#or she doesn’t know and she thinks she’s gotten her powers back. but every time she uses them she forgets duke

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hold My Hand, Part 2

TFW 2.0 & Winchester!sister

Requested by @casmustdiee and Anonymous

Synopsis: Jack tries to get you used to being back in the bunker, but things keep going wrong.

Warnings: angst, some torture, continuity errors, only half proofread

A/N: guys I’m still alive!

“You want anything to eat?”

You had been slowly emerging more and more from within yourself after the boys had brought you back from Asmodeus. Still, you rejected Dean’s offer of food with a tiny shake of your head.

“I’ll take a sandwich,” Jack piped up, and Dean was about to tell him to make his own sandwich when Jack gave him a hard stare. Dean had no clue what the look meant, but given that Jack had been the one to get you out of your room and talking, Dean had no choice but to trust that the kid knew what he was doing around you. So Dean made the sandwich, and he watched as Jack cut it in half, eating one half before very deliberately pushing the plate away—towards you—as if he didn’t want it anymore.

Dean caught on right away.

“What, you’re just gonna let that go to waste?” Dean asked.

Jack shrugged. “You can have it.”

Dean shook his head. “Your taste in sandwiches is crap, you and Y/N are the only ones I know that actually consider peanut butter and banana a delicacy.”

“They’re great, right Y/N?” Jack asked, earning a nod from you.

“Whatever.” Dean through his hands up. “I’m gonna make me a real sandwich.” He purposefully turned his back to you, not wanting you to feel stared at.

“I’m gonna go find Sam,” Jack said. “He might need help with research.” He hopped off his chair and left the room, leaving you almost alone with your half a sandwich.

By the time Dean had finished making his food and turned around, Jack’s sandwich was completely gone, and you looked a little brighter than you had a minute ago.

…

It was Jack’s turn to need help adjusting, and you were there every step of the way—or at least you tried to be. It was hard, since you were also trying to make sure Sam was ok after Michael disappeared, taking Dean with him.

“I thought you were training with Bobby,” you said when Jack all but stumbled into the kitchen.

“I was,” he huffed. “I just…I can’t seem to get it right. It was all so much easier with my powers.” Jack shook his head. “I just feel useless.”

“I know what you mean.” You swallowed.

“What?” Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not useless.”

“Lately I am.” When Jack continued to stare at you with that questioning gaze, you seemed to freeze up, unable to finish your thought.

Jack stepped closer to you, taking your hand in his own and giving you a bright smile.

“You’re not useless,” he said again.

You seemed to draw strength from his hand in yours.

“Dean’s always been there for me,” you began. “Always. For anything I’ve ever needed. And now…now he’s being dragged around by some archangel, and I feel like I can’t do anything to help him.”

“It doesn’t just fall on you,” Jack said. “We’re all going to find him. I just know it.”

…

“He’s gonna be ok, right?”

Your brothers couldn’t even look at you as you watched Rowena pack up her bag. You’d finally gotten Dean back, only for it to seem like you were now losing Jack.

“There’s nothing I can do.” Rowena glanced at you for a second before turning away. “I’m sorry.”

“But—but we have to do something—“ you started to follow Rowena as she turned to the door, but Sam stepped in your way. “We can’t let Jack die!” You tried to move around Sam, but he grabbed hold of your arms.

“I’ll talk to Rowena. I think you should stay with Jack,” he said.

A fit of coughing from Jack caught your attention, and you relented, going quickly to his side.

“You’re gonna be ok,” you promised. “We’re gonna fix you.”

Jack smiled at you and squeezed your hand, but he didn’t speak.

Dean followed Sam outside, unable to bear the scene any longer.

…

They couldn’t get you to leave Jack’s side. He’d been dead for hours, but you still wouldn’t leave.

Dean had seen you like this before—you’d been the exact same way when you were only three years old, and Sam had died for the first time.

Sam had seen it too, only a few short years ago, when Dean had died. He’d had to all but drag you away from the body.

“Hey, kid,” Dean began. You didn’t even look at him. “Kid, maybe you should—“

“I’m not leaving him alone.” Your voice was firm, and Dean noticed that your grip on Jack’s cold hand tightened. “He doesn’t like to be alone. I’m not leaving him alone.”

“Sweetheart—“

“Why couldn’t I—“ your voice caught. “Why couldn’t I save him? He needed me, and I couldn’t save him.”

Dean swallowed. “You…we did the best we could, kid.”

“But it wasn’t enough!” You finally tore your gaze away from your dead friend, and Dean’s heart broke all over again at the look in your eyes. “Jack saved me, and I let him die.”

“Hey.” Dean shook his head. “This is not your—“

“Dean.” Cas stepped into the room. “Sam just left. I don’t know why, but—“

“What?” Dean jumped to his feet. “We need to find him.”

He left with Cas on his heels. You could hear Dean arguing with him the whole way out of the bunker, but you still didn’t move.

“Jack—“ you took a deep breath, squeezing Jack’s hand and wishing he would squeeze back. “Jack, I just…I miss you. And I’m so sorry, and…and I just want you to come back, ok?

“I just want you to come back.”

…

You got your wish, even if it wasn’t in the way you expected. Jack was back, but he didn’t dare use his power at the risk of losing his soul.

You didn’t care. Power or no, Jack was your best friend. But things never stayed good for long. You guys still had to fight Michael.

And it wasn’t looking good.

“If I just had my powers, I could beat him. If I could use them—“

“Jack, if you use them you lose your soul.” You shook your head. “I just got you back. And I’ve seen what losing a soul does to people. I can’t go through that again. We don’t need you to fight all our battles, Jack.” You reached out and grabbed his hand. “We’re just glad you’re here with us again.”

Jack squeezed your hand, a fleeting smile crossing his face.

“Me too.”

…

“When I gave up Dean, you didn’t think to question why?”

Jack’s hand was firmly in yours, as if he knew your intentions. You’d just watched Dean go from your big brother back into the archangel that was stealing his body, and Jack knew you wouldn’t take it well. He was right. All you wanted to do was go to him, to shake him around until Dean came back, but Jack wouldn’t let go of your arm.

Michael and Sam were arguing, but Jack ignored them as he leaned forward and whispered in your ear.

“We’ll get Dean back,” he promised. “Just be patient.” Jack’s hand squeezed yours, and it felt like he was dragging you back down to earth and clearing your head from the clouds.

…

The fight was over quickly, although it left all of you bruised. But at least Michael was now in the angel cuffs and back in the bunker. He was surprisingly calm about being captured, but that didn’t keep him from threatening anyone near him.

It didn’t help that monsters would be banging down the door any minute, thanks to Michael’s control over them.

“I’ll watch him,” you told your brother. “You guys secure the bunker.”

“Be careful,” Sam said.

“With the chained up archangel?” You tried to look relaxed. “C’mon Sam, I’ve got the easy job here.”

It would’ve been easier if the archangel wasn’t wearing your brother.

…

“So they send their weakest link to watch the archangel.” Michael was doing your best to faze you, so you did your best to ignore him. “I think I should feel insulted.”

“And you think I care why?” You cursed the subtle way your voice shook, and hoped that Michael couldn’t hear it.

“If Dean was…here…I’m sure it would worry him.” Michael leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “He doesn’t think you’re a very good hunter.”

“And I should listen to you?” You scoffed, but you doubted your voice was as steady as you wanted it.

“Well, I am in Dean’s head. And he doesn’t think you can do it, he never did. After all, it���s not like you’re a real Winchester anyway.”

“Dean thinks that?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it.

A smile crept its way onto Michael’s lips, and he seemed suddenly more interested in you.

“What did you expect him to think? You’re not Mary’s daughter, you’re not his real sister. You’re not like Sam to him, you never have been.”

“I—“ your voice caught in your throat. You wanted to tell Michael that it wasn’t true. You wanted to say “screw you,” you wanted to say “Dean would never,” but your voice wouldn’t work.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice startled you, and his hand was suddenly on your shoulder. “That’s enough,” he barked at Michael. “Hey.” He looked back at you, his voice softening. “Why don’t you go hang out with Jack, I’ve got him for now.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” Michael spoke up. “The plan has changed, and she’ll be going with me.”

“Excuse me?” Sam glared at Michael, unfazed. That is, he was unfazed…

Until Michael stood, dropping the angel cuffs to the ground.

“The rest of you I’ll leave to my friends outside.” Michael threw his hand out, sending Sam flying away from you. “But the girl…” Michael had a hold of your arm before you could back away. “You won’t have to worry about her anymore.”

…

In the blink of an eye, you had been taken from your home; you and Michael weren’t in the bunker anymore. You’d returned to the office building that he’d turned into his personal headquarters, only this time there were half a dozen monsters in the main room. You found yourself leaning away from them, until you realized that that meant you were leaning towards Michael. It was hard to see monsters and not natural gravitate towards Dean.

This isn’t Dean, you told yourself. And you can’t forget that for even a second.

“Sir.” A werewolf stepped closer to Michael. “I thought you were—“

“Just a little change in plans,” Michael said. “Your werewolves are still locked onto my previous location?”

“Yes sir,” he said. “They should be at the bunker any minute.”

“Good.” Michael nodded. “You may go. And take the rest of these—“ he gestured at the other monsters in the room “—with you. I have some things I need to take care of in here. Alone.”

“Is that a Winchester?” Another of the monsters was eyeing you hungrily. “Did you bring us a little snack?” He started to approach, but a single glare from Michael stopped him in his tracks.

“If I wanted you to eat her, I would’ve told you that. She’s mine, understand?” Once the monster nodded, Michael smiled sardonically. “Good. Now go.”

The monsters cleared out quickly, and soon you were left alone with the archangel that taunted you with your big brother’s face.

“What am I doing here?” You tried to force your voice to come out strong, but the self-satisfied smirk that came across Michael’s face as he looked down at you said that you’d done a horrible job at that.

“You know what I’m doing here, right?” Michael asked. You didn’t answer—you could tell it was a rhetorical question—but the pleased look in Michael’s eyes at your silence had you wishing you’d said something sarcastic, like Dean would have. “I’m building a better world,” Michael continued. “Humans have had their time in the sun, but they’ve never amounted to anything. It’s time they got knocked of their pedestal. That’s why I’m having my monsters kill and turn them.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you kept me alive,” you argued. Michael’s eyes flashed in anger at your interruption, but he continued anyway.

“You’re different than your brothers, and from the rest of those fools in the bunker. Jack is too powerful to bother with, and Cas and your brothers…they’re too stubborn. But you…you’re young. Moldable. I have a plan to make this world my own, with the monsters on top. But humans…I’m keeping a few alive. Some for the monsters to feed on. And some…some who I think could be useful to me. You could be useful, with some…modifications.”

“What modifi—“

Michael’s hand shot out and closed around your throat, and before you even knew it was there you felt your breath stop.

“The first improvement I plan to make is to shut. You. Up. You need to learn your place here.” The hand around your throat was pushing down, and you felt yourself fall to your knees under the pressure. “Your life is a privilege, not a right.” The vision of Michael above you was starting to go fuzzy, but you could still make out the coldness in his eyes. “And privileges can be taken away. Do you understand me?”

You nodded mutely, and the pressure on your throat disappeared.

“You are just an example of what all humans will be. Well, all the ones I allow to live. You exist to serve those greater than you. You exist to serve me.”

“My brothers—“ Michael glared at you, but he didn’t stop you, so you continued. “My brothers will stop you. And Cas and Jack, all of them, they can stop you.”

Michael smiled patiently. Mockingly.

“You don’t really believe that,” he said. “You know your little family back in the bunker is as good as dead. And Dean—“ Michael tapped his forehead “—is tucked away quietly. I have him under control.”

“They’re stronger than you think,” you snapped.

Michael smirked and patted your head. “That’s enough out of you.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but when you tried to speak it felt like your lungs caught on fire. You curled in on yourself, rubbing at your chest while the pain slowly faded.

“As I told you,” Michael began. “You exist to serve me. If you use your abilities in a way I don’t like, I can take them away. And I will make it hurt. Every. Time.”

You stared up at Michael, until suddenly your eyes started to sting.

“Don’t look at me,” Michael snapped. “Keep your eyes down.”

You dropped your eyes down and whimpered as the pain slowly faded away, but Michael had already turned his attention to the opening door.

“Sir.” A vampire was standing in the doorway. “The bunker’s fortifications are stronger than we thought. It may take days to get through.”

Michael gritted his teeth. “Fine. Just get it done.”

Michael noticed the monster staring at you. “I see you’ve noticed my girl. This is how all humans who aren’t killed or turned should behave. Ever silent, ever obedient. Understand?”

The vampire licked his lips.

“Would you mind if I had a taste?” He stepped closer to you. “After all, a Winchester—“

“Yes, I would mind,” Michael snapped. “If you want a human, go get your own. I’ve given you the world as your oyster. But the girl is mine. Now leave me.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor as the door swung shut. You felt the toe of Michael’s boot push at your chin, tilting your head up and in Michael’s direction.

“You should be thanking me. It would be so easy for me to let them rip you to shreds.” Michael’s eyes flashed blue, and you felt your throat tighten up. “What do you say?”

“Thank…you…” you gasped, and Michael released his magic hold on your throat.

“You’re a fast learner,” he commended. “Keep it that way, and this will be a lot less painful for you.” Michael twisted his hand, and you felt as though your ribs were twisting around and stabbing your lungs, your heart, everything. “But it can’t be completely painless. If you want a good omelet, you have to crack a few eggs. And I’ve been looking forward to breaking you.”

…

You never thought that you’d associate the sight of your big brother with pain. It took less than two days with Michael to change that.

You didn’t know if your family was still alive. You didn’t know if you’d ever see them again. You didn’t even know if Dean was still around in Michael’s head, or if he could see what was happening to you. All you knew now was pain.

“What’s the situation at the bunker?” Michael was talking to one of his many monsters, but you didn’t dare look up; not even at the mention of your family. “Are they dead yet?”

“I’m afraid not sir. But my people have told me that they’re about to break through the door now that they’ve gotten through all the warding.”

“Good. Tell them to wait until I get there.” You felt Michael’s grace tugging at your neck—your cue to look at him. When you did, he grinned at you, flashing all thirty-two pearly white teeth in a way that Dean never would have. “You’re going to come with me to watch the show,” Michael said. “And then you’ll understand just how hopeless you really are.”

…

“Y/N!” Sam’s voice was the first thing you heard when the bunker door slammed shut behind you and Michael; he wanted to do the killing himself now that the monsters had broken in. It took every ounce of strength you had not to look up and run to your big brother. Instead, you stayed obediently by Michael’s side, your eyes trained on the back of his shoes.

“Oh, she’s mine now,” Michael chuckled. “But I’m a moment it won’t matter to any of you.”

“You had your chance to kill us.” Jack stepped suddenly out from the side hallway, effectively trapping Michael between him and Sam. “And you left. Why?”

“I wanted to get things settled with this sweet little sister of yours before the massacre began,” Michael said, a cocky smirk twisting his lips. “No need for her to get killed when she’s making such a good little slave.”

“Leave her alone!” Jack’s eyes flashed yellow as he took a step toward Michael.

“Jack don’t!” Sam shook his head, and Jack stopped.

“It doesn’t matter what you do at this point,” Michael said. “I told you the story ended with your deaths, and I meant it. You can’t stop me.”

A flicker of a smile crossed Sam’s face. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

You hit the ground hard when Jack tackled you out of the way. His place was immediately taken by Castiel, who rushed Michael. Michael, taken aback, rose his hands to fight Cas a split second too late. Cas grabbed hold of Michael’s wrist and slapped the angel cuffs on him.

“They’ve been re-warded,” Sam piped in. “They’re stronger than they’ve ever been. Oh, and that warding that your monsters thought they got through? Cas booted it up again the minute you stepped inside. Your cavalry isn’t coming. At least, not in time.”

Michael scoffed, “In time for what? You still have no way to kill me, or stop me.”

“Actually we do,” Cas said. “We’re gonna get inside your head, and Dean’s gonna kick you out.”

…

“We’re gonna get Dean back,” Sam tried to tell you as Cas started to hook Michael up to one of the Men of Letters’ machines, but you didn’t look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the ground.

You could practically feel Michael’s eyes boring into you, reminding you to do as you were told and keep quiet. You didn’t think he could do anything with the angel cuffs on, but you’d learned to never underestimate Michael’s ability to punish you.

And you’d learned to never disobey him.

Sam turned his attention back to Michael—he could only fight one battle at a time, and getting Dean back took precedence for now—but Cas’s attention was suddenly on you. He walked up to you, leaning down in a failed attempt to meet your eye.

“Are you alright little one?” He asked. No answer. “You’re safe now, he can’t use his powers with the cuffs on.” Nothing. Cas sighed. “As soon as we get Dean back, we’re gonna help you, ok? You won’t have to be scared anymore.” When you still didn’t reply, Cas hesitantly turned his back on you to return to Sam and Dean.

“Me and Cas are going in after him,” Sam said. “Jack, we need you to stay here in case those monsters come in. And—“ Sam glanced at you, but you barely seemed to register anything going on in the room. “And make sure she stays safe, understand?”

“Of course. I won’t let anything happen to her…to any of you,” Jack insisted.

…

“Y/N?” Jack waited until he was sure Michael was safely in his own mind with Sam and Cas before he turned his attention to you. “Y/N, you can hear me right?”

You didn’t nod, exactly, but your head noticeably twitched up, so Jack took that as a good sign.

“Ok, ok good. I just wanna make sure you know that you’re safe. Michael isn’t gonna hurt you ever again, ok? Sam and Cas have this plan—they’re gonna talk to Dean up there in his head, and he’s gonna kick Michael out. He’ll be back to regular Dean, just like I said. We’re gonna get him back, Y/N. I promise.” Jack reached forward and wrapped his hand around yours. Your hand was limp in his, your fingers unmoving.

Jack sighed. “I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be, I promise. Remember I helped you after Asmodeus hurt you? I just want to help you again. I want you to feel safe again.”

Jack waited, his breath stagnant as he watched you.

Nothing. Not a hint of movement in your eyes, not a twitch from the limp hand that was still resting in Jack’s. It was like you weren’t even in there.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” Jack said. “I’m gonna help you come back.”

…

“I’ve got him.”

It was Michael’s voice, but it didn’t sound like Michael anymore. Could it be…

“Sammy, I’ve got him. He’s secure, he’s not going anywhere.” Dean. It was Dean. “Y/N?” The sound of that voice calling your name stopped your breath, even though you were almost sure it was your big brother now.

“Hey, wait—“ you heard the scuffling of feet and the sound of Sam’s voice. “Dean, don’t. Michael—he took her. He hurt her. I don’t really know how, or what happened, but…but just go slow with her.”

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice was gentle as he slowly stepped closer to you. “Y/N, it’s Dean. Would you look at me, please?”

This finally got a reaction. You tilted your chin up and lifted your eyes to Dean, but you still didn’t move or speak.

“Hey.” A relieved smile broke out on Dean’s face—at least he knew you were listening now. “Hey kiddo. You doin ok?”

The longer you stared at Dean, the more shallow your breathing became. Dean was just reaching for you, hoping to calm you down, when you suddenly turned on your heel and made a dash for your room.

“Y/N!” Sam called after you. The slam of your door was his answer.

…

You wouldn’t answer the door for anyone, even Jack.

“I’m gonna go in there,” Dean decided.

“Dean, maybe she just needs space,” Sam suggested.

“She’s been in there all day without a word.” Dean shook his head. “I’ve gotta at least check on her.”

‘’Maybe I should try,” Jack suggested.

“I’m doing this alone.” Dean’s voice didn’t leave much room for argument, but Jack tried anyway.

“You still don’t trust me around her?” Jack asked.

“It’s not about that,” Dean huffed. “I’m the one who did this, so I’m the one who needs to fix it.”

“Dean, it wasn’t your—“ Cas’s protests stopped when Dean held up a hand.

“It doesn’t matter. She still sees him every time she looks at me. I need to fix this.”

Sam was the first to relent, and he managed to get Jack and Cas to leave with him to give you and Dean some space.

“Kiddo?” Dean knocked softly, knowing you wouldn’t answer. He was right. “Kiddo, if you don’t say anything I’m just gonna open the door. You ok in there?” After a prolonged silence, Dean went on. “Ok, I’m coming in.” He twisted the handle, glad it wasn’t locked, and slipped through the door.

You were sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, your knees tucked up against your chest. Your whole body stiffened when Dean stepped into the room, but other than that there was no indication that you’d seen him enter; you didn’t look at him, you didn’t move.

“Hey,” Dean greeted. He sat next to you, and you didn’t react. “Would you look at me?”

Your eyes met Dean’s, and something scratched at the back of his mind.

“Are you just gonna do what I tell you to do?” Dean swallowed. “Is…is that what Michael made you do?” You stayed silent, so Dean prompted, “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Kid, you don’t have to do that. I’m not Michael, you know that right?”

“I…” your voice faltered. You took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll—I’m trying.”

“I never wanted him to hurt you,” Dean sighed. “I never meant for—“

“It’s not your fault, De,” you interrupted. “You’re not Michael, and…and nothing he said or did meant anything about you.”

“Ok, I got it.” Dean put his hand on your shoulder. “Now you gotta remember that, too, and stop being so freaked around me. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I told you, I’ll try…Dean?”

“Yeah kid?”

“Are you sure he can’t get out?”

When he saw you shaking, Dean reached out and pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sure. I’m never gonna let that guy hurt you again, ok? Never.”

You finally relaxed in your big brother’s arms.

“Ok.”

“Good. Now let’s go bother Sam and the angel gang.”

You laughed.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[thepromisedbride]

proposed ending for miss holloween: as miss holloway cannot use her powers to save hatchetfield, duke decides he would do anything to save the woman he still loves and makes a contract with the lords in black. same rules as before except this time it’s miss holloway having to forget duke. miserable endings all round except for the lords in black who are having a great time.

[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (3)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: one, two, four, five

Word Count: around 2K again.

Warnings: minimum context of the arlong park part of the story (background), MUTUAL FLIRTING, forbiden pinning of them both, Buggy has his body back *wiggling eyebrows*, sexy times

A/N: devil works hard but i'm working harder, every 5 free min i have from work/class/practices i'm writing on my phone, i'ts actually insane and i love it (ROAD TO CHAPTER 4?? If you like this one and want the next one, please let me know!)

Oh, he was mad. He was really mad.

Maybe "sexually frustrated" was a way more accurate term given the circumstances but the feeling was so strong, so visceral, he was sure he was reaching a point where jumping to the sea to end that agony -even if a bit exaggerated, like him always, everywhere and for everything- was justified.

Somewhere in Arlong Park, Buggy could feel the boner pressing his pants, demanding to be satisfied; dirty talk was one of his true passions and when (Y/N) played that card on him, being capable of picturing himself with her on his lap, that damn woman so -actually- close to his face in that moment he was already tasting her lips, her low, smooth voice driving him insane, he could not help it, but get turned on so easily and so strong is been hours, and he's still mad, incapable of stop thinking about that.

That is, perhaps, the reason he feels relief as soon as the sun rises and Usopp is back on the helm again, asking for directions as Buggy, in fact, demands to go faster. Like instead of slicing and dicing his body, his power could control the wind that propelled the boat or the force of the waves against the hull.

(Y/N) ran away just after such a -even if brief- conversation. She may have broken his balls with that dirty trick, but she was equally a victim of her own game. She knew what to say to push Buggy and leave him so stunned -to speak- that the poor clown didn't have the chance to fight back at that moment, not without his body to help him keep her in that kitchen, lift her up on the counter, force her to back down, regret even thinking she could do that to him, and then, only then, yes, fuck her until she wakes up the rest of her little and - according to him - pathetic crew with her moans.

Or so the girl imagined, leaning against the door of her room, eyes closed, heart slightly racing, fighting the temptation to lie down on the bed and masturbate thinking about what had just happened.

Which included him. Him!! What the hell, was she actually losing her mind? All that damn flirting had really gotten into her, for fucks sake, because regardless of her finding him quite interesting when they met, this attraction was something else.

Lately everything around her was something else. Did she really think through the decision of leaving her mercenary life behind and follow those kids to the Grand Line? Did she really think through the decision of flirting back with a psychopath clown?

Because in the end it's just that, right? Flirting. Was nothing else, is nothing else, and will be nothing else. She doesn’t want it to be something more, that's for sure; there's no need for unnecessary complications and extra headaches. In the meantime, it's fun, a bit of a backfire kind of situation, a bit -sexually- frustrating, but fun.

After a good ol' resting night and already some hours into the new day, (Y/N) notices that it's been a lot, since their encounter in the kitchen to be precise, that Buggy not only doesn't flirt with her, but doesn't talk that much or even look at her as amazed as before. Of course, he is, also, way less annoying, which Zoro subtly points out clearly pleased with how calm, nice and silent this morning is.

At some point she shakes her head, knowing, or at least guessing, the reason for this behavior, so she decides to check no one's around and the rudder is locked in the right direction, and then goes to where the bag with his head is, closed probably by the sniper when he got the last indications he needed from him. She opens it, lowering it until the clown's head is free on top of that barrel.

"How are you doing, Bugs?" she starts with a funny little smile, looking intently at him as she leans her back forward to leave her face level with his. "It's been hours I don't hear your raspy voice, I'm starting to miss it."

Silence. Absolute indifference besides the sidelong glance he gives her because let's face it, Buggy is annoyingly proud, extremely, exaggeratedly, but he loves attention. He likes nothing more than receiving it, no matter where, when, and from who, and she could see it as soon as they met.

"Also your silly nicknames for me" She grants, giving in. She would also be mad as hell if someone leaves her as horny as she knew she left him, so she doesn't have any problem being the one to start the tug-war this time.

"Already tired of the shidiots?" He finally asks, almost drily, after a minute; now he is the one to play difficult, huh? "No wonder, they don't even know where to start being pirates."

"Oh, of course, because no one compares to the famous Buggy The Clown, the colorful nightmare or the East Blue." Playful, she retreats a bit, resting her hip in the barrel, arms crossed over her chest.

"Quit the sarcasm doll, you know I'm right." Well, he was, in fact, right. None of them had real experience in the whole i-wanna-become-a-pirate thing, still, they were doing pretty good to be newbies. She was quite proud of them.

"I cannot wait to have my body back" he then murmurs, adding before she could say anything else about her new friends. "To do what?" She asks, you know, like she didn't know.

"Take a guess"

"Recover your spotlight? Find a new crew and a way to enter the Grand Line to go search the One Piece and be the king of the pirates?" (Y/N) mocks, clearly enjoying being the annoying one this time.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah'' Buggy rolls his eyes, scoffing. ''All that, but not before making you regret what you did last night." To that accusation she gasps, resting her right hand over her chest "What did I do last night?"

The clown falls silent again, but his mood is completely different. Right now he's not pissed off, it's obvious that this time, instead of flirting with her in a casual and natural way, he’s thinking what to say, choosing carefully his words to return a fraction of the effect she had on him hours ago.

His eyes darken, and his voice goes octaves lower and raspier. "Sweetheart, there will be no possible escape from what I plan to do with you. At the slightest opportunity I will make you cum on me so many times you will be the one to find the One Piece without needing to go to the Grand Line, but first…'' He pauses, breathes, and lets it go calmly, like the intimidating, psychopathic calculator she saw at the circus and not that flirty cartoonish version she got to know on the ship. ''you will beg for it."

She knows she shouldn't surrender to this type of tease, but she also can't and doesn't want to avoid it. Getting heavily carried away, without thinking about it twice, one of the girl's hands slides to the back of his neck, slipping under the bandana, and tugs his hair aggressively as she leans in again to speak close to his face. He grunts in pure satisfaction, closing his eyes for a second. Of course (Y/N) is, once again, taking advantage of the fact that he cannot defend himself no being more than a head, and the fact is that he enjoys like a condemned bastard those small but intense gestures the girl has given him since they met at the circus.

He can't wait to break a woman like her. And oh, he will.

"Are you sure about that?" Hearing distant steps, someone from the crew coming out on deck and climbing the stairs, she gets some distance from him, acting naturally, closing the bag again around his head. "My expectations just skyrocketed, I hope you don't disappoint."

By the end of the day, the Konomi Islands begin to appear on the horizon, and as soon as they set foot on them, shits get really serious. The situation of the poor people who live there is heartbreaking, so for two days, no one dares to make a single joke, Luffy's usual energy and bubbly positivity is nowhere to be seen, and of course, the interactions of (Y/N) and Buggy are reduced to = 0. The clown's head is no longer of any real use to them, and it’s poor Sanji, the new recruit, who’s carrying it around just in case.

At least until they reach Arlong Park.

Again, (Y/N) is not exactly the type of mercenary expert in martial arts and although she knows how to defend herself, fighting like Zoro or Sanji is, in few words, impossible. Her only advantage is being very, very fast, and knowing how to use the scenery to her advantage, so it doesn't take long for her to hide here and there among the different tents and attractions in the area to get rid of the most straggler fishmen, with a knife she got long ago during one of her jobs, capable of cutting their tough skin easily.

Everything happens so fast and is so chaotic that apart from some screams and blows in the background and having seen Usopp running towards the forest, (Y/N) is completely unaware of what is happening in the main complex.

A strong pull on her left arm activates her flight or fight response as one last fish falls dead to the ground in front of her. Raising the knife, in a quick movement, she tries to defend herself by aiming at the stranger's neck, although in vain; a pair of lips whose red has already been worn for days impact against hers, stealing her breath, a small moan escaping her. Eyes wide open, she barely registers the blurry color of Buggy's nose when two strong hands squeeze her hips as if the life of the clown depended on it, pushing the girl against the wall of the building behind them, cornering her without any type of delicacy.

She hadn't heard from him since they reached the island. Hell, she didn't even know he had got his full body back and was already so close to it that air was unable to pass between each other.

Of course, the moment the clown's head joined the rest of himself -the feeling much better than he remembered- he fucked off his captors and decided to flee. Not before making a vital stop along the way.

The ideas about how to proceed with her once he was whole were very, very different in his wild fantasies, but when he saw the girl's back, he knew that the only thing that would -partially- calm his yearning would be to kiss her before disappearing as fast as possible. To taste her lips, to feel her warmth.

Still not recovered from the shock of the kiss, Y/N doesn't remove the knife from the clown's neck, but he couldn't care less; quite the opposite. He is so turned on and waited so much -again, exaggerated- for this he doesn't know yet how he will be able to break the kiss, take distance from her, and run away.

Passionately carried away, moved by his most primitive instincts, Buggy sneaks one of his legs between hers, pressing in between them as Y/N inhales through her nose and her free hand flies to his vest, pulling it a little.

It wasn't the time, nor the place, to think about fucking that asshole, but damn, after all the teasing and the tension and the adrenaline of the fight--

And just when she starts fully giving in to him, he retreats just enough, panting a bit, and looks at her now red, stained lips, eyes darkened and full of lust. Just like hers.

"Hate to leave you like this sweetheart but I have things to do and places to go. I don't want people relating me to Arlong, I would hate the bad press on my persona." He whispers, cracking his usual cruel, playful smirk when he finally puts some distance between each other.

‘’It's time to exit stage left.’’ Buggy adds, theatrically raising both hands in the air. ‘’I promise I’ll see you around.’’

And like this, he stars running away again. Where? She doesn't know, or even guess at this moment, too busy registering the kiss in her memory, the way his lips felt on hers, how his nose pressed her cheek the entire time, or his hands grabbed onto her for dear life.

Bastard.

''You better'', she whispers to herself.

[lyrefromthesea]

hiii i really love you blind!reader x hashira + Kokushibo 🫶

can you PLEASE write more of blind!reader x Kokushibo? like how they met OR how Kokushibo had “mysteriously” adored the reader after they first met OR how their relationship functions coz she doesn’t know that Kokushibo is a demon???

please and thank you so much 🙏 more grace and power to you

Kokushibo - Behind poisonous trees

author's note: i just received the notification that i've reached over 25 thousand hearts. thank you all for appreciating my work like this.

pairing: Kokushibo x blind!reader

content warning: reader (obviously) is blind, brief mention of blood, reader is described as she/her

he didn't know what led him down the thin path between rows of wisteria trees. demons kept away from the poisonous plants, knowing it could be the death of them, his behavior made no sense.

then again, he wasn't like every other demon. he was strong - the strongest - and had a mind of his own.

the path had been pulling at him, attaching to his sleeve and whispering coaxing words into his ears. he was promised a future if he just followed the mysterious way long enough.

yet he began to wonder after minutes of waiting, what could be at the end of this trail? it wasn't normal for humans to build areas like these - lonely and silent.

the thought consumed him until he saw a glimmer of hope in the distance. the path led to a small estate, clearly of older times. the building stood in the middle of a clearing, fully surrounded by wisteria trees.

the sight made unease spread through his body. this looked like a cage. a trap. a place no demon should visit.

but what intrigued him even more, made curiosity and caution consume him, was the faint scent of a single human being.

a marechi.

his speed picked up the slightest bit, bringing him towards the entrance of the clearing. he hadn't seen it from afar, but the clearing was filled with varieties of flowers.

who had planted them here? different colored waves of flora filled the scenery, letting the clearing look like an ocean.

"who goes there?" he froze, the voice he had heard - barely above a whisper - had been unlike anything he had heard.

soft. harsh. cold. warm. but most importantly - close.

he turned around in the blink of an eye, six eyes focusing on the single human being in front of him.

the human, who looked weirdly weak and still strong, had successfully moved right behind him. he didn't remember the last time someone managed to do that.

a hundred years ago? or maybe a few more. it must've been a strong swordsman who took him by surprise back then, but he couldn't remember his face.

"i asked you a question." the human stated, hand clenching around the stick in hand.

he felt his blood run cold, the woman in front of him wasn't a normal marechi. she looked too different - too similar.

he didn't think he'd be able to remember this face, but now it was all too clear to him.

she reminded him of his former wife.

it wasn't only her face, but also her demeanour. the way she carried herself. only that her eyes looked different - empty.

she almost appeared like she looked past him, as if her eyes observed a different world than his. and when his eyes wandered back to the stick in her hand, it all made sense.

she was blind.

"i did not mean to intrude." he answered, internally questioning himself for what he did. he was supposed to eat her, become stronger - stay the strongest. she was a marechi, if he didn't eat her, another demon would.

but his body remained stiff, his eyes staying on the woman. "i must've gotten lost."

he wasn't lost, he knew the way back. but his voice was betraying him, finding it hard to turn away from the woman.

"you're lost?" she asked, her voice having grown more soft. he watched her look up at the sky, as if she could see the stars wandering along the firmament.

"i see.. come inside, i have a guestroom to spare." he didn't know what brought her to this decision, but she was ready to let him in after just a few words.

perhaps she was brave. perhaps she was naive.

"there's no need, i will surely find my way back." he insisted, feeling the lump in his throat grow. something was holding him back from killing you right then and there.

he didn't understand, he was a demon and you a mere human. he was used to killing his victims with a single slice, watching the blood splatter and the live leave their eyes.

but somehow he couldn't lift a single finger with the intention to hurt you and he slowly came to realize that it wasn't only because of your similarity to his wife.

"i insist, there are demons lurking outside the woods, this is the only place to be safe." you answered, walking towards the small estate without another word. he watched you move with a silent grace lingering around your figure.

you must've walked through this area a hundred times already, as the accuracy of your step was phenomenal in his eyes.

he only snapped out of his quiet fascination when you opened the door, stopping and turning around just so you could face him. "i'll prepare some fresh food."

the invitation was left unanswered, at least no words came to accompany yours. instead his feet dragged him forward without his consent, silently longing for what was to happen next.

he was completely in your ban and he still hadn't noticed.

[wheatnoodle]

robin is using everything in her power to find steve a boyfriend. now that she had finally gotten her head out of her ass to see that nancy didn’t find her rambling annoying, but charming and that got comfy in their new relationship, she wanted nothing more than the same for her best friend.

for too long, robin has stood back and watched as steve got used and played again and again. too many men and women coming around and flashing him pretty smiles and saying all the right things just to take him on a date, get him to drop his pants, and then he’d never hear from them again. she sees the way it effects him, the way he seems to be deteriorating right before her eyes.

he’s given up flirting with the babes that walk in the front door of their job, choosing to stay behind the counter. he leans on his fist, flips through a magazine and only glances up to say hello.

unless, of course, that customer is eddie munson. eddie, who will come in so quiet and lean down in steve’s space to break him from his trance. and steve will smile. and he’ll blush. and he’ll giggle and look away so eddie can’t see how flustered he is. and he waves the late fees every time. and she continues to watch.

robin is using everything in her power to get steve eddie as a boyfriend. sweet eddie who holds the door for steve and makes him smile brighter than robin has ever seen.

and it’s this reason that she was able to convince steve to join her and nancy at a bar in indy and invite eddie along so he “doesn’t third wheel”. meaning it’s also this reason she’s currently tearing apart steve’s closet for the perfect “date me!” outfit. because if he pulls up to this place in a polo and robin’s the one who brought him? she could never go back.

“robs, i can’t wear these.” steve is bright red in the face as he looks over his shoulder in the mirror. she got him in the tightest jeans he owns, the denim light and hugging every single curve from the waist down. he’s lucky he can even breathe in them. he hates how his butt is on display and there’s no room in his crotch to move comfortably and what if his knees get cold where they’re exposed to the outside elements?

“you absolutely can and you absolutely will. turn around and let me pretend you’re a girl so i can drool over your ass,” robin whistles from her place on his bed. she’s surrounded by piles of clothes, a multicolored avalanche of preppy and she just might go insane. “now you need a shirt.”

“i don’t get why you’re putting in all this effort. i’m just gonna embarrass myself in front of him. especially if i try to make a move,” steve grumbles and tugs his current sweatshirt over his head. robin’s got a pair of scissors from his bedside drawer and a clearly well-loved pink floyd t-shirt in hand. “what are you doing?”

“how much do you love this shirt?”

“robin don’t you-“

“how much, steven.” her gaze is firm and he knows it best to just give in. he rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a huff and robin smiles back at him in victory. he’s turned back to the mirror, listening to the sound of slicing fabric behind him.

she tosses it to him once she’s done and he pulls it over his head. dear god his waist is on display. and the trail of hair down to- oh this is humiliating. ���robin.”

“steve!” she squeals, clapping her hands together.

“robin,” he whines, throwing his head back and tugging at the jagged edge of the shirt.

“steve!” she answers in the same tone with a bright smile. “you’re so hot! eddie is going to eat you up and if he doesn’t, then somebody else absolutely will.”

“you think so?” steve looks at her through the mirror. a soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips and she can’t help but smile back, full of love and warmth.

“i know so.”

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

ZZZ Headcanons

Help this game has taken over my free time I love these characters sm <3 Billy Soukaku and Ellen my beloved

Nicole: has a not so secret hobby of bedazzling anything and everything. It’s a real problem in the Cunning Hares apartment, nothing is safe from pink rhinestones and stickers

Anby: cracked at rhythm games to an alarming degree. Can do a 2 person extremely hard DDR song all by herself

Billy: I don’t know how they did it but they programmed an android with autism. Has his own version of a skincare routine which is basically just maintenance on all of his tiny mechanical parts. Can also gain power multiple ways, including solar power. The apartment complex where the Cunning Hares live had a blackout once and everyone used Billy as a personal charging port. Nicole promised to pay him in Starlight Knight merch.

Nekomata: cuts her own hair and offers to do it for other people. DO NOT trust her when she says she’s good at it

Grace: did gymnastics as a kid which is why she’s able to pull off a ton of backflips and flexible maneuvers in battle

Anton: uses actual cement to keep his hair spikes in shape. Koleda caught him in the act once and instead of chewing him out, she decided to apply some to her own hair and now they’re cement combover gang

Ben: is completely vegan and loves chilling at hot springs a lot. Still sleeps with stuffed animals btw

Koleda: I’m making it canon right now Koleda is trans and you can’t do shit about it. Also has welding as a hobby and made most of her accessories from scratch

Corin: when not in Victoria Housekeeping Co uniform, is a Jfashion junkie. I’m talking super dedicated Lolita fits, menhera inspired clothing, the whole shebang. She ofc designs a lot of her own stuff like her bear backpack and is also responsible for a lot of the accessories Victoria Housekeeping Co wears (Rina’s bows, Ellen’s shark jaw head and neckpieces, Lycaon’s eyepatch and tail straps). She also has a massive crush on Ellen and is too scared to admit it

Rina: has a fur allergy and can’t keep animals around. Which also means she’s allergic to Lycaon. She has to take so much Zyrtec before clocking in but has such a good poker face that Lycaon has no idea. Ellen knows tho

Lycaon: specifically wears the heeled boots and has his odd posture because he’s self conscious about his digitigrade legs, he thinks they’re unsightly for a butler of his standing to have. He also tries to encourage Ellen to wear a long maid dress like Rina does to hide her tail.

Ellen: coincidentally falls into a lot of shark stereotypes. She loves seafood, has to constantly be fidgeting or she feels like she’ll go mad, and the kicker, she gets frenzied around blood, or if the thing she’s fighting puts up a struggle. Corin accidentally cut her hand while repairing her saw blade once and both Lycaon and Rina could barely hold Ellen back once Corin began bleeding. Ellen feels awful for scaring the already timid girl. Corin secretly thought it was hot and would die on the spot if anyone knew that

Soukaku: despite being a huge foodie this girl cannot cook for shit. Is also physically cold to the touch and during the summer her coworkers will ask her to hold their drinks because they’ll stay cold. Soukaku always secretly sneaks sips every time they do this to her.

Miyabi: has the worst sleep schedule known to man. Sometimes you’ll find her awake at 3AM and conked out by 4PM, other times she goes to bed at 8PM and wakes up at 4AM. It’s inconsistent and irregular and a gamble trying to contact her outside of work because she might not even be awake

Harumasa: GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY. Also pretty cracked at chess and other strategy games. Is also a major old fashioned guy and doesn’t own a lot of modern technology. He’s not into retro or old stuff, he just doesn’t like new stuff

Yanagi: her glasses are fake. When she was younger she needed them, but her vision had naturally gotten better over the years, so she now wears contacts, but for some reason still insists on wearing her glasses. Loses them constantly during battle.

Lucy: even though she was forced to play piano as a kid, she really wanted to be a sporty girl and play stuff like soccer and baseball. Now she has the freedom to take part in the sports she likes and watch them surrounded by the people she likes

Piper: insanely picky eater to the point it drives Lucy up a wall. Is also picky about a lot of other things, like how different fabrics feel, different comfort levels of chairs and beds, girl is a complainer and will always find something to complain about

Lighter: has a side gig as a tattoo artist, has really stable hands too

Soldier 11: has 5 younger brothers, a younger sister, and 2 older siblings who she doesn’t see super often. Has divorced parents who also liked to adopt, which is why she has such a huge family. Her younger brothers love it when she comes home and plays secret agent military with them

Seth: can’t drive. That’s it send tweet.

Qingyi: is outwardly dismissive of meditation tricks and hacks and tips but utilizes that shit in private ALL the time.

Zhu Yuan: shares the vegetables she grows in her garden with all her neighbors. Is also a REALLY good cook to the point people have encouraged her to potentially consider a different career path

Jane Doe: the rat girl has pet rats go figure. But in all seriousness she’d die for her little guys. She has a white one named Cocaine and a brown one named Tobacco and a gray one named Crystal Meth. She thinks the names are hilarious and every time she introduces the rats to other people their facial expressions are priceless

[macfrog]

little aphrodite sex on fire chapter nine

the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.

word count: 7.5k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.

But you didn’t.

Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.

Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.

And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?

No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.

I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.

You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.

But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.

You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.

Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.

Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.

You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.

And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.

But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.

Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.

He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.

But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.

You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.

The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”

He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.

“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.

Joel sighs under his breath.

“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.

She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.

So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.

Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.

Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.

“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.

He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.

He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.

You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.

He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.

He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.

This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.

His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.

“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”

Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.

Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.

“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.

He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.

His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”

“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.

He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”

Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.

She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.

“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”

Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.

The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.

Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”

The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.

The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.

“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”

Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.

Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.

How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.

How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.

“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”

Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.

He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.

Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.

Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”

And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.

“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”

The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”

Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.

He almost fucking lies. Almost says it’s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.

He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.

“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.

“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”

“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”

He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.

It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.

Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.

A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.

“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”

“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”

Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?

And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?

He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.

When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.

“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.

You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.

The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.

You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.

Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.

He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.

And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.

He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.

He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.

Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.

He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.

There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.

A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.

“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.

He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.

You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.

You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.

You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.

You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.

Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.

Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.

“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”

You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.

He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.

His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.

You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.

“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.

You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.

“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”

His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.

You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”

Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.

You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.

You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.

He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.

“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”

“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.

“Best head you ever had. I know.”

He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.

“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.

Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.

He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.

He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.

But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.

The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.

You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.

It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.

That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.

His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.

The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.

“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.

“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.

“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”

He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”

And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.

He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.

Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”

Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”

“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”

“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”

Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”

Placating. It pisses Joel off more.

“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”

“Taken?”

“Hired. By me.”

The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.

“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”

Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”

Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.

He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.

And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.

You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.

Joel Miller has never been in love.

He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.

G’night, love you.

I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.

Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.

It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.

He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.

He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.

But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.

Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.

The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.

Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.

He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.

Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.

Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.

And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.

He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.

Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.

None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.

Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.

And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.

He loves you. He – no, fuck.

He doesn’t just love you.

He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –

blood spilling all over the pristine floor –

pathetic and adolescent in its nature –

butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –

in love with you.

He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?

But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.

He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.

Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.

And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.

He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.

He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.

“Smile,” he says, and you do.

“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.

He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.

Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.

You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.

She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.

Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.

There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.

“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.

You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.

The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.

He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.

He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.

You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.

“What’d you say, baby?”

You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.

“Please don’t ever leave.”

[beyond-the-raining-field]

I have some things to say.

to begin: Neil Gaiman sucks. I loved and looked up to the man because of his work, because I thought his writing was amazing and Good Omens helped me through the toughest time in my life. the recent news however, does change my opinion - as at should for EVERYBODY. I feel disappointed by the Good Omens fandom. I do not think making yourself the victim publicly is at all okay. The women are the victims. If it does turn out to be fake: that’s good. But it does not change the fact that the power imbalance was there and would have affected how the relationship worked from the beginning. No matter if it is fake, right now saying “but how will I enjoy ___” is not okay . I understand, I do. I love Good Omens and I will continue to love Good Omens because it is a piece of media that matters so much to me.

I admit I have gotten of point. To get back on track let me make it simple and clear: You can not say “believe the victim” then go on to say “but Neil Gaiman is a good person…”. He is not. Yes it is wonderful that he has supported queer and trans people but you, I have to say, are not a good person for saying it if it depends on who assaulted - ASSAULTED - someone. No, PEOPLE. Two GIRLS.

Neil Gaiman is not a good person.

You can separate the author and the work, I am doing that with Good Omens as I have done it in the past but you canNOT support and endorse HIM.

And to end it off, if it turns out to be false: good. But he met one of the girls when she was 18, and waited for her to be of age. That is not something good men do.

Believe the victims, it doesn’t matter that you looked up to him. He did something bad, horrible, tragic and disgusting, admit that and talk about it to bring awareness.

And I would like to add: It is hard - and nearly impossible - for me to let go of Good Omens and The Graveyard Book. The Graveyard Book is the only book my father read to me as a child that stuck with me and led to an obsession. The obsessions have died down. If you own his books and enjoy them you are not a bad person, his writing is good. If a book means a lot to you, you are not a bad person. You are only a bad person if you make excuses for him. His is a shitty human who is a good author. Fuck him, but you owning his books doesn’t make you a bad person. Just refrain from buying NEW work.

And if it does turn out to be false, yes it eases the entire fandom. He is still sketchy in my books because as far as I know he cannot prove he has not done anything and got with two very young woman as a much older man.

An updated opinion: Neil Gaiman most likely did it. The amount of tales from people who - as young women - met him and had horrible interactions or stories of friends of his employees. He, most likely, has always been a bad person who simply uses the themes he does to make himself seem like a good person. This is not ours to mourn, it’s ours to take action and keep characters you happen to love alive in yourself instead of something HE did. Or, get rid of your stock. Up to you. It’s 1 am and I am distraught by the news but I’m not denying anything because given every piece of proof to show that he most likely did it, denying it is a bad thing to do and is a horrible name for the fandom.

[crossfandomslut]

At Peace in your Fire (Pt 4)

part 1 part 2 part 3

Summary: the after math of the meeting in Hewn City

Pairing: Eris x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: out of character Feyre (Keeping secrets from Rhys) slight angst, fluff 😊

Notes: Ahhhhhhhh !! Thank you everyone who is reading, liking, commenting, reblogging and asking to be on the taglist I love each and every one of you ! This chapter is a little short, but I really hope you like it ! I wanted to get something out this weekend, and cant wait to work on the next part this week !

Eris’ POV

Eris has experienced a lot of fear in his life. Plenty of terrifying moments to plague his nightmares every century of his life. But this- Y/n falling unconscious before them, crying out in agony before the darkness took her- he thought he had suffered all his worst fears by now. He was so devastatingly wrong.

He moved so fast he didn’t have time to think about what he was doing. He was to her before her head could hit the ground. But before he could pull her into his arms, Cassian grabbed her and Azriel yanked Eris back.

“Don’t you touch her.” Azriel growled.

“You’re lucky I moved as quickly as I did! None of you sprang to action and a head wound is the last thing she needs in this state!” Eris defended.

“Why do you even care?” Mor snapped.

“Okay, that’s enough. We need to get Y/n to Madja. This meeting is over.” Rhys started to walk toward Cassian where he still held Y/n’s unconscious figure.

All Eris could do was stand there dumbly and watch as they all prepared to winnow her away, and he would have no way to know how she was or what was wrong. He hadn’t felt so helpless in so long and it felt like a punch to the gut. Only Nesta threw him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as she had looked at him before.

And then they were gone. And Eris had to sit down, or he may have thrown up. He was shaking with pent up energy and emotions. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her at all during the meeting, not when she has been looking at him with soft eyes that expected a good male to be standing before her. He was not good. He was tortured and twisted and wrong. He knew if he had looked into her eyes he would have fallen apart and gotten to his knees before her to ask for her forgiveness for what had happened with Mor, and even with Lucien. He usually brushed off the comments about those events, any event where his morals are questioned. But with Y/n standing there he felt such a need to defend himself- to explain. But he couldn’t. Not fully. And now Y/n will know he is a monster, and she will never again touch his hands with softness, never again look into his eyes with hopeful caution. Gods. All it took was one damn dance and Eris was a fool for her.

He had to see her again. Had to know if she was okay. For now, though, all he can do is go home to the Autumn Court, and pray his father remained unaware of his absence.

Y/n’s POV

Amber eyes, freckled skin, sharp cheekbones, and the softest red hair. Y/n had been dreaming of this face for weeks, but now, instead of a frozen lake with pain and fear in his eyes, they were on the dancefloor. He still looked at her with fear in those beautiful eyes, but this was a much more vulnerable kind of fear. Not fear of her power, but fear of her looking too closely at him. Fear of being seen. In this dream, he doesn’t turn and run away. In this dream he stays, and they stare into each other’s souls for a long while. Then, she leans into him and rests her head on his chest, and he continues to sway her back and forth until the song comes to an end.

When she looks back up at him, his face is cold. His gaze harsh and unforgiving as he pushes her away. She stumbles, but her family rushes in behind her. Eris, who was soft and warm moments ago, was now distant and cruel as he sneers and looks you up and down before exiting the dancehall.

Y/n jolted awake gasping for air. Feyre was immediately by her side, holding her hand. When Y/n catches her breath, Feyre cups her cheek and wipes away the stray tears that Y/n hadn’t noticed falling. Feyre climbs into the bed next to her. The small bed was set up right next to the fireplace, and Y/n crooned toward the heat and golden glow on her face. It was nighttime, or maybe the early hours of the morning. Feyre laid on the side furthest from the fire, her head propped up on her hand and reached the other out to comb Y/n’s hair with her fingers.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre whispered.

Y/n motioned to her throat in a request for water and Feyre jumped up to get it for her. After a few large, unladylike gulps, she set the glass down on her bedside table. “Thank you. I’m okay. What happened?”

“We were in the meeting with Eris,” Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name and tried to not make it obvious she had just been dreaming about him, “when all of a sudden you cried out in pain and fell unconscious.” Feyre finished.

“My head had been hurting throughout the meeting. I don’t know what was wrong, I’m sorry. That must have been so embarrassing and unprofessional. Is Rhys upset?”

“Rhys? Oh Y/n, of course not! He’s been worried sick about you. Like a mother hen. He’s terrible, honestly,” Feyre chuckled softly. It made Y/n feel more at ease.

“But we didn’t get the information from Eris about the Spring Court. I messed up the whole meeting because of a silly headache- “

“Y/n, stop, it’s really okay. Eris was being an ass anyway and- “ Feyre halted as Y/n groaned and held her head in her hands. “Y/n? Y/n what can I do?” Feyre sat helpless as her twin’s face contorted in pain. Y/n swung her legs over the side of the bed to fully face the fire raging in the hearth and she felt the pressure in her head lighten.

Feyre came to sit beside her again, and when she could think again, Y/n started to remember what happened at the meeting. She remembered being confused the whole meeting. By Eris refusing to look at her, by the history with Mor and with his brother, and the rising tension in the room and the distain that her family held for Eris. She remembered the pain in Eris’ voice that no one else could bother to hear, when he said, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.” And that was when the pain in her head escalated to a point that she could not handle. Then she comes to now, when Feyre started to insult him, and the pain came back. The only to help, being the fire… Her twin wasn’t stupid. Y/n knew she had pieced it together too before even looking at her. And it wasn’t her daemati power. Y/n had worked tirelessly on her mental shield.

Y/n slowly turned to lock eyes with Feyre and was met with a knowing but weary gaze. “So… Eris, huh?”

“Ugh, Feyre!” Y/n groaned and threw her pillow at her head. Easily grabbing the pillow, Feyre and Y/n burst out into laughter. They hadn’t laughed like this together in so long. They had been so close until Feyre came to Prythian, and Y/n hadn’t noticed how much she had been missing her sister.

When their breathing slowed and they could once again keep a straight face, Y/n looked back to her sister. “I don’t know. I feel this pull to him, but I also know how much everyone hates him. I mean her tried to take you from us on that damned lake, he apparently has hurt Mor, and I don’t even know what to think about what happened to poor Lucien. And at the same time, I think I see him in a way that not even he can. He is the embodiment of fire, Fey. How could I not be drawn to him like a moth to a flame? I think… I think he might be a good male deep down. But I’m so confused.” Y/n sighed and put her head in her hands again.

Feyre rubbed her sister’s back in an attempt to soothe her. It makes sense, she thinks, for her sister to be intrigued by Eris. But she was in the same boat with their family’s animosity toward the male, it would be difficult to work around centuries of hurt, even if they were misunderstandings. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

When Y/n woke the next morning, it was close to noon and Feyre was gone. Likely off performing her duties as High Lady to get ready for the High Lords meeting, they were planning. As she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, she noticed a quill and parchment sat out on her desk across the room. Having learned how to read and write not long ago, she thought it might be a sign to practice. She had already missed her usual lesson with Rhys or Amren, so this would have to do.

She wrapped the plush green robe tighter around her shivering frame and sat in the large desk chair with her knees to her chest, her head resting atop them. The desk was a beautiful cherry oak wood, stained to deepen the natural red tint of the wood. The complexity of the color and the grain of the wood had Y/n’s mind wandering to a certain male who was just as complex and had hair a similar shade of red. Thinking of the way his hand felt on her waist as they danced, how warm he was, and the moment of vulnerability he showed during the meeting. She felt her heart crack slightly as she recounted the look on his face and the way his voice broke imperceptibly when he said, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

The memories had her picking up the quill, dipping it into some ink, and pressing to the page.

She folded the parchment into a triangle shape that could be carried by the wind, and with all her power, willed the wind to carry it to the Autumn Court. Hoping and praying to whatever gods may listen, that no one else finds it.

Eris’ POV

The minute he arrived back in the Autumn Court, Eris was so exhausted that he could have wept when he saw his horse standing there waiting for him. The chestnut stallion was a clear mirror of himself. Tall, deceivingly strong with his lean frame, and a coat the color red that could only be found in his home court. A striking white blaze ran down his long face onto his soft muzzle. As Eris approached him, Ignatius lifted his head in greeting and let out a low nicker. Eris approached him with tired eyes and a small, fond smile. “Hello, friend. Let’s go home, shall we?” Stroking his neck in a few long, slow movements, Eris mounted his steed and they started on their way back to the Forest House.

When they made it back to the stable, Eris took Ignatius’ saddle and bridle off, put him in his stall and made sure he had extra gain for the night. Giving his friend a final brushing, Eris bid him goodnight- although it was likely closer to morning by now.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, sleep embraced him in a tight hold and dragged him to a land of dreams. Dreams of Y/n and her shining y/h/c hair, her soft but calloused hands in his, and her stunning y/e/c eyes staring straight into his soul. He could stay in this dream forever he thinks. Hearing her soft voice say far too kind things to him.

Eris finally awoke when a maid opened his door and startled him from sleep. She squealed and jumped when Eris shot up from his bed, and profusely apologized as she scurries away, closing the door behind her. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed, making his way over to his balcony where the first maid must have come in and set out his tea for the morning. The pot was cold by now, but that was no issue for a fire wielder. Quickly, his tea was hot once again as he sat and looked out upon the grounds of his house. House, not home. As he sat and breathed in the early afternoon air, something caught his attention. It looked like a piece of parchment floating on the breeze. It couldn’t be- but it kept getting closer to him and suddenly in was within his reach. He snatched the paper from the sky and looked at it with wide eyes. He could smell her. Y/n’s scent of cashmere and cinnamon, all things warm and comforting. He closed his eyes for a long moment, just breathing her in. when he regained his composure, he sat down and unfolded the letter.

Dear Eris,

I am fine, in case you were wondering. Truthfully… I’ve been wondering about you. Maybe that isn’t appropriate to say, but I’ve already written it and I simply can’t waste good parchment to not say what I mean and what I feel. I’m confused and I want to talk to you. I don’t believe there is ever only one side to a story and I’d very much like to hear yours.

Y/n

Eris choked out a laugh and had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep himself from breaking out into a fit. He knew she was bold, but this was something he could not have anticipated. She was thinking about him. Eris shook his head to clear his thoughts and rushed back inside to his large mahogany desk. The drawers painted the shade of green of the forest after a heavy rain. After he thought through what he wanted to say, he put ink to paper and wrote out his response. He hoped he didn’t seem desperate by responding with such haste, but he too was wondering about her and wanted to know her. So, he held the letter in the palm of his hand and set it alight.

Y/n’s POV

Despite the late start to her day, she tried to regain some sense of control by tracking down Cassian for a training session, eating lunch and doing some studying that Amren assigned her in the library. By the time she got back to her room, the sun was setting, and she asked the house to bring her dinner to her room.

With her eyes half closed from exhaustion, she plopped down on her couch in front of the already lit fire. When she peeled her eyes open, she noticed a small, folded paper sitting in front of the hearth. She felt her heart jump to her throat as she scrambled to reach for it on the ground. Holding her breath, she unfolded the paper delicately. As if it might turn to ash in her hands.

Dearest Y/n,

I am glad to know you are alright. I was… worried. About you. I am also happy to see your boldness knows no bounds. You fascinate me and I find myself wanting to know you. But it seems you have questions for me too, so let us make a deal. A question for a question. What do you say, little dove?

I eagerly await your response,

Eris

Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie

@ivy-34 @minaethrym @nebarious @anxious-study @slytherintaco @talesofadragon @paleidiot @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @tenebrisirae

[freenos]

Ok maybe I do have more thoughts on the Medea interactions and how they reflect on Melinoe:

I’ve noticed that the discussion around Melinoe’s morality tends to focus on her proximity to the Olympians but I think there’s also something to be said about the moral grey area that witches fall under. She didn’t grow up in the House of Hades or Olympus, she grew up in the Crossroads and her perspective is influenced by the guidance of witches. And while Circe and Hecate are a little coy about their misdeeds, Medea stands out as the one who really owns the darker aspects of her craft and talks about the suffering she inflicts with pride. In contrast, Melinoe is…not pure but very invested in the idea of doing the right thing and being in the right. So there’s this contrast between them, Melinoe clings to moral justification for her task while Medea isn’t held back by moral dilemmas.

And I think part of that is because Medea pursues her craft to satisfy her own vengeful desires while Melinoe hasn’t gotten to fully explore her identity as a witch yet: They both use their craft in vengeful ways but Melinoe always has this degree of separation from the root conflict. (Nemesis gets at this idea quite a lot actually.) The titans are retaliating for things her family did long before she was born, yet Melinoe is tasked with cleaning up the mess. And when she does take time to herself, she often feels guilty about it. In contrast, Medea gets the satisfaction of personal revenge and is content to use her curses on anyone who gets on her bad side.

It’s that intent that differentiates Medea from Melinoe, I think. No matter how impressive her feats, Melinoe is ultimately a weapon wielded by someone else and lacks pure intent of her own so she often hints at feeling…morally conflicted when talking to Medea. While Medea draws her power from the “blackest of intent” , it seems like Melinoe is forcing a tough exterior, filling a role that doesn’t always come naturally to her. And she wants to know how Medea manages to pull it off so seamlessly. Medea’s “with practice!” line is funny but also, if Melinoe is going to eventually become the goddess of nightmares, maybe she will get there with practice…

I have a suspicion that her arc won’t be about “becoming the nicest person and making everyone proud” but instead, channeling her craft to achieve her own goals without seeking the approval of a higher authority or abiding by someone else's vision of the future. Not perfectly restoring the Age of Gods or the Golden Age of mortals but instead bringing about a different future. She may end up letting her compassion guide her but Prometheus doesn't call her an agent of good or evil, he calls her an agent of change. And it seems like witches in this game are portrayed as catalysts for transformation.

As her understanding of the world grows and shifts, I think it’s interesting that Medea is one of the people Melinoe looks up to and confides in. She asks Medea these very earnest questions about mortals and gods and Medea grants her a joyfully bleak perspective every time:

Medea also has this consistent tendency to disregard mortal suffering, to compare them to livestock and talk about them in terms of how poison-susceptible they are. I get the sense that Melinoe's perception of mortal weakness is influenced by these kinds of conversations:

Melinoe's understanding of the world is shaped by an interesting range of perspectives and is somewhat...shaky and incomplete for now. I think she isn't quite sure how to reconcile her more compassionate impulses and the responsibility that she's dedicated her life to:

Although she adheres to a very black-and-white set of beliefs for the sake of completing her task, there's also hints of uncertainty in her conversations, especially with Medea, a more experienced and self-assured witch. I think Melinoe's character development has the potential to go in a lot of interesting directions!

[property-of-sevika]

Smoking Hot

I had a choice on whether to go to the gym that’s close to my house or go to the one that Sevika goes to.

It wasn’t a hard choice.

I just had to walk 6 extra blocks which ironically was like working out before and after I go work out… so I could see the woman who’s stuck in my head.

My heart always beats so fast when I approach that gym. I'm mentally getting ready for Sevika’s gun show. She’s so muscular and I never saw her wear a shirt with sleeves. She’s beyond confident and that works for her. I recently decided that cockiness wasn’t hot on anyone but her. She watches herself workout in the mirror when she’s alone. I’ve seen her smirk in the mirror before. Just so pleased with the view… I can’t blame her. I'm pleased too. I suppose I'm in denial that I’m kind of a stalker… A nice, sweet, smart, funny, awesome, super dope stalker at least.

I noticed that every once in a while she’ll be a spotter for a group of younger goons who work for Silco. I figured keeping them in shape is a way to protect herself in the long run. All that “stalking” gave me info to put the story together.

One time, I saw her kick a loud, obnoxious big guy out of the gym and I know she doesn’t even work there. Then she strutted back to the area the goons were at, sat down on a bench, and then sparked a blunt right there in the gym. She only smoked a few puffs and then put it out, but WOWWW she’s ballsy. I wonder what provoked that whole situation in the first place…

Honestly, thinking I’m some sort of stalker is cringe and cowardly so it’s time I talk to her today. No more guessing what is going on with her.

As I approached the door I quickly put my plan together. I will first see what kind of workout she’ll be doing and then go do some exercise next to her. After that I’ll go with the flow and make a move at the first chance. But ummm what’s my move? Uhhhh too late I’m here.

As I stepped into the bustling gym, the rhythmic sound of weights clinking filled the air. Among the sea of focused faces, my heart skipped a beat as I spotted my crush across the room. She was alone, engrossed in her workout, grunting with her muscles glistening with sweat under the fluorescent lights.

I’m so happy she is actually here!

I mustered the courage to approach, exchanging a shy smile as I passed by. Our eyes met for a second but I kept it moving … even though her eyes are super beautiful, I didn’t want to embarrass myself by staring. Although I wouldn’t mind looking at her all day and night.

I chose a barbell bench press next to her. I sat my water down on the floor and stretched my arms. To tell the truth, I’m in pretty good shape myself… got most of my fit looks from running around on the streets and roofs in Zhaun. Half the time it was out of necessity because this area tends to be rough. I’ve had to run from all kinds of jerks my whole life so staying in shape was a must.

Anyway, I felt like Sevika was watching me out of the corner of my eye. I fixed my eyes on the mirror as I pushed up my sleeves, flexed, and shook my arms, loosening up and honestly trying to shake off the nerves.

Sevika was so close right now. Seems like she had gotten at least a foot closer!

I “casually” glanced at her when she was putting down a free weight she was doing bicep curls with.

She didn’t see me peek at her that time. Jeez, she's attractive. Her posture exudes confidence. She has such a strong, athletic physique, with defined muscles that showcase her dedication to fitness. Her waist is trim while her thick legs are powerful and sculpted from years of training. A smile uncontrollably appears on my face.

…Don’t be a stalker…

I set up my weights and sat on the bench. In my head I’m psyching myself up to lift them … I now have to face a taunting afterthought of regret for making them heavy to show off. Can’t make it lighter at this point.

So, instead of jumping right into it I do more stretches. I bend my fingers and then shrug my shoulders in circles.

Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of every tiny movement I’m making and worried it looks awkward. I’m trying to act cool, but my mind keeps racing, thinking about how to look more composed. My stomach flips, and I can’t help but to glance at her in the mirror reflection again. To my surprise her eyes were fixed on me! In autopilot mode, I smiled as a way of acknowledging her, saying hi with no words, and she knowingly grinned back. Even that small interaction feels immense, and I get a mix of excitement and nervous energy coursing through me. Butterflies are going absolutely crazy in my stomach.

…I hope that wasn’t weird! Ugh…

Out of panic, I just grabbed the bar and started my workout. In no time my arms get tired fast and I pumped slower and slower as my muscles fatigued. The struggle was real. It felt like I was making ugly faces while straining to get the heavy bar back on the stand.

… come on arms!!! …

All of a sudden the weights got lighter and loud metal on metal clanking indicated the bar was back in a safe position.

My surprise hero spoke, “Looked like you needed a little help there. I’ll spot you. Do it again in 2 minutes.” Sevika’s smoky voice was music to my ears. She stunned me and pretty much saved me from whatever disaster I was about to cause in front of everyone.

I sat up quickly and turned to look at her, “thank you! Wow! Thank you for real! I… I umm” I didn’t know what to say and she put her hand up to stop me from explaining.

“2 minutes,” she nodded and spun on her heel to head back to her own weights.

Those two minutes contained the most exciting streak of anticipation and relief of my life. I massaged my arms and prepared for the next set. She had given me a new wave of confidence and enthusiasm.

And most of all the ice had been broken.

And it was easy because I wasn’t the one who had to do it.

My crush stood next to me and did her set in the mirror… frequently looking at me in the reflection with reassurance and authority… almost like she was checking on me.

As she stepped back over to my bench I got into position on my back and gripped the bar. She stood close and examined my body. Without hiding it, her eyes raked over me.

She reached out over me and lightly touched my stomach, “brace your core,” she asserted, then gracefully ran the tips of her fingers up my arms and said, “breathe out when you push up.”

The odd urge to completely obey her took over and I complied immediately with a soft, “ok.”

As I began, I looked up at her and she watched me like a hawk in the mirror reflection. She looked so tall from this angle. This view of her towering over me above my head is actually very hot! Her jaw line is delectable! Her body’s curves and muscles are astounding.

My mind was about to slip into the gutter but she interjects, “don’t rush.” She gently guides the bar to get me going at the correct speed.

Her words “don’t rush” repeat in my mind… creating borders to my workout as well as my dirty thoughts.

I focused and completed my set perfectly with her guidance.

This time when I sat up we spoke for a moment. This cordial conversation, giving our names, fitness goals of the gym day, and pointing out our favorite gym equipment was very natural and gratifying.

I knew from that point on I could always say hi and talk to her when I saw her there.

Then right back to her undaunted nature, she winked and declared herself my “favorite trainer” and went back to her impressive workout next to me.

I can’t tell if she was flirting but the fact that I couldn’t tell revved me up and was satisfying enough. She wasn’t mean or cold at all. She seemed to genuinely care and was quite charming in real life.

The rest of my workout was strategically placed in her vicinity so Sevika could randomly jump in and give me advice or spot me again.

I can’t explain how good it felt to lock eyes in the mirror and be able to smile at her without feeling like a stalker anymore.

With each glance, the connection grew stronger, igniting a spark that lingered long after our workouts ended.

Later, I saw when she came out of the locker room and scanned the room looking for me. Our eyes met yet again and she came over to me at the front desk.

As she made her way over to me all I could think was how lucky I was.

She took my hand in hers and professed, “good workout, I’m glad we got to meet. I hope you’ll be back.”

I told her while trying not to smile too hard, “I actually just extended my membership! So yes, I’ll definitely be back! And I want to thank you again for helping me today. You definitely are my new favorite trainer!” We laughed a little bit at that and I continued, “seriously, you gave me some important advice… I’m really happy we finally met. And… umm I’m just thankful…because I wanted … you’re so… I just…”

She could clearly tell I was getting flustered so she interrupted, “Ayeeee don’t worry about it. It was my pleasure but let’s just say… you owe me.” She gave me a devious smile and a flirty eyebrow waggle.

Oh god yes! I can give you anything you want! I’m over hiding my desperate desire for her. My heart raced as I looked deep in her eyes and I bit my lip.

I suggestively responded, “my pleasure.”

The moment she realizes I’m flirting with her, her face lights up with a soft, surprised smile, her eyes widening just a bit as the playful energy between us becomes clear. There's a spark of excitement in her gaze.

She leaned closer to me and her reply to my comment was smug and a little quieter, “literally.”

Amidst the clatter of machines and the thumping of music, I realized that the gym wasn't just a place for physical fitness—it was where hearts collided and new beginnings unfolded.

[readerwithsalt]

I think Hazel should’ve gone with Nico instead down to Tartarus. Without a prophecy or quest bc Nico and Hazel don’t play by the rule book.

Then we could’ve gotten an adorable underworld sibling bonding book with both of them hilariously being unaware of modern stuff. And telling each other stuff they’ve learned.

They ditch both of their boyfriends who are freaking out because they don’t know where they snuck off to. And since Nico said in HoH that when he and Hazel shared power that anything felt possible, they truly believe they can succeed.

(Also Hazel understands death and wouldn’t be complaining every five seconds like Will was. Maybe it would’ve been more original and less percabeth 2.0 (but worse)

It begins with Nico leaving Camp Jupiter, having visited Hazel (for what he believes could be the last time) and telling Will he would be back in a week or so. A lie Nico tells to keep his boyfriend from coming after him to Tartarus (way more in character of him lol) as he believes a child of Apollo would easily be snuffed out down there.

Nico realizes he’s throwing a good possible future away by sneaking out to do this, but the nightmares have become so twisted and unbearably disturbing that he fears he’s going to lose his mind either way if he doesn’t manage to find the person calling out his name every night.

He also doesn’t like when others are left behind.

Since Will has insisted Nico not use shadowtravel to get back to New York from California, Nico says he’s going to take the train instead.

But Hazel KNOWS someone is off. Knows Nico is hiding something. Something that causes her brothers eyes to tinge red when he hugs her, gives her a wobbly goodbye, and squeezes just a bit too tight. Something that causes the paper thin smile he gives her when she sees him off to board his train.

Something that inexplicably makes her sneak onto that train behind him.

Upon Nico putting his stuff away in the closet of his train compartment and finding a head of cinnamon brown curls say ‘ouch’ when he accidentally throws his suitcase on top of a stowaway sister, being mad is a bit of an understatement…

When Hazel knowingly questions why he’s so upset at her, Nico suddenly has no words.

They eat in the trains dining room, Chinese noodles with strangely large fortune cookies that they save for later.

Hazel doesn’t manage to get anything out of Nico as they sit side by side next to a window, watching the world whoosh by and making idle chatter that Nico only seems to be half heartedly replying to. Seeing her brothers zoned out gaze, thin hands shaking slightly, the ever present tinge of red and fear ringing his large dark eyes, Hazel knows this is something more than wrong.

If the bravest demigod she’s ever met looks this terrified, to her it can only mean one thing.

Her suspicion is proven correct when her and Nico crack open their fortune cookies from dinner and instead of a thin piece of white with a generic quote on the paper… two small black parchments with gold lettering come out instead.

Two warnings. From what god? They don’t know.

Hazel’s questioning dies on her tongue when she sees the thin lines of tears falling from her brothers eyes. She doesn’t ask him anything else that night, just wraps a hug around him as frail shoulders shake in her arms.

The next day Nico acts as if nothing happened and asks her if frank knows she’s okay which she sheepishly replies that he probably doesn’t even know where she is. Nico says the same about Will, and they decide to not tell their current boyfriends anything yet.

Yet…. After the incident of last night and the fortune cookie parchment mentioning a place that hazel has definitely heard of before, she knows exactly what Nico is planning.

And she’s not letting anything happen to him as long as she’s alive. Even if Nico insists on pretending Hazel doesn’t know anything.

After the long train ride and Nico questioning this one random passenger for an hour about the strange gaming device in his hands (a Nintendo lol) and the siblings chatting about mundane things happening in their camps; they finally are in Manhattan.

Hazel is now done with letting Nico pretend.

Before she can get a word out the word ‘No’ has already passed her brothers lips. They fight. Their first actual fight ever. One that ends in sobs wrecking through Nicos body and pangs of guilt, sadness, and anger piercing Hazels heart.

But one thing rises above them all:

Protectiveness.

After making up and Nico realizing Hazels not ever going to back down given the look in her eyes, he realizes he doesn’t have a say in this. She is coming with him whether he likes it or not. Fear plummets in his stomach.

After a trip to Target for food and supplies for the trip that neither of them currently want to think about because what they are planning to do is… insane. Literally insane. But as Nico remembers that feeling of the time he and Hazel shared their power that one time, a thread of hope starts to weave in his heart. Psychotic hope, but still hope nonetheless.

They shadowtravel to Central Park, Nico not feeling nearly as woozy with Hazels help. He also delightfully finds out that coffee seems to cure the fatigue from using that side of his powers lol.

They manage to open the doors of Orpheus’ by ‘borrowing’ a guys phone as they see him jog by, and play some random song called ‘into the dark’ (by death cab for cuties lol) from the guys playlist holding it up to the opening.

The song sounds like another warning. They both ignore it.

They travel down dark steps, hands clasped. They talk in the quiet empty smelling air, comfortable in the underground silence. Until faint light hits their faces. The ever constant line of fresh souls lead them to Charons boat where they are taken to the land of the dead.

They now must avoid detection from their father at all costs. Nicos not worried about Charon tattling on them to Hades since he doesn’t get paid enough anyway (lol). Nico takes Hazel to meet the trogs new home down in the underworld (one thing I liked in tsats).

Hazel adores them and their funny outfits.

The trogs tell Nico that his ‘really deep tunnel’ he requested they dig is almost done, and Hazel is hurt that Nicos been planning this so long without telling her or anybody. They make Nico and Hazel spend the night with them before they go and they play with the baby trogs and dance together, trying to forget what they’re going to do tomorrow. They fall asleep to the sound of baby trogs giggling next to them.

The next day Nico attempts to sneak away from Hazel one more time and Hazel explodes at him. Anger making her say some things she doesn’t want to and Nico apologizing profusely but saying he’s angry at himself for allowing her to come with him.

They are interrupted by the trogs leader saying the Tunnel Into the Dark is finished. They can feel the intense suction of The Pit even from several feet away. Memories of the first time Nico was sucked down threaten to spill over and embarrassingly makes him want to run and hide somewhere.

But he feels Hazels hand in his and that strange, wonderful feeling of intense power. And love. And then they are straddling a boat the trogs pull from the river of forgotten dreams (the Styx I think) and with one final push… they are falling.

On the boat it feels like they’re floating.

They fall for a very long time. But Nico notices it’s not as long as the first time. Or maybe it doesn’t feel that long bc someone is here beside him.

They use their shared geokinisis powers to make an enormous slide of bones, black dirt, and stone.

When the boat hits the ground Nico almost gets flung face first into the Phlegethon river. They drink from it and begin the search.

They devastatingly find out the voice was never Bob bc Bob was absorbed into tartarus’s breastplate (like in actual canon HoH) but that it was something else entirely.

Something that makes Nico perhaps the angriest he’s ever been.

They find Jason’s soul down there. Something that shocks both Nico and Hazel to the core. Nico thinks it’s a trick but soon can tell that the soul that is looking at him so coldly and unfamiliar is actually Jason.

A different Jason. One with hatred illuminating every thread of his form.

That’s why Nico didn’t know where Jason’s spirit had gone. It had been intercepted by something and Jason has turned into a mania like his mother. A spirit that fumes on hatred and forgotten dreams. The one thing he never wanted to be.

Nico cries over the horrid inevitable fate of Bob and promises that he will ALWAYS be remembered. He doesn’t have much time to think on this though because right now a livid son of Jupiter is rising higher and higher above Nico and Hazel, the threat is obvious.

In Jason’s manic state he blames Nico for not checking on him and seeing that he got a peaceful afterlife and greives the fact that Piper and Leo and Nico ‘never bothered’ to attend his funeral. He blames the gods, his father especially, for being unworthy of their demigod children. He blames the underworlds justice system not following up on his missing soul and dismissing his entire life as if it was nothing.

As if he was never a hero. Never anything at all.

Nicos is crushed, but realizes that Jason’s being manipulated by something. A dream demon that wanted to trap Nico the entire time in order to consume his energy/power and shadow travel out of his prison and into the mortal world bc it would’ve taken him years to get out otherwise.

The dream demon used its powers to intercept Jason’s soul thanks to Caligulas cursed blade that had killed him, and reached inside his mind to find out about Nico and figure out the best way to get Nico to come back to his worst nightmare.

And now that Hazel and Nico are both there that’s double the power to consume.

Turns out the entire thing was simply about a selfish monster playing with demigods. A tale as old as the beginning of mythology.

The demon taunts them saying he used Jason - son of the King of the Gods - as a little toy in order to easily bring his meal to him. Remarking how easy and quick it was to bait someone like Nico.

Someone who can never leave someone behind.

And Hazel, how easy it was to get her to follow her brother. Taunting that she’s just as stupid, gullible, and selfless…

The children of the underworld snap.

And all Hades breaks loose. Signaling to every monster within a 100 mile radius to know exactly where they are.

They battle together but the waves and waves of monsters is just too extreme. On the brink of inevitable death, a certain goddess appears.

The one who gave them the warnings in the form of fortune cookies. The one that sensed Nicos need for vengeance.

They escape with Nemesis help, but she wants something equally valuable in return for helping Nico and Hazel escape. Nico breaks down and agrees to relinquish all of his precious memories of Bianca and his past life in return for Hazel and a new possible future. A true balance in his heart.

Choosing Hazel over memories of Bianca makes Hazel cry and they bond stronger.

Strangely enough Nico becomes happier without the constant grief of his older sister on his shoulder.

In a way choosing to let her go the same way she did when she chose to be with the hunters.

And then once again when she chose reincarnation.

They still have to worry about Jason though who is constantly causing blood thunderstorms across Tartarus’s sky and wrecking havoc all over the place.

(Also it would be so funny to see Jason literally just… chase Nico and Hazel all over the place… flying after them screaming while they run for their lives bc they can’t see or hear due to the bloodstorm & huge booms of thunder and shit lol.)

Hazel manages to trap Jason in a kaleidoscope of his own storm and shadow with her mist magic and her and Nico manage to shadowtravel him to the ghostly boat that will lead them out. She lets him out but he’s struggling so much in his metal binds that Nico has to knock him out with a punch to the face bc he’s the only one that can touch ghosts.

They ferry up the river Acheron out of Tartarus and chat about what the fuck just happened down there.

Hades awaits them when they arrive.

He’s very angered that his two only living children disobeyed his strict order of not going down there, but relinquishes it eventually when he realizes how tired and beat up his kids look and praises them instead. Hades turns to Nico and states that his older sister would be proud of him. Which Nico replies with confusion saying he doesn’t have an older sister which saddens hades as he figures out what Nico had to give away.

He offers them both something they want.

Anything.

Hazel wishes for Jason to be cured of his mania, and Nico wishes to give Jason back a chance at life. As he still had so much work to do for the gods and goddesses that did not have shrines and action figures to respect them.

Both of these things surprise hades but he grudgingly does so (bc Jason is a son of Jupiter/zeus) saying that Nico and Hazel are indeed very special children.

Although Hades honors Nicos wish he can’t simply let a soul leave the underworld without a final test (hazel being the exception) and does something he did thousands of years ago with another hero begging for his wife’s soul back.

He tells Nico and Hazel they can lead Jason out of the underworld but only if they don’t look back at him. Across the fields of asphodel, across cerebus’ cavern, across the river styx, the journey on Charons boat, back up the many steps that lead to the mortal world…. If they look back once their friend is gone forever. Again…

They distract themselves with a deck of mythomagic cards Hazel stole from Frank (cause she wanted to know why her brother and boyfriend liked the game so much) much to Nico’s embarrassed delight. Nico’s so into explaining the game to Hazel, that the intense need to check if Jason’s still behind them dissipates a bit.

They only notice they’re outside when a wave of sunlight blinds them both and a large figure grabs them from behind.

Jason hugs the daylights out of Nico & Hazel crying like a little kid as months of memories of torment in Tartarus resurface into guilt.

Hades thinks it’s slightly amusing to see a tall muscular son of Jupiter being consoled by his two smaller children as he mentally watches the scene play out from his godly throne.

Nico says he kept the plans of the shrines Jason wanted to build and says maybe he can help with decorating (lol)

I’m gonna have to get an artist to draw a fancomic of this to heal my soul.

Also…. What the fuck did I just write?

[pisoprano]

Another Loveybug AU concept, this time with amnesia!

Ladybug’s identity gets exposed to Monarch. She manages to get away, but she knows that she can’t remain as Ladybug or the Guardian anymore. She contacts Su-Han and tells him she has to give up the miracle box.

But before relinquishing anything, Marinette starts playing with her transformation. She finds out that if she focuses on her romantic feelings, it manifests as a different suit, one that she is completely unrecognizable in.

Marinette convinces Su-Han that they can’t afford to get someone else to be the new ladybug, not when Scarabella and Kitty Noire were so easily discovered. She’ll keep the earrings. She just won’t be able to remember her time as Ladybug.

Ladybug goes out in public to face Monarch one last time, this time following in Master Fu’s footsteps to sacrifice her memories to pass on the miracle box (now, returning it back to Su-Han).

A disoriented Marinette finds herself standing before a purple man who wails about losing something. But before she can ask what’s going on, a boy in cat ears takes her in his arms and carries her home. There’s something in his eyes, something she can’t quite place. Sadness? Love? Whatever it is, he doesn’t say. He merely kisses her forehead and says, “Thank you for everything.” And then he’s gone.

Alone in her bedroom, Marinette finds a box with a pair of earrings inside. As she tries them on, she is accosted by a bug-mouse who can talk. ‘Tikki,’ this being calls herself, tells Marinette that she was chosen to inherit the Ladybug mantle. Tikki also says that if Marinette channels her feelings of love, she can become a hero who can protect Paris. Marinette thinks of her love for her boyfriend Adrien (who could ever forget him?), then proclaims “Hearts on!” And suddenly, she’s pink.

She encounters the boy with cat ears again. He tells her that he’ll protect her as she gets used to her powers. She finds herself acclimating far more easily than she thought possible for a clumsy girl like her. (It’s probably a side effect of the super suit.)

She looks up information about her predecessor—apparently Alya was obsessed with cataloging every detail she knew about ‘Ladybug.’ Marinette isn’t entirely sure why she doesn’t remember much about all the months of attacks that have plagued Paris. Maybe that purple man acquired mind erasing powers and Ladybug hadn’t been able to fix it with her miracle cure before she passed on the miraculous?

Tikki tries to inspire her with her own stories of Ladybug. How she’d always try to stand up against the cruelty of the world and fight for kindness. Marinette wasn’t sure how she was supposed to fill the shoes of someone like that. Though apparently Ladybug had been a klutz with a stutter too, so maybe Marinette might not be entirely a hopeless cause.

Alya’s been sad ever since Ladybug went away. Alya had dedicated so much of her life to Ladybug, it made sense she’d miss the superheroine when she’d gone. Marinette tries to get Alya to get invested in reporting about Loveybug, but she doesn’t bite. Alya’s far more interested in making sure Marinette knows how amazing Ladybug was. Even if it makes her sad, Alya clearly needs to reminisce, and Marinette is happy to be there for her.

Adrien’s been sad too, though he seems to cheer up a lot when he’s around her. He’s also gotten really protective. Practically every time an akuma alert goes off, Adrien is sticking Marinette in a closet for her to hide in before running off to his own hiding place. She doesn’t point out that she’d feel more protected if he stayed in the closet with her—she needs to use the time alone to transform. But it’s always nice that she can use the moments where Adrien kisses her goodbye as fuel to use for ‘channeling love’ when transforming into Loveybug.

The boy in the cat ears is different too, at least from how he acted in all those videos. It was incredibly obvious that he was head over heels for Ladybug from the beginning. Marinette doesn’t understand why Ladybug had apparently rejected his advances. He was sweet. And he is still sweet, but when he’s around Loveybug… the light leaves his eyes. She probably reminds him of the partner he lost. She tries to give him space, but that only seems to make him look even more lonely. She tries to cheer him up instead. Make him laugh. It turns out he had a magical laugh. (If she wasn’t already with Adrien, she could see herself falling for the boy in cat ears too.)

Gabriel Agreste sends Adrien away to London. Marinette tries to keep the boy she loves home, but only manages one final kiss goodbye before he is taken away. She doesn’t think she can channel that kiss to becoming Loveybug. Her heart hurts too much.

As Marinette mourns, Tikki finds a box of rainbow cookies somewhere in Marinette’s room. In an attempt to cheer her up, she eats a purple macaron and tells Marinette she’ll provide a cool new power the next time she transforms. Marinette, heart still heavy, says, “Tikki, power up.” Suddenly, she’s weightless. Realizing this power has opened up the entire world to her, she immediately takes to the skies. Adrien. She could now find Adrien!

She searches London for the boy she loves, serendipitously finding him standing on a balcony of a secluded apartment. Adrien stares at her, eyes impossibly wide. “Cosmobug?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

She looks down at the suit she’s wearing for the first time. There aren’t any hearts anywhere. Only spots. She thinks she’s seen a picture of Ladybug wearing a suit very much like this. Maybe this was how all powered-up suits looked?

“I’m Loveybug,” she explains. “I’m here to rescue you!”

Adrien stands there unmoving, like he’s calculating a tough math problem in his head. Finally, he asks, “Marinette?”

She squeaks. “How did you figure me out? I’ve been so careful! Oh no, it’s because I forgot to ‘channel love’ before transforming, isn’t it? It messed with the mask magic, didn’t it? I knew I was going to mess up eventually…”

Adrien put his arms around her. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m really happy I found out your identity.”

Marinette curls in on herself. “Ladybug would be so disappointed in me if she knew…”

Adrien blinks. “You don’t know who Ladybug is?”

“Tikki can’t tell me things like that. She can only talk about how great her old holder was and how much she misses her.” She realizes Adrien probably has no idea what she’s talking about. “Oh! Tikki is—“

“I know who Tikki is,” he says, smiling. “And I think she left out some things. Come inside, I want to show you something.”

Adrien leads her to a mirror. “Try powering down. But this time, don’t do the ‘channeling love’ thing you do to become Loveybug.”

“What do I channel instead?”

“Nothing. Don’t think about it, just let whatever happen happen.”

She closes her eyes takes a deep breath. She tries to forget that Adrien was here with her. She tries to think of nothing, but her mind won’t let her stay on nothing. Instead, it turns towards the boy with the cat ears. The boy she has no business loving. She thinks about how she doesn’t need to be in love with him to want to be his friend. His partner, something inside her whispers. Aloud, she says, “Power down.”

She opens her eyes and sees her reflection. The hearts are still gone. The face, though… “Why do I look like Ladybug?” she whispers.

“Because you are Ladybug,” Adrien tells her.

“That’s not possible.”

“It is. Ladybug gave up her memories to protect the miraculous. But she—you—found a way to stay by Chat Noir’s side anyway.”

By becoming Loveybug. By channeling her love. “Was I in love with him before? Chat Noir?”

“I think so.”

She bites her lip. “Do you think I should return to him?”

“Are you in love with him now?” he asks.

“I… maybe,” she admits. Somehow, even when suppressing her feelings, the boy in cat ears tugged at her heart. But she could also feel a strong tug in another direction. “But I’m in love with you too, Adrien. I don’t want to give us up.”

He smiled, nodding like it was the ‘right’ answer. “You don’t have to, my lady.”

‘My lady.’ She knew those words. Not just from the Ladyblog videos. The term of endearment passing through his lips thrums against her very soul.

“Chat Noir?” she asks, unsure this could be real.

She looks into his eyes. His green eyes. Not quite like a cat’s, but there was a familiarity in the way they moved. In the way those eyes looked at her like she was his entire world.

“Yes. It’s me.”

She has so many questions. But the one that ends up leaving her mouth is, “Why are you still here? You could transform, leave here with no one to stop you.”

Adrien’s mouth falls agape once, then twice as he searches for words. Finally, he shrugs. “I guess I was waiting for someone to rescue me. If you still want to do the honors?”

Well, she hadn’t come all this way for nothing. She lifts him in her arms, every fiber of her straining with the desire to keep this precious boy safe. She still isn’t entirely sure how she’s going to protect him when his father finds out. Maybe Chat Noir could be a more permanent fixture around Paris? And, to make sure he didn’t feel so alone, Loveybug would spend as much time as possible there by his side.

Two of the biggest romantics in Paris, falling for each other… Alya might finally get invested in covering Loveybug now there was juicy relationship gossip to invest in. But Marinette should probably give Alya some closure about what really happened to Ladybug first, even if Alya couldn’t share that information with the rest of the world. Marinette couldn’t wait to see the look on her BFF’s face when she learned that Marinette Dupain Cheng of all people wielded the ladybug miraculous!

Until then, she holds on tight to Adrien Agreste as she flies him home.

At some point, he starts to get cold and she suggests that he transform to get protection from the suit.

His mouth pulls into a cheeky grin. “Plagg, claws out.” His hair turns green.

Wrong catboy! her mind screams, dropping him in a burst of horrifying clumsiness.

He calls up a power-up transformation before he falls into the sea, then flies up beside her. This time, he looks how she knows Chat Noir looks when given the gift of flight, not a green hair in sight. “Did I mention I can also transform into Catwalker?” he asks, feigning innocence (badly).

“No you did not!” she hisses.

“Just thought you should know I’ve got a backup identity too. In case we need it.”

“Do you plan on erasing your memories?”

“No…?”

“Then we don’t need another backup,” she declares. “Adrien and Chat Noir are plenty for me.”

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry for the delay folks xx

masterlist

now i wish we’d never met ‘cause you’re too hard to forget while i’m cleaning up your mess i know he’s taking off your dress and i know that you don’t but if i ask you if you love me i hope you lie to me

Bucky Barnes was a great many things, a paradox in a single man, many opposite things to different people. For some he was an angel, charity driven and ready to sacrifice himself for everything and everyone. For others, he was a demon, someone who was power driven, filled with the need for success and stepping on anyone he needed to be the first and the best. No matter what both thought, all agreed on one thing - Bucky Barnes was one hell of a charmer. He’d gotten that from his mother - old high class British charm, his father used to say. That combined with his looks made him irresistible to most people. Everyone flocked to him, everyone except for Y/N. She’d vanished from his side a bit later into the night and he hadn’t seen her since. Each time he thought to look for her, someone would need him or catch his attention.

Even with all that, he couldn’t find her. Y/N was an eye catching woman, she was beautiful and if she were anywhere near he would’ve found her. Instead, she was nowhere to be found and he was starting to get annoyed. He wanted to spend the evening with her, or at least he had intended to spend the evening with her, introducing her to the right people who could help her. He continued listening to whoever was talking to him right now - truth was, he wasn’t even sure who that person was. He just usually smiled and kept up simple talks, that was what was required of him so he would gladly keep doing it as long as it yielded results.

As for Y/N, she had almost forgotten who she was here with. Christopher Davis was someone who she always could picture herself with. He was smart, well spoken, well mannered and seemed to have an interest on her. Besides, he had gone through the same thing as her back at Columbia.

      - I’m just saying Professor Williams is a pain. - Chris laughed as Y/N explained what her supervisor had said. - If Professor Anderson likes you then you must be a bright student.  

      - Or maybe I’m just really daft. 

      - I don’t think so. - he smiled. - Sergeant Barnes doesn’t employ someone who doesn’t have promise. 

      - Except I don’t work for him ... I mean, not like you work for him, I’m just an au pair. I reckon the only criteria was are you a threat and are you good with children. 

      - How is it working with Sergeant Barnes if you don’t mind me asking?

Chris looked at her and then back at James whom he didn’t notice had been staring them down until now. He sighed, putting on his best smile, after all, he was trying to impress this girl. 

     - He’s uptight and a bit controlling but I guess you have to be if you want things to run smoothly. Specially when you work in advertising. 

     - That’s most CEOs isn’t it?

     - Yes but James Barnes is .. different. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like a disgruntled employee. 

     - That is fine. Sergeant Barnes has got me on my nerves every once and again?

     - Is that so? - Y/N felt the blood drain from her face as she turned around to face her boss. She wasn’t afraid of him per say, but she also knew, she just knew he would probably be pissy for the rest of the evening. - Good evening Y/N, Mr. Davis. 

     - I will see you tomorrow, Y/N. - Chris smiled at the au pair.

To say Y/N was over the moon was a massive understatement. He liked her, at least she thought he liked her enough to invite her out. She didn’t think she still had it within her, she was usually busy looking over Sadie or with her postgraduate studies - that didn’t give her enough time to think about her sex and love life. That being said, maybe that explained why she was having the weird dreams and fantasies about James; familiarity. Right? It had to be that.

Bucky on the other hand felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Chris was ... well, he didn’t know that much about Chris other than he came from money yet he couldn’t even blame him from that since he had come from money as well. He was just boring, Bucky found him boring. He didn’t take risks, at least not enough risks for someone who worked at advertising. He played it safe. It worked, but it wasn’t revolutionary. Still, Bucky didn’t like him. He definitely didn’t like him for Y/N either. Y/N was smart, innovative, caring and another bunch of positive adjectives which were too long to list. Chris was just boring.

     - So how’s that lady? - Y/N broke the silence between the two of them, a bit tipsy on the champagne which she wasn’t used to drinking.

     - What lady?

     - Delilah? - she looked up through her dizzy, tipsy mind, before snapping her fingers. - Delia. Yeah, that’s her name. How is Delia?

     - You would know if you weren’t busy flirting with my employees. 

     - Oh so you can flirt but I can’t?

     - Not when you’re with me. You’re embarrassing yourself and humiliating me.

     - But I’m not here with you, am I, sergeant? I am not your date, am I?

     - No. - he smiled forcefully. - However if I were going to flirt with someone I would pick someone less boring. 

     - You work in advertising, Sergeant. Everyone is boring. 

(...)

Bucky had never spent a whole night alone with Sadie, not when she was awake. Yet, here he was, left behind by his au pair so she could go and date boring Chris while he had to deal with a very hyper Sadie who was running around as if it wasn’t 8 o’clock yet. He usually had a babysitter or he had Y/N, or Steve yet right now he was by his lonesome. He thought she would’ve settled down if he played princesses, yet, she did not. Instead Bucky now had knotted hair, glitter on his face and probably some on his eye and permanent marker on his neck. He had finally given up and done the worse thing in the eyes of every parenting book - he’d given her a tablet loaded with all the Bluey seasons. Meanwhile he’d taken to watching re-runs of Mad Men. 

     - Bed? - he asked the curly haired ginger who looked up at him, her hair in front of her face. - I’ll give you 10 dollars?

     - No. - she replied before looking back at her tablet. Bucky sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Soon the terrible twos would be done and he’d have the terrifying threes. 

    - 20 dollars? - he said once again but she ignored him. He sighed, how come Y/N managed to do this? - Sadie, you can either go to bed or you can be tired tomorrow and not go to the park with Y/N. Choose. 

She looked at him with the death stare which she had inherited from him, but eventually got up, grabbing his hand. Bucky smiled, picking her up and walking to her bedroom. He pushed the sheets from her bed, carefully rolling her to her mattress before tucking her in, handing her a Bingo plushie. 

    - You want a story, babe? - he asked her, brushing her curls away from her forehead. - No?

    - Light?

    - I’ll turn your little moonlight on. - he kissed her forehead. - I love you, Sisi bug. 

She smiled at him and it was enough for him to know she meant she loved him too. He tucked her once more before turning off the main light, leaving the room softly lit by the nightlight. Slowly and softly he went up the stairs, grabbing a wick basket and started collecting toys onto it. She had too many toys, still he wouldn’t stop buying them. As he finished it, Bucky sat back down on the couch. He was annoyed. Why did she even go out with that prick? The only thing they had in common was an alma matter and god knows Chris was a legacy student so it wasn’t like he tried as hard to get into university like Y/N had. God, he hated him. Hated how bland and boring he was. 

He toyed around with the remote, trying to find something that would get his head out of the idea of goddamn Christopher Davis trying to get her out of the practically translucent dress she had been wearing. Bucky could swear she did it on purpose, just to show off to him in those strap heels and short sheer black dress like a temptress. He changed channels once more, hoping he’d find something ... maybe a pay per view porn channel or something. Yet nothing took his mind of his au pair, his employee who he should have some professionalism with, and that stupid lacy bra he could make out under that dress. Dressing up like that for goddamn Davis. 

He stared at his phone, watching as hours passed yet nothing fulfilled. Eventually, Bucky made a mistake, a huge, massive mistake. A mistake which fulfilled itself as he opened the door to show Delia. He handled things badly but right now he needed his fill. 

His lips attacked hers as they stumbled towards the bedroom, Bucky locking the door behind him. This was a bad habit, a terrible habit but her lips felt good, her taste was tempting and Bucky wasn’t the one to have good habits. However, today, things were ... different. Her lips leaving lipstick marks on his neck didn’t feel the same. Maybe this was a mistake. He shouldn’t really have a woman in the house when his daughter was asleep upstairs. 

   - Are you alright? - Delia pulled away from him.

Bucky blinked, he had to be going ... stir crazy. Maybe he’d drank a bit too much whiskey but her features morphed and he could swear that in place of the woman he usually called whenever he needed release, stood the woman he wanted to be here now. The sheer dress a vivid memory in the back of his mind. He ignored her question, moving to kiss her neck and putting his hand over her mouth. His fantasies took full front stage as his mind drew a different reality.

All he could see was her, red lips open wide with soft, high pitched moaned as he kissed down her body, doing away with her dress and her underwear. He wanted to mark her, he wanted to mark this vision of a woman he craved. His hands found the top of his joggers, pushing it down as if he were a horny mess. His cock was painfully hard, slapping against his stomach as he stood over her, this vision of Y/N. All he could think of were all the times she saw her, the outline of her breasts, her collarbones. He didn't pace himself, instead lining up with the woman's entrance before he gripped her hips and slide himself in, without much a second of though. The feeling made him grown, he was insane he reckoned, insane because he knew this wasn't her but all he could see is her. The soft moans, the contracted muscles. He fucked her hard and rough until he felt his release approach. Once he did, he slide himself off, jerking off and coming on her stomach, rolling to the side of the bed. He stared at the ceiling fan of the guest bedroom, his mind lulling him back to reality ... all he could think when that moment was once simple thing - Fuck Chris Davis. 

(...)

Y/N didn’t spend the night. He noticed that in the morning as he was getting prepared from work and saw her walk in, with her dress crimped and hair barely brushed. His blood bubbled. If she wanted to fuck old money, she could’ve fucked him. 

    - Had your release? - he knew he was being mean now, just looking to stir the pot. - Fun night?

    - Why? Need some new jerking off material? - she crossed her arms, speaking in a manner and language that almost made him spit his coffee. - Who’s taking Sadie to school?

    - Well, if you can still walk I’d say he did a pretty shit job, huh?

    - I guess I’m taking Sadie to school. - she rolled her eyes. - And it’s none of your business.

    - Well my employee is fucking another one of my employees. Maybe you should go to HR. 

    - Maybe I should and tell them that the boss is acting like an ass. Are you seriously still upset at me that I flirted with someone at your weird benefit? I’m single, I’m allowed to flirt!

    - Not with Chris Davis. Seriously, Y/N, get a better taste in men. 

    - Because you have such a great taste in women. - she poured herself a cup of coffee. - Since you’re dressed, maybe you should take Sadie to school and see your favourite ego boosting group the PTA mums. 

    - Maybe I will.

    - Picking Sadie up from school or do you want me to?

    - Steve’s picking her up.

    - Steve?

Steve. 

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taglist : @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82​ @winters1917​ @vladsgirlxx​

[rhiannonsknife]

you said rhiannon and safe word in the same blurb and now i'm having some thoughts...

i'm thinking about a really intense scene, maybe you being tied up in her basement and her fucking you - whether it be with her strap, her fingers, her tongue, or her knife, she's bringing you to another orgasm (you've lost count of how many she's given you)

now, she's content to wring as much pleasure as she can out of you, but it's getting to be too much. the pleasure has turned into pain and you don't think you can take it anymore. so, you utter your safe word, a hushed sob beneath your breath

red.

she's immediately stopping any and all stimulation, backing away to give you some space. i feel like if it's at the beginning of your relationship, she'd lowkey panic, freezing up and apologizing over and over again. you assure her that it's ok and that she didn't do anything wrong. she's immediately rushing to untie your bonds (if she can't do it fast enough/her hands are shaking too much, she cuts them off with her knife)

the whole night is spent by her side while she continuously makes sure you're ok. she draws you a bath, she brings you a fresh pair of clothes/pjs, and she's constantly checking in to make sure you're ok. she just cares so much about you and she wants nothing more than for you to be ok 💔💔💔

-🪐

100% yess!! she just wants you to be okay :(( god i love rhiannon so much guys cannot!!!

— warnings: established relationships. fem!reader. implied knife play. nsfw content. mdni. use of safe word. after care.

so. as we’ve established: rhiannon loves to know that you trust her as much and that you let her explore these rather ‘extreme’ things with you.

obviously, with handing over power like this comes a certain responsibility. rhiannon lowkey gets so happy and excited (and not even in a sexual way) to have somebody there who loves and appreciates her so much that they’re willing to share the experience with her!!

before you get started, she talks about every possible thing that could happen; discusses safe words and boundaries, things you definitely want to incorporate, dealbreakers, and stuff that you’re not sure about/want to experiment with. obviously, even with all of that settled, there are times when it just becomes too much to handle. pushing you to your limits is the point, after all, and rhiannon appreciates it even more that you’re comfortable and willing enough to stop whatever you’re doing and don’t try to push yourself for her sake.

that doesn’t mean she’s not in full panic mode the first time you use your safe word.

she’s been keeping you tied up for what must’ve been hours, at this rate. she’s started out by rubbing her knife against your clit until you’d been pushed over the edge -embarrassingly fast and from nothing but the firm pressure of the handle. ever since you’ve lost count of how many orgasms rhiannon has given you. she has put her mouth on you, has finger fucked you (-stuffing your cunt full. “so you’re ready to take my cock” she’d claimed, pumping three fingers into you at a brutal pace), and has then gotten the strap out for good measure.

that’s how she’s been fucking you ever since. right now, your wrists are tied together and she’s got you bent over, ass up and face down as she slams into you from behind. under different conditions, you would wonder how she does it, how she keeps up the relentless motion of her hips, snapping forward time and time again. but right now, your brain is foggy with the haze of your previous orgasms and the sting of overstimulation.

something seems off today, though. usually, there’d be pleasure in the pain that comes from being pushed this way. there’d be a thrill in knowing you’re giving all control to rhiannon. there’d be at least one more orgasm in you. it had been pleasurable, up until this point, after all.

under your breath, knowing you won’t be able to manage anything louder than this, you utter: “orange”, not willing to call it quit just yet. maybe, you think, you can take some more. you want to be good for her, you want to please her.

rhiannon slows her pace down. “are you okay?” she checks in as established. “do you need a break?”

“i don’t- fuck- i’m not sure-“ you stammer. god, rhiannon really has been fucking your brains out, hasn’t she?

her palm lands on your back, tracing the skin there soothingly. “take your time baby” she assures you. she’s so tender with you. in an instant, it pushes the first sob from your throat. her strap is still buried to the hilt, but now that you have the time to consider it, there’s no longer any pleasure in the way it feels. your body is too spent to accommodate the stretch.

“red” you cry out, unable to string any more words together.

rhiannon is backing off of you immediately, a quiet little gasp falling from her lips. you can’t see her yet, she’s still behind your back, but now you long to, desperately.

“i’m sorry” you hear her, sounding frantic. the sound of the harness dropping to the floor still rings in your ears by the time she walks around you. “i’m so sorry, here-“ rhiannon steps into view. she’s discarded the strap and a panic expression is written all over her features. she is in a rush to untie you, cursing quietly under her breath as she isn’t able to undo the knots fast enough for her own liking. in the end, though you’re only half aware of it, she cuts them with her knife carefully.

“is it okay if i touch you?” she asks softly, her hand lingering just above your shoulder, always knowing when to take and when to give, and not yet touching you.

you can only muster a soft nod, but rhiannon sees nonetheless and carefully maneuvers you so you’re no longer on the cold floor, but half draped over her lap. like this, she waits the time out that it takes for your breathing to calm until you’re coherent enough to verbalize your needs.

(she caresses your body all over, whispers sweet nothings against your temple, and plays with your hair.)

“can we go to the bedroom?” you suggest weakly. whilst you appreciate being cradled in her arms, it would obviously be better in the comfort of your bed. you don’t have to ask her twice: instantly, you’re picked up and carried all the way through the house until you’re both curled up under the covers together.

rhiannon is still excessively apologizing at this point and continues to ask if you’re okay: “is this comfortable for you?”, “do you need anything else?”, “god i’m so sorry, i should’ve known”, “can i get you something?”

even after you’re conscious enough to reassure her that you’re okay, that this could’ve happened before, and that the point is not that it was too much, but that she immediately stopped what she was doing to look after you, rhiannon still makes sure you’re the center of her attention for the rest of the evening. she gets you into your most comfortable pjs, takes a bath with you if you feel like it and lovingly scrubs your body clean.

if you don’t, she offers to order dinner for you, and the two of you end up having a movie night on the sofa, cuddling together with tink curled up beside you.

with you, she’s always nurturing like you’ve never seen before but especially after using the safe word, rhiannon wants nothing more than to make up and ensure that you’re okay <33

[augustinapril]

Heyyy Spence

So I saw that you wanted some batfam requests (especially platonic ones) so I was wondering if I could ask for a batfam (you pick whatever characters you want to be added) x bat!sibling reader who’s getting a special award but doesn’t tell anyone about it? Not bc they don’t think the family will care, they just think that the rest of them are busy and don’t want to bother them. They somehow find out though and are all there so surprise the reader?

If not- that’s totally fine too!!

Take care <333

Spider || Batfam

Paring: Batfam & gn!reader

Sypnosis: You're Brooklyns resident Spider, or The Insect, as Heaven likes to call you. It's a job you've taken with honor, and you're being thanked for it by the city. What you didn't expect was to see your family in the crowd.

Warnings: kind of a spiderman x dc crossover? r is basically the spiderman of DC, talks of heights, violence and terribly written fight scenes, reader is threatened by a villian, swearing, mentions of food, its poorly written I'm sorry!!

wc: 3.2k || nav || m.list

a/n: shout out to @lu-vin-it for being a character in this fic! he also happens to write so you should definitely go check out their stuff (that's a threat not a request). thank you @lemkay-luminary for proofreading!! <3 reblogs > likes!!

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Gotham City was constantly buzzing with life, along with death. It was a violent city, full of murderers, thieves, robbers, and villians drowning in a thirst for blood. More times than you could count, the city has stolen the life of people you've cared for. 

It held too many bad memories for you to stay. You loved the city, and it would always be your home, but you had a new home in Brooklyn, too.

Brooklyn gave you a breath of fresh air, here you could see the sun most days. It was calming, the warmth of it a comfort. You love it here and the people here love you in return.

"Spider!" A little girl from down below shouted, strawberry ice cream smeared across her face as she pointed up at you. "It's Spider!"

Her father gave her a light lecture on how it was rude to point when you attached yourself to the side of a building, offering the little girl a wave. She waved back, squealing in excitement at the fact that the Spider was waving at her. 

"Y/n, you know those guys we've been tracking for God knows how long?" Heaven's voice spoke through the comms, startling you.

"I don't, actually, I think they've managed to slip my mind." You retorted sarcastically as you jumped off and swung your way to a nearby rooftop.

"You were bitten by an insect, I can treat you like an insect." 

"Spiders aren't insects, they're—"

There was an annoyed huff that cut you off, it made you snicker. "Fuck you. I should make you do all this by yourself, but I don't. Be grateful. Anyways, so I've gotten a location on them, Visage is most definitely there."

"Where?" You asked quickly. Visage has been tormenting the city for a while now.

"Near Plymouth Church. They've been spotted in some run down building near it." 

"Thank you." You responded and the comms cut out.

That's when you jumped, arms behind you, the breeze pushed against your suit. It was exhilarating to fly through the air, being so high above everything else. 

Helping people in the way you do, swinging through the city and hearing people like that little girl call out to you was worth every risk the job came with. You'd put yourself on the line every time because you're here to protect them. 

Which brought you here, on top of some building across from an abandoned grocery store. Your eyes were glued to the doors, as you watched and waited for something to happen.

A man walked out, wearing protective green gear. It was Visage, you knew it was. There was no mistaking him and his rather ugly suit. 

"Visage, my man, what's up?" You jumped over to the power line nearby, standing on top of the wooden pole. His head snapped up to you, and the second it did, you webbed him. Jumping up you yanked him up with you. You grabbed ahold of his head and slammed it onto the pole. There was a crack in his helmet, him falling to the ground and letting out a pained groan.

"Fuck," You heard him hiss under his breath, struggling to pull himself off the ground. You didn't give him much of a chance before you leapt down in front of him, landing before swiping him off his feet.

"I'm gonna kill you," He raised his gauntleted hand and he fired at you from his spot on the ground.

It was one of his weird creations, Vistech as he liked to call it. It made you realize that villians are extremely uncreative when it comes to naming things.

"'I'm gonna kill you' blah blah blah, I've heard it all before. Your words mean nothing." You retorted, moving out of the way of whatever it was he shot at you. He had a nasty habit of creating new concoctions and testing them on you.

You were sure you probably seemed cocky, and the way he tensed made it evident he wasn't very appreciative of your attitude. "You're really annoying, you know that?"

After that he charged at you, gear adding power to his steps. Your senses spiked, making you leap out of his way. His gauntlet grabbed hold of your arm, as he throwed you towards a nearby wall. 

The impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, falling to the ground with a wheeze. You could hear his heavy boots hit the ground with each step he took towards you. You pushed yourself off the ground, then you lifted your hand and shot webbing at his face. His cries were muffled by the substance, his hand scratched to try and get the webs off. 

You fully pushed yourself off of the ground, wincing in pain. Much to your dismay, the second you were on your feet Visage had pulled off the webs. He ran towards you again and you were lucky to move out of the way on time.

You put your hand behind his head and slammed it full force into the wall, knocking him unconscious. You crouched down, inspecting Visage's guantlet, lifting the heavy metal. It was warm to the touch, most likely because of the weird substance in them.

You looked them over, searching for a way to remove them . It was more sophisticated than you originally thought, but you found it eventually. 

You knew Visage wasn't the highest of rank in whatever business he worked for, but he was high enough on there for you to get some information on the entire organization. 

You tied him up with your webbing, and when you heard police sirens you leapt up to the rooftop of the nearest building, Visage's guantlet in hand.

***

The fight had been all over the news.

Some people praised you for your efforts whilst others said you were nothing but a menace, but the mayor, much to your surprise, was extremely pleased with your work.

She made an announcement on television about wanting to thank you personally for everything you've done for Brooklyn.

Which led you here, stood near the entrance of the building the mayor did most of her work in. She looked elegant, black pencil skirt hugging her legs and waist, a matching jacket on top of a white dress shirt. She was so put together it made you nervous.

You didn't look put together. Not that you really could in your spidersuit but you still felt self-conscious. 

Yet she offered you a warm smile, holding her hand out towards you. "Spider! It's nice to meet you in person."

You smiled back, though she couldn't see it from underneath your mask. "It's nice to meet you too, Madame Mayor." Her hand was warm against the fabric of your suit.

"So you and I will just walk out that door," She began, pointing over towards the door. "And I'll greet the crowd, give a speech, and then I'll shake your hand once more. I'll warn you now, there will be a lot of people."

It was strange how you could fight dangerous people and yet the mention of a crowd made your heart rate pick up. 

You nodded, and she smiled again. Her heels clicked loudly against the white flooring of the office building, your steps quieter than hers. You made sure to wear your converse here. There had been many times you forgot to slip on your shoes before heading out of your bedroom window, your mind racing to find reported criminals.

The doors opened, sunlight shined through as you exited the brick building. There was an abundance of people in the crowd, the snapping of pictures and shouts of Spider filled the atmosphere. There were news reporters that surrounded the barricades of the stairs, keeping the rambunctious crowd from getting too close.

"Hello people of Brooklyn!" The Mayor waved, sun reflecting off of her white painted nails. The way she handled the crowd made you envious and it took everything in you not to teeter on your feet to calm the nerves. 

The crowd gave a series of shouts and greetings in reply, making the mayor laugh. She was good at this, but you suppose she had to be. That's when she introduced you, another wave of excited noise spilled from the ocean of people across from you.

"Hello." You replied as you waved and cringed at how awkward you probably sounded. Another group of greetings sounded around you.

People could be loud when they wanted to be, and that amplified in groups. You eyed them, and noticed the little girl from a few days ago again. She rested on top of her father's shoulders—her face was ice-creamless now—and her abundance of red waves was put into braids with ribbons tied at the end.

She made you smile from under your mask, as the beginning of the mayor's speech slipped past your ears. You moved your gaze from her, your eyes looked over the people and that's when you saw them. Your family in the very back.

Dick looked silly. The entirety of his outfit was just Spider merchandise and you were sure he seemed like an obnoxious fan to the rest of the crowd. Jason stood away from him, probably upset that he had to stand so close to Dick when he looked like that. He blended in more with the crowd, he wore simple attire that any normal person would wear in public. Not that he was normal, he just didn't like to stand out in such a way. 

Your father wore a suit. A very pristine suit, as usual, no one except reporters ever wore something so proper to an event like this. 

Steph had the biggest smile ever on her face, hair pulled back by a purple headband, dressed simply in a long skirt and a purple cardigan to cover it. Tim stood next to her, adorned in a sweater Bernard had given him and a pair of shorts. The both of them were on the opposite side of the crowd. Cass was not too far away. 

She had never enjoyed crowds, or people in general. You wouldn't have noticed her if not for your enhanced senses. She leaned against Bruce's car, the entirety of her black attire blended in with the car's paint. Damian was beside her, arms crossed. The warm weather had him in a simple pair of brown cargo shirts, his green t-shirt blended nicely with them.

Damian probably didn't want to come. Not that he didn't love you or anything, no he often talked about how you were the most tolerable out of the rest of his family, he just never saw the point in coming to something he could very easily watch on TV. You were going to make sure to thank him later.

You returned your attention back to the mayor. As she was nearing the end of her speech she turned to you. "—And I'd like to thank each and every one of you for coming here today. The Spider has done so much for our city this last year, and it seemed rude to not provide our hero a proper thank you."

Her hand reached toward you once again, but before she could grasp your hand an intense feeling of danger hit you. Your head snapped up, turning over and noticing a man—one of Visage's men it seemed from the apparel he wore—directing one of the  special guns directly at the mayor. You shielded her quickly, pulling her away just as he pulled the trigger. 

The crowd screamed at the sound, erupting in panic. You should've known this would have happened. Nothing is ever so easy.

 "Are you okay?" You asked the mayor, and she nodded, mumbling a thank you. You once her over just to make sure before jumping back into the crowd. It was almost as if the man multiplied in your short time of making sure the mayor was okay. 

"Can't you guys take days off or something?" You asked, annoyed when you webbed one of the weapons, yanking it out of his hands and sticking it up against the wall of a building. "Seriously, you guys are everywhere. I think you might need to bring this up with your boss."

One of them charged at you, which you swiftly moved out of the way but kept your foot in place, snickering when she tripped on the ground. 

You jumped, legs pushing you high enough to land on the top of a street lamp. You'd yanked one of the men up with you, slamming his head into the light before webbing him to it, leaving him dangling when you jumped down. 

"Do you ever shut up?" A woman shouted, irritated with you. She lunged at you, but hit the wall—hard enough as to where you could hear a loud groan.

"Only if you say please."

There was only one person left, he radiated irritation. It was easy to piss these people off. If it were a sport you'd have 1st place medals galore.

"And then there were two." You joked, watching as he pulled out a similar weapon to the first guys.

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

You scoffed, preparing yourself to attack him before you answered. "Do you people have no manners?"

It was a swift motion, webbing the weapon so he couldn't fire. He tried to rip off the webs before you got him in the face. His sounds of confusion were muffled, and you took this time to kick the legs out from under him, sticking his hand together 

Within minutes, you'd gotten all of them tied up. It was a swift battle—if you could even consider it one—and now you made your way back to the Mayor.

With a quick once over, you knew she was okay. Shaken up, but overall physically okay. You still asked to be sure. "Are you okay?"

She looked at you, offering a smile. "Yes, I'm okay thanks to you. Thank you again, Spider. For everything. I don't know where Brooklyn would be without you."

You couldn’t think of a response. Talking to people was hard, but talking to the Mayor was harder. Especially when she said something like that. “It’s no problem.” You said, though you questioned if it sounded awkward.

After assisting to make sure everyone was okay. You felt a small tug at the stretchy fabric of your suit. Your head drifting in the direction of the source, your heart warmed. It was the little girl from before. “Spider!”

You grinned underneath your mask, crouching down to see eye-to-eye with her, taking notice of the adorable crochet beanie in her head. “Hello. I really like your hat!”

She giggled, the brightest smile you’ve ever seen crossing her features. “It has you on it!”

"It does! Did someone make it for you?"

Her waves bounced around her head when she nodded, grabbing ahold of her father's hand and shaking it around. "My daddy made it for me! Isn't that right, daddy?"

He gave a proud grin, though it wasn't as bright as it would be if he didn't look so exhausted. "Yeah, that's right, sweetheart. I did make it."

"You should convince him to make me one," You joked, looking up at her father. "It's an awesome hat. I'm honored to have such a hat with me on it."

"She wouldn't stop pestering me until I finished," He replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. "She asked me everyday if her hat was done. She loves you."

You warmed and looked back at the child. "And her love will always be appreciated."

After a rather hard goodbye, he led her back towards their small car. It took a few hours, but eventually you were able to make your way back home for a quick meal. You had some spare time before you decided you were going to force yourself back out into the city, hoping to finally give yourself a chance to relax.

Though it seemed your plans had been foiled, the smell of Mac & Cheese filled your apartment, and the slight chatter of familiar voices bouncing off of the fake wooden walls.

"Alfred?" Your eyebrows rose when you saw the man that was basically your second father standing in front of your stove, a pot in front of him as he stirred a wooden spoon through the creamy noodles. "You're making Mac & Cheese?"

Alfred never enjoyed making Mac & Cheese like this, far more into homemade foods rather than the cheap store-bought boxes. He enjoyed putting care into his cooking, and boxed Mac & Cheese took that away. In his eyes, at least.

You set your stuff down, listening to Alfreds words even though he didn't look at you. "I would have made something else, but it seems this was all you had in your cupboard, L/n."

"Fair." You shrugged before you heard someone clearing his throat.

"No hello to your father?"

You looked at him and smiled. "Hello Father."

Jason snickered, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You sound like Damian." His feet on your table made you send him a light glare.

"Better him than you, Jay. And get your nasty ass feet off my table." You shoved his feet off of the fake wood, as you ignored the glare he sent you when you walked by, and ruffled Damian's hair. "How's the favorite brother?"

He huffed in annoyance and shoved your hand away, an incoherent grumble being your only response.

"Y/n!" Steph interrupted, a blur of purple passing your vision as he gave you a swift hug, arms wrapping tightly around you. "We missed you!"

"I missed you guys too." You grinned, brushing a few strands of blonde hair that fell out of her headband behind her ear after she pulled away. "Where's Cass and Dick?"

As if on queue, Dick walked through the door, his hand in the air as he answered. "We're here!" He had a flare for the dramatics, his high-school yearbooks and his years of theater could prove it. 

Cass' entrance was far more tame, as she carefully walked through as to not drop the big yellow box in her hands,closing the door with her foot. "We brought cake."

"Cake?" You weren't expecting cake, and especially not store bought cake. Alfred would be quivering in his boots if he didn't have to hide his irritation. 

"You didn't tell us about the Mayor." Damian interrupted, his arms crossed. Irritation was written all over his face—which seemed to mask his slight pain about the topic—and you were hit with a sudden pang of guilt.

"Sorry, Dami." You began, as you gave an apologetic smile. You looked at all of them, trying to explain yourself. "You guys are all so busy, I didn't wanna pull you away from your work."

The explanation seemed silly now that you said it out loud. It was a stupid reason, your family cared about you a lot and it probably seemed like a kick in the face. You continued, words spilling out of your mouth in an anxiety consumed guilt.

"It's not that I thought you guys wouldn't care or anything I just— I don't know, I didn't wanna pull you guys away from something more important."

"No work could ever come above you," Bruce spoke quickly, taking your hand within his. He squeezed it, as if it were to make his words stronger with meaning.

And in a way it did, it reminded you that your family may be busy, but you all would always put each other first.

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sorry this was all over the place!! constructive criticism is always welcome!! please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it!!