle. This is my sidekick, Kid Flash.”

There was no time to answer to the ankle before Flash had introduced and thumped the yellow teen him on the back, getting the very encouraging response, “I’m not a kid I’m a  teenager, ” which was too obvious to have needed pointing out, considering the cracks in his voice and the speckles acne surrounding his lips. “Don’t embarrass me!”

“I would  never do that.” 

(While Bruce remained cold in his skin despite the warm night, beside him, Dick let out a little bit of a laugh. Almost a few huffs of one, really. It was softening. It was enough to unfreeze Bruce some and get him going again.)

“You needed help with identification?” said Bruce, stepping forward to end the introductions. 

Flash’s expression changed back to serious in a… flash. At least he didn’t look disappointed. Or surprised. “Yeah. Follow me, there’s a place a little more private down the street.”

That place ended up being a deli bakery. One that had very much closed for the evening, and had shuttered its windows for good measure. This made very little difference to Flash, who pulled out a key from a very discreet pocket, and opened the staff door in the back. 

“They donate the day-old stuff to me,” Flash said, grinning, like that explained much at all. “Why don’t you kids go see if there’s anything set on top of the counters in the back?” 

The little yellow flash made a sound that wasn’t quite a whoop, but wasn’t quite quiet, either. 

And then the little hand reached out, grabbed Robin’s wrist, and pulled him through the door behind the counter.

“Woah, easy, chief.” 

Flash’s hand wasn’t touching Bruce, no, but it was  in front of him, ready to block and restrain in a movement as Bruce took a step forward to follow.

He turned to look at Flash, and met his same hard eyes looking back through Flash’s mask. 

“They’re just gonna look around and see if they can find some food. It’s fine.” 

Bruce  knew that was just what they were doing, of course. He just wanted to— check. Just to make sure. It was a closed up shop of people they didn’t know in a city that was too dark and empty at night, save for a few well-maintained streetlamps and a pair of teenage girls walking down the sidewalk to the seven-eleven, sticking close together in the Midwest fall—- 

“Let’s just get a seat and wait for them, and we can get started. How’s that?” 

Flash had removed his hand, and was gesturing now to one of the booth seats near the bar. Not by the windows. Maybe far enough from the windows that anyone who looked in and saw a book light on would just assume management was doing the books late.

(Bruce’s jaw was not  tight , it was just his teeth kept pressing down together. He sat down across from the seat Flash gestured to. It was better to get through work quickly, and head home.)

“Okay,” said Flash, suddenly in the booth with him. Bruce almost still felt the breeze of the movement as a book-clipped green folder was produced and laid out on the table. “So, this is a case that’s been going on a little while. Take your time and let me know what you think of it.” 

The file was pushed over to Bruce’s side of the table, and he took it quietly, removing the clip and flipping it open. 

He disregarded the notes and bios and instead turned first to the photos. 

...he did not  like  looking through other people’s photos. All he could think of was that he would have liked a  bit  closer look at the doorframe, or just a little bit out of angle, or frustration at someone’s focus being a little bit out. That was why you took  lots  of photos of course, but it was still a gnawing anxiety in him that they were going to just  miss something. All he had were his eyes through someone else’s lense and someone else’s word to take for it. 

Which he was very bad at liking. 

….but that was just what this was, he guessed. The case was from five years prior. A body of an older woman on the floor of an enclosed porch. Broken glass. Gunshot wound to the left shoulder, close enough to the heart she’d probably been dead within a minute or two, long before the first police officers had arrived. A bullet hole in the wall behind her. Fallen out of her chair. Glass window of the porch had shattered. A bullet had been extracted from the wall, looking like a .22– moderately furnished house with plastic sheeting over the couches. Wicker chairs. An expensive security system had captured what were rendered as stills of the moment the bullets entered the cameras view, and a man a minute or so later on the front door at the other side of the house, running inside, presumably to inspect.

There were other things. They seemed comfortably middle to upper-middle class, from the photos, and finally turning to look at the profiles confirmed it. 68. White. Retired with a moderate stipend. Married thirty years. No priors or connections that Bruce might consider linking to any of the people  he knew. Just things like public intoxication, driving violations, a few fines—

Her husband was found with her, and owned the same caliber gun that had broken the glass encasement, shot the woman, and knocked her out of her chair before lodging in the wall. He’d run in from across the street to investigate the gunshot, he said. He denied doing the deed, and circumstantial evidence was not enough to make a conviction on—

...Bruce flipped through the folder again, frowning. 

Flash, who had pulled out his phone, looked up. “Something?”

“...what is it you want me to say about this?” It was a neatly put together file. Very neatly. No real loose ends, if everything in it was true. What was he supposed to be catching, here?

“Just, I guess, your thoughts. Anything stand out?” He took the moment to arch his back and stretch his arms out a bit, one hand still holding the phone. Smiled a bit. Friendly. 

Bruce frowned while looking at Flash this time. 

“This is a test,” he stated, “and I doubt just to see if I’d throw out a name just to be ‘useful.’”

Flash blinked innocently at him, but he was still smiling. “I mean, haha, can’t blame us too much…? You found a  lot of trafficking chains, but, I mean—“

“The case has already been closed, and you’re certain of who did it,” said Bruce flatly. He flipped the folder shut and shoved it back across the table. “I’d rather see the scene myself, but if the numbers are right, the bullet hole is too steep an angle for a flat lawn if the husband shot from shoulder height. Someone half his height, or someone kneeling  or lying in the grass. He’s old enough to have trouble getting up from that position, much less from the edge of the yard, to run around to the front of the house and avoid grass stains from a new cut lawn. There’s not enough other information to know who might’ve had a motive to make it professional or not.” 

…

Flash blinked at him, leaning his elbows on the table to watch. He wasn’t smiling or laughing anymore. Good.

“Yeah,” Flash said. Moved the folder off the table, to the booth seat, out of view. “Some kids were playing with their new .22 in the yard across from the house and accidentally shot her through the window. They confessed a few months ago.”

It was a small enough crime that news wouldn’t have made it to Gotham. Or been widely publicized at all, if ‘kids’ meant they were  still minors. That would make them thirteen at most at the time of the shooting—

Bruce wasn’t sure if his throat was full of acid or metal as he said, “Is there anything else for me to look over?” 

Flash hesitated a moment (an eternity for him, surely) and said, “Well…”

Bruce stood and made a  straight fucking line to the door Dick had been pulled in and not yet emerged. Flash called out, “Hey—!”

….even as the hand fell on his shoulder and tried to pull him back, Bruce had frozen in the doorway. 

On the other side, he could only see a bit— the doorframe was too narrow and he dared not step closer—but he could see enough.

He’d wondered, a little bit, why Robin hadn’t emerged when he’d begun speaking. Surely he was loud enough to be heard from the back room. They were only meant to be separated minutes. Just a quick mission. Now, he could see, though—

Dick, sitting on an industrial chest freezer, his legs kicking, not near touching the floor. 

He was holding a popsicle. One of the fudge ones. Partly eaten and the top of the stick beginning to show, and Robin didn’t see how it was beginning to drip down over the crinkled plastic wrap, and would soon run over his fingers. 

He was busy, looking at Kid Fash. Kid Flash squatting on the floor with a creamsicle, holding it up to the color of his suit, and visibly whining with an orange tongue, a pouting face—

And Robin ignored his own melting ice cream to laugh.

...Flash’s hand tugged on his shoulder again, this time gentle enough that Bruce felt it. He turned with the pressure, and headed back for the booth. 

He sat down in it, across from Flash and his already-solved case folder. 

“...this was not for case files, was it,” Bruce said, staring at the table between them, feeling very stupid and small. 

“I mean,” Flash said, looking almost as embarrassed as Bruce was shamed. “...we did want to know. But… we thought maybe my uh, my cousin could use someone who could relate to him.” 

Ah yes. For  Kid Flash’s sake. For the boy who they’d never seen publicized before, who was complaining about his outfit color as if he hadn’t chosen it, who didn’t know that in Flash’s ‘occasional empty diner hideout’ he was allowed to run off and eat before being told. 

Not for the boy that for the past month Diana’s pitying face had hung over, the boy who had eagerly asked to Superman to stay for dinner, and who Martian Manhunter would deliver sleeves of choco cookies to, even though they had more than enough money to purchase a box for themselves.

...perhaps Bruce should be glad Flash wasn’t the best at lying. Perhaps Bruce was too used to looking for tells, and mistook super speed masking for the truth. 

“I see,” was all he said. 

When he’d been a child, there had been plenty of others who knew death, and who had never moved him an inch for all their crying. He’d done his best to make that untrue for Dick the past few years, and now they knew each other’s grief inside and out. 

Bruce did not know what else to do from there. 

It was grief all the way down. 

“He’ll need to learn how to counter people who might actually know how to fight speedsters,” he said, watching the table. “There’s pads in the basement, if he’d like to improve sparring with Dick sometimes.”

Flash blinked at him again. Flash sat up straighter, grinning. “Oh?”

“Oh,” Bruce agreed, looking up to scowl. “But for fuck’s sake, bring more than one casefile next time.”

—

On Robin’s anniversary, a gang fight breaks out in the Diamond District.

Something gone wrong. A shootout.

Bruce isn’t sure if it could’ve been called a shootout before the police arrive. By the end of the night, the building is on fire, and a gas vein has blown. Heavy smoke drifting down the street causes a panic, and then a stampede— 

He doesn’t want to let Robin out tonight. 

On the news, it looks like there are fights breaking out in the stampede. There are people lying down, specks of color on the ground as the helicopter news anchor tries to describe the scene. She’s pure professional. Cold eyes. Clear eyes.

The smoke momentarily engulfs the helicopter, and she begins crying. 

He does not want to let Robin out tonight.

He will deal with the outrage in the morning. 

—

(On Robin’s anniversary, Harvey Dent sees the fires and hears gunshots from his hospital room. He drags himself and his IV stand away from the bed, towards the window, and fumbles with the latch with ineffective hands. The nurses come with the heart monitor alert. When they sedate him, Harvey is still screaming “Burn it down, burn it down.” )

—

...as often as it happens, Bruce doesn’t think Gotham knows how to deal with tragedy. Wasn’t it common by now? Weren’t they used to it? But as much as the flags should’ve flown half mast and statues been erected, the world stood still— the next morning, school busses take the children to school, and their parents march out to work. 

Bruce has a distinct face, but with enough makeup and a red wig, he can seem to be a different person for a while. He can dress himself up as officer and with enough confidence and disdain walk right passed the caution tape and into the crime scene the next morning. 

Is it still accurate to call several city blocks a crime scene? Is it a crime scene at all? 

There’s caution tape around it. He knows what the words mean in his head. A shape, more than a real definition, with real letters attached— a block of space that has crumbled differently from the world around him. A depression of buildings, some with more tarps laid down than others. 

Most of the bodies have been taken to the morgue by now. Not all of them. But most. 

Is he going to sneak into the morgue tonight? Is he going to cut open an innocent person who gave no consent to him? To do more than what their family may have agreed to? Will he just steal the coroner’s report and assume they did their jobs properly? 

….it is Gotham. He will assume nothing until proven otherwise. Even now it feels like the police are more rattled than usual, like something has actually gone and bitten them and made them pay a bit more attention.

Inside the building where the shootout started, he starts to look for the bullet holes and take pictures. He looks for scorch marks to track towards the origins of the blaze. 

He doesn’t find a blown gas vein, no matter how hard he looks. 

There was a difference between a storage building and a warehouse. This was a storage building. It had perhaps had a secretary and some organizers. Someone in charge of keeping track of records. There had been unused parts of the building. Bare rooms without much beyond stripped light switches and unpainted walls. One or two empty office spaces, for meetings perhaps. For presentations. 

It was on the second floor where he found the lab. What appeared to be the remains of a lab, in any case. It had been shot up through the floors, and the papers had burnt up in the fire. Police hadn’t officially come up this high yet. The stairs didn’t seem stable. Bruce had not specifically used the stairs. As long as no one saw him slip back down, it would be fine. 

It seemed as if the lab had not been in use at the time of the shootout. Fortunate. The beakers were broken, but they were all clustered together near the sink, clean, and so presumably had all been put away after any use. There was nothing sitting out that seemed to have been mid-use. He would’ve believed a Bunsen burner might’ve started part of the fire, but there was none of that, either. 

...there  was one thing. A broken tankard in the corner that had caused most of the damage, to be certain. A high caliber round seemed to have punctured it, either from the floor below or fired from the hall outside. Otherwise, there would’ve been another body up here, or at least the remnants of one. But the sudden decompression seemed to have mostly left just… a badly scattered room and shrapnel damage on the opposing wall. 

He was about to move to the next room when he noticed the faint texture inside the tank and a matching sort of stain on the ceiling above. 

...he moved closer to the tank, holding his breath and not daring to hope (should he be  hoping  for something?) and investigated. 

A thin layer of green-ish white powder layered the insides of the tankard. An explosive cloud of the stuff must have also flown towards the ceiling and stained it during decompression. He’d assumed it was an oxygen tank. Assumed wrong. 

Taking out a few q-tips, he picked up a few wipes and sealed them away in an evidence bag, did another once-over of the room, now trying to double check everything and ignore his ‘assumptions’, but the burnt papers remained largely illegible, and the cleaned lab materials yielded nothing new. 

He moved on to the next room, and slipped out quietly from there to check the rest of the street. 

—

He arrived back home in different clothes just about the time that Dick (picked up by Alfred) returned home from school. 

The kid looks at Bruce as Bruce enters the front room, and a silent but perceptible drone passes between them. 

For a moment, Bruce simply looked back, wondering what it was he was supposed to say here. 

Eventually, he fumbles in his pockets and pulled out dust-covered q-tips. They’d done this lots of times on the road, hadn’t they? And it had been fun, then. “Want to help identify oddly colored dust?” 

Dick lets his head drop back with an open-mouthed groan at the ceiling, but he does come to the garage lab without… any other response than that sound and movement.

...Bruce was not sure what that meant. 

—

Who the  fuck was rigging exploding nitrous oxide cans to deliver green-dyed powdered LSD?

—

Monday, at the park, he tells the ones who show up they can stay and work in the park as they’ve been doing the last two weeks, or they can come with him to help clean up the areas damaged by the fire.  

Most of them, eight out of the ten, peel off to go help with the fire damage. He can’t say he expected that. But they wander out of the park, keeping together in a group, and spend the day with magnet sticks picking up nails and crooked metal and stacking bricks up out of the walkway. They hose down the ashes to stop dust and at Bruce’s insistence, scoop the ashes into garbage bags instead of just washing it all into the sewer. 

It gets him some weird looks, but no one is ready to argue with him after only working for two weeks, because these are the ones who  stayed  for that daily stipend-- there’s not a contract here; these ten are the ones who hate this work less than anything else they might’ve had available, so they break out two flat shovels and bag things up, wearing cotton masks to avoid inhalation. Bruce trots back to the park to get the truck and pick up all those bags for disposal.

He’s prepared for the ones they left behind to have skipped out early, unsupervised, but as he rounds the (now lower) hedges to look at their base of operations he finds… they actually have acquired an extra person. 

No, the shovels aren’t moving and the hedges don’t look that different from what they’d been like this morning, but that’s still not  abandoning a position. And instead they have some soda cans from the nearby vending machine, and are leaning on a termite-eaten picnic table, talking with rapt interest to Dick Grayson. 

Bruce paused to take it in a second time. Dick certainly clocked him coming into view even though the kid didn’t turn to look his direction. Dick was still there, though, sitting on the other side of the picnic table with a fizzy orange juice and his legs crossed under himself. It wasn’t Bruce’s day to pick him up, Bruce was certain, and yet he had a moment where he had to think of it again to make sure, and checked his phone, and his pocket schedule. But his instinct was right, and it was indeed Alfred’s day to pick Dick up from school while Bruce worked here in the park--

He started to walk over just as Dick turned and raised a hand in greeting, letting the recruits cue into his presence before he was close enough to startle them. And yet, they were still startled enough to look at their shovels and very obviously say “shit,” even when Bruce was still too far away to actually hear it. Then, one seemed to realize they had cursed in front of a tween, said “shit” again, and smacked themselves on the forehead.

Dick’s nose wrinkled up as he smiled. Bruce couldn’t hear it, but he knew it was a laughter snort. 

(He did not acknowledge his jaw untensing as he walked up to Dick who was smiling and sociable again.) 

He came over intending to smile and say words and have a nice conversation, and… then he was close enough and realized he didn’t know what to say. Did he tell them not to corrupt Dick? Would they take that as him implying they were poisonous to others? Would Dick take that as him being protective and spoil the mild good mood? If he told them to take the rest of the day off since clearly things weren’t going to happen, was that dismissal? Or was that chasing them off? Would it be a threat to their paycheck, even though he intended to pay the day’s wages fair as always?

Things seemed to be going almost well lately. The park was slowly being cleaned and Dick was in better spirits than he’d been for two days since the anniversary--

“Oh, he stalled out, don’t worry about it.” 

It is not  embarrassment, but Bruce does snap out of his train of thought and back into the present. “Sorry,” he says, and looks to the two grown men in their baggy jackets and laced up work boots and secondhand hats. “We’re just finishing cleaning up some of the ash. If you come help move the last bit, we’ll all call it a day.”

As they got up and started shuffling away from the picnic table, Bruce did glance at Dick, and after a moment of still confusion, say, “Coming?” 

...the expression Dick gives him was not a smile. But he did come. 

-- 

They throw the garbage bags in the back of the trunk, and pack it largely to the brim. Surreptitiously, before Dick can climb into the passenger seat, Bruce digs out a simple dust mask and hands it to him. With barely a second look, Dick puts it on and rolls down the window before settling in. It’s smooth, and no one asks questions or looks much askance, because he and Dick are good by now at not announcing  something is happening that is different than normal to the world at large. 

(And Dick has become very good at seeing through that with Bruce, but Bruce is… starting to wonder if perhaps, he has taught Dick too well to hide anything that would draw attention that something was wrong. Like a wounded animal could run on a broken leg, or a predator bleed from the mouth, and neither would ever make a peep.)

They drove the bags of ashes home to hide behind the house’s perimeter walls, and Bruce tried to explain. The dust, and the huge plume of heat and smoke that could’ve blown even heavy particles down the street, and the sort of cues that psychedelics took from the state you were in. How most people probably wouldn’t exactly get a good trip, surrounded by gunfire and smoke. And maybe there was something else he missed, in the ash, unsafe for casual disposal, how he wasn’t  certain he hadn’t missed something--

Dick laid his head back on the car seat, sighing through his mask, and Bruce stopped his mumbling.

Glanced over. 

“...maybe I can… arrange for Flash to take a look, if you want to come along,” he offered as they pulled onto their street.

Dick sat up a little straighter, a little light in his eyes.

--

...he wondered, maybe unkindly (but mostly tiredly), if Dick would rather move in with the Flash and his sidekick. He didn’t have any real evidence for this. Kids did tend to be fairly excited to see friends around their own age, and just because someone might enjoy a trip to a festival didn’t mean they wanted to live in one.

...yet, Dick probably would’ve been quite happy, adopted into a renaissance fair circuit.

Maybe it wasn’t that Dick needed more friends. Maybe the issue was Bruce.

But it’s too late to change that now, isn’t it? Dick drew his line in the sand in front of the Justice League, and Bruce had given him too many secrets to have to keep, and there was nowhere else to go. 

—

Bruce goes to Gotham Academy early. Very early. Two hours before pickup is meant to be.

Dick has gotten into a fight. 

The parents of the other kid are already there when Bruce arrives and is shown to the principal’s office (it is in the same place it has been since Bruce went here) and ushered inside to the sound of anger and snapping threats. 

The office is wood, with a centered carpet and a large mahogany desk at the center, and surrounded by three adults and two children, one of them his. 

Dick doesn’t have a scratch on him, unless you count a faint bruise starting to show on his knuckles. The other boy, who is bigger and taller in every way, has a tissue up to his nose and an ice pack on his ear, and is simultaneously shielded and towered over by his two parents, neither of whom have stopped arguing with the principal since Bruce arrived. 

He barely gets a chance to get to Dick’s chair by the wall when he is also pulled into the argument by a “Is  this little heathen yours, Mister Malone?” from the mother. 

Things are not going to improve from there, he’s pretty sure.

“What’s going on?” he asks the principal instead, who is a balding white man with age spots on his face and horn-rimmed glasses on his nose. 

“ Master Richard here has assaulted Master Reynolds--” the principal begins.

“--and we will be pressing charges if adequate disciplinary action is not taken,” says the father.

“But what actually happened,” Bruce says, and somehow the noise gets louder in the room. Not the physical noise of three or four people talking at once, but also the hot dissent from Dick in his corner, the hidden bloodied fear of the boy he attacked, the principal patting the desk with his hands over and over, trying to call attention back to himself. Fluorescent lights bright as static. Itchy polyester fake turkish carpets even though his shoes. The room is small and red-orange with wood stained to look like cherry, yellow copper accents on the studs of cushions and trophies and the frames of portraits and certificates hung on the clustered walls--

Dick is suspended three weeks. 

--

Dick is curled in the front seat of the car, furious that Bruce didn’t defend him enough and fight back, and get his sentence reduced or vetoed entirely. His body is balled up tight enough he’s no bigger than he was at eight, curled around the seatbelt in a haze of fury. 

“He was  picking on people  ,” Dick says in a way Bruce knows means Dick had seen it before, but this time it had crossed a line. “  He should be suspended.”

‘He’ is getting two stitches and a formal apology written (ostensibly) by Dick. Dick will not be the one writing it, even if it’s his name at the bottom. ‘He’ will be in school, not in trouble for bullying but now with free reign to his targets without Dick to stand in the way. If Dick was even in the way before at all. If being in the way without being physical meant anything in this case. 

“You’ll just have to be more subtle about it,” Bruce says, trying to be encouraging. Because Dick didn’t do anything  wrong to step in. Maybe it didn’t deserve a bloody nose, maybe it could’ve been handled some other way, but he still hasn’t been able to wrangle the exact story out of anyone but he is certain that--

Dick goes “RRR” and kicks the windshield hard enough that Bruce startles and slams on the breaks. 

Their seatbelts jerk tight and a car horn behind them blares. 

...there is the faintest tap on their bumper, but Bruce is already speeding the car forward again, heart pounding too hard to stop. 

There’s not even a scratch when they get out at their house later.

--

He goes to Dick’s bedside in the evening. Dick’s lying on top of his covers with the lights turned off in a darkening room, staring at the wall opposite the door. There was music playing before, but the CD player turned off as soon as Bruce turned the door handle. 

He sits by Dick’s bedside and asks if he’d like to go out for the evening. 

Dick agrees, but there isn’t much laughter that night, except the sort Robin scares people with.

The mood is still there the next morning.

--

It is Superman’s turn to check in. Apparently. 

The visit is unscheduled (and probably because of  Dick’s suspension) and today involves casserole, which Bruce is primed automatically to dislike. 

"Yes?" Bruce says upon seeing big blue and buoyant in their kitchen, hovering over the kitchen island with a glass dish covered in aluminium and Alfred looking over a handwritten paper beside him. 

"Oh, hey, good morning there," Superman says, as if he's surprised to see Bruce here when there was no other person for him to be there to  see . "I was just dropping off the casserole recipe Alfred wanted to try."

…one of the only people for him to be here to see. But Bruce still doubted a casserole was a real reason for a whole visit. So Bruce tries again. "Did you need something?"

Alfred looks up from the paper with a frown and without a word starts shooing them out of the cooking space if they're going to be talking business. "I dunno. Was there something you needed to talk about?" 

They make it to the couches of the living room, though neither of them sit down. 

"No," says Bruce.

"Alright then," says Superman, who Bruce is learning is an asshole. "I heard some stuff happened with Dick at school?"

Which is entirely unsubtle and a very clear sign that Superman is not leaving until Bruce asks  some  sort of question or resolves whatever this is. 

So fine. Bruce hasn't even had some fucking coffee yet. He'll ask a question. "What would you do if your child, who is aware that at nightime they can go out and punch abusers and rapists, during the daytime attempted to defend an underclassman, and as a result are threatened with criminal action or suspension while you are trying to lie low and causing a big fuss about it and fighting the decision will do the exact opposite of laying low, severely limiting their freedom regardless of if we win."

Like a coward, Superman's expression says he had been thinking of Dick as a kid who was not  Dick , and sheepishly says, "I guess, what would your parents do?"

Bruce thinks he feels it this time. The expression on his face turning colder. He feels it the same way Dick can always see the change. "I wouldn't know that, now, would I?"

...this was why he left in the first place, wasn't it. This eternal loop of days upon days surrounded by people who just  forgot or never could let him forget. It's been easier as an adult, almost-- it's normal now for people's parents to be dead. It's normal to not have people ask after them like limbs they can't see have detached. Even if Superman doesn't know his old name, doesn't know that stupid story about a boy billionaire and his rich family, its jarring to realize that even the most alien being on earth just assumes--

--well, of course. He would know  all  humans have parents. 

But the bite in Bruce's voice is cold enough, and the way Alfred's slight shuffling in the kitchen goes quiet, it's enough to get through apparently-- Superman's head is ducked down embarrassed and he says, "right, sorry," because perhaps Bruce returning to Gotham to the fucking Wayne Butler's House should've been enough reason to realize he didn't have any family left of his own. "The person who raised you…"

"Nothing they said," Bruce interrupts, "has ever done anything about this."

…

Maybe he's angry. He hasn't had any coffee yet. But he turns to end this conversation and walk out to the garden, and hears Alfred's sigh from the kitchen. 

But he's telling the truth. 

Even if Alfred had found something new to say in the years since Bruce tried to bite his therapist's face off, if he's tried to say it to Dick, it clearly hasn't been working. 

--

There is a thing like a piston beating up against his head. A hammering rhythmically at the front of his skull. One thing, then another, then another, then another, and when he wakes up the next morning to one more ring there will still be all the ones behind him, echoing through the halls still unresolved. 

He wasn’t made to live like this. How was anyone made to live like this? One thing after another and another and when he wakes up in the morning there are still more banal, useless things to do in a world that eats up and eats up and eats up--

How does the grocery store clerk wake up each morning? How does she go to bed at night knowing the same thing will happen the next day, but worse, and more tired, and less pay, over and over, for eternity.