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[cattamouche]

I think fatui scara would be controlling. think about it, he's already lost all the people he loved before, do you really believe he would let his partner go that easily? he would absolutely keep an eye on you 24/7. you wouldn't be allowed to stray too far from your shared home because what if something were to happen to you? there are many evil people in this world, ones that would want nothing more than to take revenge on him for reasons that he's already forgotten, since they're so insignificant to him after all. and you humans are so fragile, how could he possibly let you wander around unsupervised when there's such high risk?

he has a short temper and he's very strict. just because you're his partner doesn't mean he'll go easy on you, no, it would be quite the opposite actually. he couldn't care less about the well being of his subordinates or peers, if they want to subject themselves to one of the more dangerous missions assigned by pierro they can go right ahead. but you? just going for a walk for some fresh air at night is forbidden. and no you may not leave the house during snowfall at any time of day, what would happen if you were to slip or catch a cold and fall sick? anything you need done that he deems even remotely risky, he'll get it done for you in your stead. and there is no need to worry about him, he can handle himself perfectly fine. much better than a human could.

don't you understand this is only coming from a place of love? maybe if you two lived in a different nation, if he didn't have this job and you could live peacefully the way he used to, maybe then he wouldn't have to be such a worry wart. but this is not the life you live, and you chose this. you agreed to this the moment you accepted him into your heart. he's overbearing, a broken man who has lost time and time again, and he will do anything to keep you around for as long as possible. even if it means being stupidly strict over small things you might think are insignificant. even if it means handing you over to dottore to lengthen your lifespan.

the way he behaves within the comfort of your home as opposed to anywhere else is like night and day. here he doesn't have to keep his eyes peeled for any sign of danger, he can simply sit in your comforting presence, do mundane things and bask in the domesticity of it all after work. there is nothing to worry about when there are guards stationed outside the house, and most important of all he's right there with you. nobody is capable of keeping you safer than himself.

I do believe he would soften up overtime, but those first few years are definitely going to be a bit tough since he would have several worries and concerns, so you better buckle up. though it really is for your own good, just trust him!

[suusoh]

(pwp or something idk. just got horny in the tags of my last post about eddie not looking anywhere else but at his wife and only his wife while doing his husbandly duties.)

cw: female reader, sex, eddie's orbs, overuse of the word staring because I want you to start feeling annoyed and maim this man, slight yandere (maybe if you squint?) cheesy and unfunny frank valli reference at the end.

———

he's staring at you again.

Eyes fogged with a love sick haze in them at the absolute sight of you, his wife, all warm, soft, and pliant under him. You try to close your eyes from time to time, but even when you open them again— it just comes back to the first thing you see which is this man on top of you, mouth switching between grinning and gasping, and eyes wide open.

"...Eddie?"

He hums tenderly. "What is it, dear?"

"I-I.. can you just-"

It's so hard to talk when his hips don't stop moving despite his concern. The weight and absolute mass of him on top of you and grounding you into the bed with each thrust makes it all the more harder to think straight.

Thoughts on how to sound out your request begin to blur and buzz out with him fucking into you like this. In and out, in and out, inside of you. over and over again as he buries himself deep within your cunt. your pubic bone practically connecting with his, and sending sparks of heat inside your belly with each time he ruts himself into you.

"Just what? What does my darling wife want?" He starts searching your face for any indication or answer to complete it for you what you want him to do now. Still looking at you intensely.

Looking. He keeps looking. Which is, sort of the thing you wanted to point out in the first place.

"You're... o-oh- oh-"

"I...?" he acts as if he's not quite catching on. Pondering for a second with the sounds of your moans and wanton sighs, and the creaking of the worn out bed acting as background noise to aid his thinking.

"Oh! I'm doing a swell job is that it? Is that what you're trying to say, dearest?" he lets out a content loving sigh, and your breathe stutters as he picks up his pace. "You and your words never fail to make me blush, my love."

Another particularly good thrust has you arching your back, of which he's making sure his eyes connect with yours once more while you writhe and wiggle underneath. But your wriggling quickly eases from bodily pleasure, to slowly morphing into a sense of discomfort now.

Because he's staring at you.

Again.

Which should be good isn't it? Eye contact during sex is a sign after all of a good partner paying attention to your needs. And with someone like Eddie, him paying attention to your needs is the tiniest sliver of hope you cling onto to make sure his reason for keeping you alive is a bit more... cemented, substantial even. Gives you a little bit more reason (or delusion) to believe he'd be inclined to make this relationship, make you, last longer.

(Compared to the alternative route of him using your body for his own sick dispositions, and casually stringing you all up when he's done.)

Though you're sure that this is not the type of bedroom eye contact many normally wish for.

"Y-you... you're.." you try to murmur out again.

Not that you should talk about having anything normal with this man. You might as well find the solution to world hunger long before you find anything even remotely "normal" in this place.

It's not that you're expecting him to do things normally, but can't he... can't he just... do something else maybe?

Look anywhere but you for just a split second, maybe bury himself into your neck, or close his own eyes to focus on the feeling of his cock getting squeezed, or look at any other part of your body that could possibly entrance him; mouth, chest, stomach... hell, you could even hope that he tries to glance down at your clit? Maybe marvel at the sight of where the two of you connect, since that's all his fucked up baby fever mind thinks about anyways?

You'll take anything really, just one small thing to act as a reminder that you guys are indeed having... sex— and not engaging in some sort of impromptu staring contest out of nowhere.

Because his eyes are doing absolutely nothing but looking into your own and as they continue staring at you.

and staring at you...

and staring...

and staring...

and staring...

Jesus fucking christ you don't think he's even blinked in the past few seconds anymore.

You let out a mix of a whine and a groan, opting to shut your eyelids close and try to shield your face away from his unmoving eyeballs by trying to wiggle your hands free out of his grasp (him and his damn insistence to hold hands while making love as he calls it.).

"What is it my love? Must I pay you a penny for your thoughts perhaps?"

"You keep staring... "

You try to wiggle free again, inadvertently adding onto the delightful friction between your parts and his— to which he gets a small shiver of his own at the roll of your hips. A light laugh escapes him at your captivating and somewhat fruitless display. He finally gives reprieve to your brain's rising fear of being uncannily perceived at, and blinks.

"Ohhh, my darling."

He lets go of one of your hands so that he can cradle your face, tilting it so he can capture your mouth into a kiss. humming into your mouth, but the humming isn't just the usual sighs of pleasure, as you can pick up the movement of him saying some words.

He pulls apart from his half kissing-half speaking into your mouth, as he slowly begins to playfully laugh again.

"You can't blame a man for looking at his wife when she's like this; all breathless and beautiful, now can you? I sure can't!"

Said wife that he just knows for certain was sent down by god all-mighty himself into the 7th circle of hell named "mount massive asylums".

When Eddie sees you, he can't help but imagine your rotting carcass somewhere else. An alternate place where those filthy bastards could have gotten their hands on you, torn you limb from limb (if they didn't have the patience to pull your teeth and your eyes out first), then have their way with using your dead body as a urinal afterwards.

You must have been scared to not have your dear husband around to protect you from all the nasty violence around the asylum, weren't you darling?

No, no. No meed to fret now and get your panties in a twist! None of that here. Not when your dear ol' Eddie is here now.

You are very much alive and perfect, preserved by your own sheer dumb luck or maybe by fate itself to be kept alive long enough for him. Just him.

And under his care, your body is experiencing the furthest thing from excruciating physical pain right now, isn't it darling? Feels good, yes? To have your husband make love to you like the passionate man he is. Lest he's supposed to take in the sight of you rolling your eyes back and your legs hooking around his waist, pulling him in for more as something otherwise?

Oh goodness him... It's almost too good to be true.

And he really can't take his eyes off of you.

[queenbrucewayne]

Grand Tour

A/n: Ngl this absolutely got away from me, it wasn’t supposed to be this long… sorry.

Moving to Gotham was a spur of the moment thing. It was supposed to be a remote job so you wouldn’t have to pack up and leave, but for some reason the idea to be in the same city as the company you work for to get a brand new start sounded just like what you needed.

The place you picked had some personality, nothing too big, but just big enough that all the things you owned has a place.

“This is gonna be great.”

Turning around you noticed that your friend Clark had 3 big boxes, all marked bedroom on it.

“Clark! Let me help!” You quickly ran over to take the top box off, now being able to see his head.

“I told you it’s not that heavy, I got it.” He laughed, setting down the other two boxes.

Even though you had struggled taking the one box from him, it looked like he had hardly broken a sweat carrying three. Guess he really didn’t need help….

“Ya know, for a guy who can’t say a straight sentence in front of his crush, you sure are great at keeping things going smoothly.”

Clark pouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You still haven’t asked out Lois, have you?”

“I’m taking things slow.” He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes. “Too slow!” Picking up your new set of keys, you tugged on his hand towards the front door. “Common! We are done for today, let’s go get some food. I’m starved!”

Clark stopped confused. “But, we just brought the boxes in, we haven’t even unpacked anything.”

“I can live out of boxes for a month! It’ll be fine!” You pulled him along, locking the front door behind you. Clark went down the stairs. “Food comes first.”

“Alright, I know a place. There’s a diner a few blocks from here.”

You glanced over, “uh… you know a place?”

Clark nodded, “My friend took me there once.”

“Ah, yes. The mysterious Gotham friend you’ve told me about.” You go into the car, Clark on the drivers side. “Ya know, you’ve talked about him, but you’ve never told me his name.”

Clark hesitated for a moment, turning on the car he put it in drive and they made their way. “It’s nothing personal, he’s just one of those friends that doesn’t like his personal life shared, I respect it.”

“Riiight… says the reporter.” Y/n teased.

“It’s different with him, he’s a good friend.” Clark said. You both were silent for a minute.

“Wow, Clark….” You started, sounding heartfelt.

He looked over suspiciously.

“You’re in love with him.”

Clark nearly choked, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter he scoffed. “I’m not in love with him.”

You nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, I won’t tell, your secret is safe with me.” You placed your hand over your heart dramatically, trying not to laugh as you see the annoyance he couldn’t hide.

Pulling in, both of you got out and headed inside. The ring of the door bell made your arrival noticed. The waitress called out to take a seat wherever, which you and Clark gladly did.

There was very few people, a perfect corner booth was open. “Over here.”

Clark followed behind you. Both of you sliding into the booth across from each other.

Once the waitress had come over and took your order, you were left to chat with Clark about the good ole Smallville days.

“I’m going to miss the old farm life a bit.” You looked outside to the city, “it’s definitely two different worlds.”

Clark smiled, “I’ve always known you to adjust to about anywhere, you’ll do great here.”

You looked back to him. “You seem to be doing okay.” Reaching down to take a sip of coffee you continued, “How did you do it.”

Clark shrugged, “I missed it a lot at first, but I found a purpose in Metropolis. You will find yours…in Gotham I suppose.” He said sheepishly.

“Awh common Clark, It’s not so bad here. It’s got character.” You looked down to your plate of pancakes, “I think it’s a great city.”

“I would happen to agree.”

Both you and Clark turned your heads to see a man standing over your booth, he was wearing a nice looking white dress shirt with some black slacks and a matching blazer. His hair was slicked smoothly and his cologne smelt like oak and whiskey.

“Although, I would be pretty bias to say so.” Looking down to you, he smiled, a sweet but mischievous smile. Holding out his hand you could not help yourself but to take it. “Gotham, will certainly be lucky to be gaining a beautiful women such as you.” He bent down, a gentle kiss to your hand, but his eyes were still staring at yours.

“What are you doing here?” Clark spoke up, his voice was somewhere in between irritated and confusion.

The man didn’t look in Clarks direction. He only took a step back and slipped both hands in his pants pockets. Still looking at you. “Enjoying the view.”

You cracked a smile at that, bringing your coffee quickly to your mouth to try to hide the bit of embarrassment you were feeling.

Clark scoffed, rolling his eyes he scooted over to be closer to the window in his booth. “Right, why don’t you have a seat, and maybe shove some bacon in your mouth, do us both some good to keep it occupied.”

The man turned to Clark now, taking the opportunity to slide in, but not before saying. “There’s other things then food to keep my mouth occupied.”

You chuckled a little this time, trying to look anywhere then this man’s bright blue stare. “I take it you two know each other?” You asked.

Clark leaned back in the booth. “Unfortunately…Y/n this is Bruce Wayne. Bruce this is Y/n L/n, she just moved here from Smallville.”

“Ah, so you’re from the same town as Clark, why come all the way to the city life?” Bruce asked, taking Clark’s advise and grabbing a piece of bacon from the plate.

“New job, needed something super different, I don’t exactly have the best real world experience outside of Smallville. I wanted a change.”

Bruce nodded, pointing over to Clark. “Why not go to Metropolis, be near this guy, since you know someone.”

You laughed nervously. “Heh, yeah, the job just took me here, and so I followed.” It was a half lie, you didn’t want Clark to know you did have the same opportunity in Metropolis as you did in Gotham. He would’ve stopped at nothing to try and get you there.

Truth be told you didn’t wanna go to Clark’s city of Metropolis. You wanted a fresh start, new friends, new environment. When Clark left Smallville he didn't know you hadn't made any progress in your life being there, that small town. If you were still in Smallville at your age, you were ether deciding to settle or having the same career as your parents before, and the cycle would continue.

Metropolis was filled with those from Smallville, being compared to your old self with those old memories of those people around you wasn't the change you were looking for.

Clark looked at you curiously. You cursed to yourself thinking he must have noticed your nerves. No matter how many times you’ve tried to keep something from him it was always like he knew you were lying, almost like he could hear your heart skip a beat…

"I'm very grateful for the opportunity." You said quickly, ignoring the look Clark was giving.

Bruce smiled, "Sounds like you're ready to go then." He reached across the table to take a piece of your bacon. "If you ever need a tour guide, someone to take you around the city-"

"No." Clark cut in. "I don't think that will be necessary." It wasn't a hint of jealousy, but a hint of over protectiveness coming from him. Clark continued to glare at Bruce. However Bruce didn't seemed phased in the slightest. He was still munching on your bacon, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"Actually, that would be great!" You piped up.

Both men looked toward you, Clark was shocked, while Bruce looked amused.

"What?" Clark crossed his arms.

"Who better to take me around town than a city local." You shrugged, leaning back in your booth you across your arms over your chest.

"Born and raised." Bruce jumped in.

"Shut up." Clark snapped. He sighed, sitting up slightly. "Y/n, you just got to town, the last thing you need is a grande tour with Bruce Wayne. You would be on the front page on tomorrows celebrity magazine.

You furrowed your brows, confused by the ending of that sentence. "Whats that suppose too mean?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "Oh common, you know what I mean."

When your confused expression didn't change Clark continued. "Y/n, he's Bruce Wayne..."

You nodded, "Yeah, he told me his name, I know."

Bruce sat up this time. "Wait, you don't know who I am?"

You looked back and forth to both men, thinking Clark was gonna jump in, but he looked stumped.

"Should I?" You asked, starting to feel a little insecure by how quiet Clark was. "Are you a big deal?"

"Damn....I don't remember the last time I had to introduce myself." Bruce smiled, seeming to enjoy whatever was happening.

"Y/n"

You looked to Clark.

"Bruce Wayne. Billionaire, Bruce Wayne." Clark said it like you were supposed to have a light bulb moment... but there was nothing.

"It's a small town, and I hadn't really used the internet too much till recently... I'm sorry." You said sheepishly.

Bruce shook his head, smiling bigger now. "Don't apologize, this could be fun actually." Standing up from the booth, Bruce reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He threw down a couple hundred dollar bills. "Why don't we take that tour now?"

You looked up to him surprised. Clark sat up straighter, looking up at him just as taken back. "Excuse you?"

Bruce held out a hand in front of you, waiting for you to take it, he ignored everything Clark was saying to him. And to be honest... so were you. You got excited, quickly putting your hand in his, you held it tightly as he pulled you up from the booth.

"Y/n?!" Clark protested.

Looking down to him you shrugged casually. "Sorry Clark, this sounds like a deal I should take."

Clark was about ready to protest, “I’ll have her home before dark.” Bruce put his arm around your shoulder. “See you soon Clark.” He gave him a wink and directed you towards the diner exit.

“Bruce!” Clark protested, getting out of the booth he stood there and watched as the both of you left.

“Wow,” you stopped in your tracks to see a bright red sports car. “Okay, I might be starting to believe you’re a billionaire.” You teased.

Bruce laughed, opening the door for you he waited for you to get in. Shutting the door behind you, he walked across to the other side, opening his door he stopped himself when he saw Clark come out of the diner.

“Bruce…” Clark said his name like a threat, but nothing else after.

He smiled cheekily at him, “Don’t wait up Kent.” With a wink he got into the car.

Bruce started the car and it rumbled loudly. He pressed a few buttons and flipped a switch that raised the roof.

The outside air hit your face, making a chill go down your spine. You looked back to Clark, he was irritated, but didn’t make an effort to stop you.

Bruce shifted gears and sped off, leaving the diner and Clark in the review mirror.

The Gotham city scenery was perfect right now. The sun was close to setting and most people by now were already off the road from work. It was beautiful sky’s and clear streets just for you.

The drive around the city was great. Bruce explained certain landmarks, he mentioned some good restaurants as we pasted them, and gave warning about certain areas that had a high danger rate to stay clear of.

All of this was great information, but nothing compared to the drive over the bridge. The water below has reflected off of the bright orange and red sunset, it was like a scene from a movie.

You put your right hand out, feeling the cool breeze thru your hair and finger tips. It was calming.

Once you were over the bridge, you were driving up a hill. Bruce took you to the top, putting the car in park he turned the key to shut it off.

A huge willow tree swayed in the wind at the top. The view looked over most of Gotham, really seeing the difference of when you would get into the city and when you would be out of city limits.

You opened the door and stood from the car, never taking your eyes off of the view. You walked in front of the car, watching the sunset start to form and make the sky all the more brighter with red.

Bruce followed behind you, leaning up against the hood of the car, he stared out and over the hill with you.

“It’s probably the most peaceful you’ll ever see Gotham.” Bruce crossed his arms across his chest.

The bright red reflected off of the bridge, casting down to the murky water, creating a red rust look to it all.

The winds picked up a bit causing you to shiver slightly, not exactly preparing for the spontaneous adventure you were gonna have today, so bringing a jacket wasn’t on your list of needs upon leaving your apartment.

You suddenly felt fabric around your shoulders, the warmth instantly blocking the chilly wind.

Bruce had taken off his blazer and put it around you. Smiling down, he pulled the front collar a bit tighter around you, covering your chest to try to block the wind from both directions.

“Thank you.” You said, slipping your arms in the sleeves you sighed in relief as the body heat from the blazer instantly started to warm you up.

Bruce leaned back against the car, this time much closer to you then he was before. “You and Clark seem close.”

“Yeah.. as much as I really enjoyed today, you really only kidnapped me to get under his skin, right?” You glanced over at him, catching the smirk on his face.

“That definitely was the main objective. However, I couldn’t help but notice you were very easy to convince to go along.”

“I knew it would’ve been worth it.”

“Even from a complete stranger?” He teased.

“If you were truly a bad person, Clark would’ve never let me go with you.” You shrugged.

“Ha.. he is very protective of you.”

You nodded, looking out at the city again. “Yeah, we grew up together, I would say he’s probably my best friend.”

“Just best friends? Never anything more?” Bruce hesitated asking.

You didn’t mean to, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, no, just friends” you looked back to him. “Besides, the moron is totally head over heels puppy dog in love with Lois Lane.”

“He still hasn’t asked her out, has he?” Bruce shock his head.

“No!” You threw your hands up. “The man has no game! I keep telling him to just come out with it already, but he’s so awkward…”

You both laughed, knowing full well that Bruce knew exactly what you were talking about and probably had given him similar advise.

“Hey…” you started.

Bruce looked down to you.

“Thanks… today, really was great.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I also had a great time. Since Gotham is gonna become your new home, maybe we should make it a habit to do it more…” His blue eyes were very mesmerizing, he really did make it sound tempting.

“I would like that.” You smiled. “A lot.”

The sun was just about gone at this point, the only thing helping you see each other was the little bit of stars from above.

“We should get going.” Bruce said, walking over to your side to open your door.

When you both started to head back you really got to see the night life of the city, it was really beautiful, but you knew it also lurked of danger all around.

You checked your phone to see a few text messages from Clark, all of them warnings, which definitely made you smile to yourself knowing he was looking out.

The last message he sent you wasn’t one you expected though

Just because I’m worried, doesn’t mean he isn’t a good guy. Maybe… you two could be closer, you would have someone to look out for you.. since I can’t. Just think about it.

You glanced over to Bruce, his eyes were on the road. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have someone close by in the city who could look out for you, as long as it wasn’t a way for Clark to spy on you…

The car pulled up to your apartment. Getting out, Bruce walked behind you up to your lobby door.

You turned around to face him, “Thanks again, it was really nice to get a exclusive tour around from a local.”

Bruce’s smiled. “I enjoyed it myself, it’s been awhile since I’ve taken my time to slow down and enjoy the city.”

“Heh, slow? I don’t think you went the speed limit once.” You teased.

“Seems like more of a suggestion.”

You shook your head, looking down to hide your smile. Seeing two dress shoes come into view you looked up to see Bruce has gotten closer to you.

He was a bit intimidating looming over you in the dark like this. He wasn’t a smaller built guy, and the bright moon made him cast a dark shadow. However, his bright blue eyes could still be scene staring down at you. They were beautiful.

You cleared your throat. “Well… I should get going… thanks again.”

Suddenly remembering you were still wearing his blazer, you started to slip out of it. Handing it back to him. “You’ll need this back.”

“Looked better on you.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, but had a smile nonetheless. “How good are you at keeping a secret?”

Bruce looked at you confused, but nodded anyway. “Pretty good.”

He watched as you took a step closer to him, standing up on your tippy toes you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. His breath hitched slightly, but he stayed completely still.

You pulled back a little making eye contact, “don’t tell Clark.” Turning around you put the key in to unlock your door. When you turned the handle you felt a hand on your arm pull you back around. The momentum took you by surprise, however the kiss that Bruce planted on you was even more surprising.

He held the sides of your face in his hands, stroking your cheeks.

You instantly closed your eyes and brought both hands up to hold onto his biceps, which were a lot bigger then the suit he was wearing made them out to be.

Bruce was the first to pull back, resting his forehead against yours, his breathing was a bit heavier. “Don’t tell Clark.”

You both laughed, standing there for a minute to compose yourself.

Bruce moved some hair that had fallen in front of your face, he leaned forward to leave one more kiss on top of your head, then taking a step away.

“I know, I probably should’ve done this before kissing you, but I’m not as good at this as the media thinks.” He took out his phone, handing it to you. “If you’re okay with it, I would like to see you again.”

You took his phone, quickly adding your contact information. “Probably wouldn’t have kissed you back if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“Heh… I guess not.”

Handing the phone back to him, he put it back in his pocket.

You turned back around to open your door. “Get home safe… see you soon?”

Bruce smiled. “Absolutely.”

Then just like that, you closed the door behind you. Walking upstairs to your apartment you quickly made it inside, heading to your room you plopped yourself on the air mattress that you and Clark had set up earlier. Grabbing one of the pillows you shoved it over your face and squealed. You laughed to yourself, as you knew this was only the start of your little bit of feelings towards him.

Hearing your phone go off you discarded the pillow from your face and checked it.

Goodnight, don’t forget to lock your doors. -Bruce.

You smiled, holding your phone close to your chest you sighed out. What a great first day in Gotham…

[skele-ghost]

Fuck in the Graveyard (not really)

Summary: (Graves/Reader) You’ve been taking illegal suppressants for wayyy too long, and when you miss a dose, it all comes crashing down.

Content Warning: A/B/O Omegaverse dynamics, reader is afab, female pronouns?, substance abuse, technically is a fuck or die situation, p in v, knotting, brief fingering

Graves is kinda sweet in this one. I’ve never posted my stuff anywhere before and this is the first fic I’ve written in second person. Let me know what y’all think. I do not take requests.

(*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

The thing about taking illegal suppressants is that you have to time them perfectly. You’d better have your cycle down to a science, and you’d better take them three days before your heat, during, and three days after—and don’t you dare take them any more than 24 hours apart.

That’s how you wound up completely fucked: you took one dose two hours too late, and now the suppressants were completely ineffective. Was it really your fault? No, you’d been in the middle of a firefight, for fucks sake! But by some sick case of luck and science that made next to no sense, your heat started to build.

You hid being an Omega as much as you could. It wasn’t exactly a secret—it was there in your file for anyone to see. But so long as your heats were taken care of and you weren’t sending every Alpha within a mile radius into a rut, the military was happy.

And you were happy to let them believe that you were taking the regular course of suppressants that they prescribed you, and not the dangerous, high-dose, illegal ones that you preferred. They made your scent next to undetectable and made sure you could actually think straight when you were suppressing your heat, unlike the regular ones.

You were a specialist, an asset of high importance, and you’d be damned if you’d let your own biology stand in the way of that.

That’s why you liked the Shadows. Graves sent you a job offer after working with you on a mission gone sour in Urzikstan. He admired the way you kept your head cool when the world was falling apart around you. Even when you disclosed your designation, he shrugged it off.

“As long as you can keep your head cool like you did out there, we won’t have any problems,” he’d said.

And you’d kept your promise for nearly two years, now. But that was a long time to go without a heat, and a long time to be surrounded by the heady scent of Alpha unclaimed.

You were ashamed of the way you had to take off earlier. Once everyone was back from the mission, in one piece, settled in, you bolted, feeling the heat and sweat cling to you like a second skin.

It was sheer resolve that allowed you to keep the scent patches on for so long, little bandages clamped over your glands with a strong deodorizer, not letting anything out. You nearly passed out from the intense pain of prying them off your neck and wrists, the scent glands over-sensitive to even a breeze.

You blink away the tears quickly; you have to stay focused. You’ll drive to the safe house and crash there, get something planned. You knew the consequences of completely suppressing your heat for so long with such toxic drugs. Now you had to live with the consequences.

The little white farmhouse is remote, nestled deep in an old growth wood. It was beautiful, living up to the pictures you’d seen when Graves had shown it to you as a precaution. It had been in his family for generations before he fixed it up and decided to turn it into a safe house.

You pant as you put the car in park, staring at the building for a moment, your thoughts jumbled and disconjointed. As much as you want to melt into the seat, you have to get inside. A cold shower—that’s what you promise yourself, meek little motivation.

It manages to pull you out of the truck, onto shaky legs that want to collapse underneath you, but you push on.

They key is behind a brick on the foundation beneath the porch. It takes you a moment to remember which one—Graves had only shown you once.

Since you are the only unclaimed omega in the Shadows, he told you where the house was and how to access it. Just in case you had, in his words, “omega-related problems.” It isn’t too far from base. You’d have to figure out some way to show your eternal gratitude for the man…if you ever saw him again.

You retrieve the key and turn to make your way up the stairs, and that’s when things go sideways. You trip on the last step, crashing onto the porch with a force that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

The key falling out of your hand is the last coherent thought that you have before the pain takes over. Your sensitive skin and muscles cry out and it feels like hitting a sore bruise, everywhere.

You whimper, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stare up at the watery image of the porch’s ceiling. There’s a wasp’s nest, gross, but it’s November. They’re either sleeping or dead from the cold.

And thank god it’s cold, because at least your skin doesn’t feel like it’s completely on fire.

You know this is bad. You’ve deteriorated too quickly, the heat sneaking up and hitting you like a blitz attack from the dark.

As much as you hate to admit it, heats are necessary. It gets rid of built-up chemicals in the brain, provides a release to make new ones. Not quite like sleep was necessary, but in a similar fashion.

You’re worried that this one might kill you. You’re worried that if this one isn’t quelled and satisfied, you might end up brain-dead or in an eternal coma like the people in those stories your middle school health class scared you with.

But in the face of death? All that you wish is that you could apologize for the inconvenience. What kind of paperwork would Graves have to fill out for your corpse? Would he get in trouble for not monitoring you, for not knowing about your use of the illegal suppressants?

You slip into unconsciousness, the word ‘sorry’ on the tip of your tongue.

-

A whimper is all you manage as you stir awake, the first thing you notice being the thick, heavy, intoxicating scent of an Alpha, and one you know.

Graves smells like bonfires and bourbon, or maybe it’s whiskey? You make a breathy moan at the smell, brows furrowing as you feel yourself being carried.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, his voice making a nice rumble trail down your spine.

He’s holding you bridal style and then holds you close to him as he sits down, tucking your head into his neck so that you can scent him.

It cools the flames slightly, letting your mind clear itself of the fog as you finally stir, opening your eyes.

“Com-mander?” You ask, voice not much louder than a whisper.

He pulls you back, glancing down at you, his blue eyes filled with concern. “(Y/N), what’s going on? You don’t smell right, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Suppressants…not working,” you grit out, whimpering as an uncomfortable cramp begins in your gut.

“The ones you’ve been taking? Why, what’s wrong with them?” He lays you down on the bed he’d been sitting on and you whine at the loss of contact, squinting your eyes shut at the cramping.

You can hear him search through your bag, the one that had been digging painfully into your back a few minutes ago, and you hear the rattle of a pill bottle.

“Oh, (Y/N), you didn’t…” he says, and you can only imagine what his expression is as he looks at the bottle. It’s pretty damning—the prescription bottle with someone else’s name blacked out on it, half empty, label reading exactly what’s inside.

Graves returns to your side, his cool hand on your cheek turning you to look up at him. He looks…betrayed? Crestfallen? Worried, above all else, as he holds the bottle up with one hand.

“(Y/N), tell me you didn’t take these—tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” he demands, the command in his tone making a gush of slick escape you, adding to your already soaked panties.

“M’ sorry,” you whisper, tears blurring up along your waterline.

“Shit, (Y/N),” he growls, tossing the pills onto the bed, running his hands through his hair. “What do I do? You need to go to a hospital, is that it?”

You shake your head, “no, they can’t do anything. And I’d get arrested—ah!” You cry out, curling inwards as a sharp, painful cramp rolls through. Slick gushes out of you again, your organs overproducing as if they need to make up for all the missed heats. After a few agonizing moments it calms down and leaves you gasping, tears rolling down your cheeks.

You know what your options are, you know how fucked up this is, and you know that Graves is probably going to fire you after this—but you also know that you’re not ready for the final alternative.

“Please, it hurts!” You beg, pleading up at the sight of your commander above you, “please, Alpha.”

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, pursing his lips in that way you’ve always found so hot, “are you sure? You’re not thinking clearly, (Y/N).”

You nod frantically, grabbing his arm and scenting his wrist, keening at the smell, “please, please, Graves.”

His restraint snaps and he climbs ontop of you, pinning your wrists to the bed and placing his mouth on yours. You moan into it, trying to lift you hips up to get some kind of friction to no avail.

He pulls away and you tilt you head aside to give him better access to your neck as he scents you, breathing in deeply and growling. You cry out as he runs his tongue and teeth along the glands.

“I never got a good smell of you, (Y/N), you always wear those damn patches and I always want to rip them off,” he nibbles along your jaw, your whines and whimpers filling the small bedroom.

“Alpha, please,” you beg, desperate, clenching around nothing when you want to be clenching around him. “Inside, please put it inside.”

“I know, baby,” he says, pecking your lips again before he pulls back, hands gliding along your sides as he pulls your shirt off. “You’re burning up.”

Tears prick in the corners of your eyes and you squirm, whining and babbling as he pulls your bra off, too. The cooler air feels nice on your sweat-sheen skin, and you buck your hips as Graves gets off of you, hooking his fingers to pull your pants and panties down in one fell swoop.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses, then groans at the sight of your slick, how it clings to your parties in wet strings before he pulls them away.

Your boots are still on and he didn’t get your pants all the way off, but maybe seeing how soaked you are makes Graves hasty.

The most pornographic moan escapes you as he sinks two fingers in your hole, your sweet little cunt sucking them in and clenching down.

“Fuck, good Omega,” Graves groans, slipping in a third finger that has you moaning even louder.

Every spot he hits is the right one, every move pure ecstasy. Your voice is a broken babble of pleads and curses and moans, begging for your commander to fuck you, to take you, to make you his.

You almost sob when he retracts his fingers, not even caring to wipe them as he rolls you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and pulling them up into the air, right against his own.

Feeling his erection against your ass, you turn downright frantic, “please please please, please fuck me, Alpha, please I need your knot so bad!”

He hisses as you rub against him and he begins unbuckling his belt, which only spurs you on more. He manages to still your hips and get his pants down, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick.

You keen embarrassingly loud as he enters you, slowly letting every inch of himself be swallowed up by your greedy cunt.

When he bottoms out, pressing against your cervix, it’s like a switch flips. You cum, whining as your legs shake, as Graves gasps behind you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he drawls, squeezing into the meat of your hips. “You’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

Your brain is too melted with lust to be able to form any coherent sentence. When he pulls out and slowly thrusts back into you, testing the waters, you all but go limp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you moan.

“Goooood girl,” he praises, speeding up his thrusts and finding a steady rhythm, your skin slapping together. “So slick and tight for me, omega, good god—“

All you can do is moan and take it. There’s no more painful cramping, and though your skin is still hot it’s not as bad. Your body is getting exactly what it needs: a good, hard fucking by a big, strong Alpha.

“(Y/N),” Graves moans, his voice sounding so sweet to your ears, “so good, baby. Better than I ever imagined.”

You keen at that, at your alpha wanting you—well, he isn’t yours, is he? It makes your heart sting slightly but that’s quickly forgotten with a slap to your ass, sending shockwaves of excitement through you.

You can feel yourself getting tighter, getting ready to be thrown over the edge again, and you can feel Graves speed up his thrusts, his knot slowly beginning to swell inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “gonna give you my knot, gonna fill you up good—“

His thrusts get even harder, even rougher, and you cry out, feeling yourself come tumbling violently over the edge as his knot catches on you, cumming in waves like the sea crashes onto shore.

Graves stills inside you, making good on his promise, shooting ropes and ropes of hot seed. You can feel his swollen knot inside you, just past your entrance, making your pussy full in the most delicious way. You hear him catch his breath before he carefully rolls you both over onto your sides, laying down with you on the bed.

You hum happily as he wraps his arms around you, placing a chaste kiss on your shoulder as both of your ragged breathing calms.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he says, his voice husky in a way that makes you wish you were his.

“Yeah,” you manage to reply, running your hands along the arms that hold you.

“I don’t want you taking those damn pills ever again,” he growls, making you shiver. “Understand?”

You open your eyes and turn to look at him, confused at the soft expression on his face. It’s almost…vulnerable? Wasn’t he going to fire you?

“Commander?”

“This isn’t up for debate,” he says. Behind his blue eyes is a fire you know well, akin to the one that dances in his eyes on the battlefield. “I’ll drug test you if I have to, but I’m not going to lose you to some stupid suppressants.”

You blink. “You’re not going to fire me?”

“What? No,” he says like you’re crazy for thinking so. “But if you want to stay, darlin,’ we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”

“Okay,” you agree, relieved. You didn’t want to lose your job, it’s a good gig. The employee benefits are killer…and you’d miss your commander.

“It’s simple, (Y/N), no more illegal suppressants, and you come to me for your heats,” that bastard smirk of his returns and you giggle.

“Are you propositioning me, Commander?”

“Hell, yes I am,” he says proudly, reaching up to caress your cheek. “Probably should’ve done it sooner.”

You lean in and kiss him, enjoying how it sweetens his scent. Your heart flutters in place, content, elated; you had only ever dreamed of this. You finally have him.

“Oh, and no more scent patches. You smell too damn good to be covered up.”

You roll your eyes at him, still grinning. “You sure about that? I don’t think you’ll like every other alpha sniffing after me.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll keep you safe,” he says confidently, placing a lingering kiss to your cheek. His eyes hint at something darker, “besides… they’ll catch on.”

[kiyomitakada]

okay fuck it i went to a leonardo da vinci exhibit today and now i have a leonardo da vinci death note AU in my head because i am a parody of myself so you can fucking have it i guess what do i even do with this

light yagami: young genius polymath who is good at literally everything

unfortunately for him he is a foreigner in italia (his family immigrated) so the government is not letting him anywhere near their weaponry projects. instead he does art. yes light yagami painted the mona lisa no i do not take criticism i’m in too deep

his portraits are predictably amazing. smash hit. soon aristocracy from all over italy is contacting him to draw them and their mother. this means he doesnt even have time in the day to draw giant fuckoff warship designs anymore. what point is there to life, he sulks.

eventually he accepts a commission from one kyosuke higuchi! we’re italianizing him because i really don’t think this AU works otherwise but let’s call him higuchi anyway. higuchi is a fifty-something duke of something or other who has recently married one misa amane who is twenty-something (the same age as light). misa is the subject of the portrait because higuchi just loves his darling wife so much (read: they had a shotgun wedding and higuchi needs to keep up appearances)

light is like wow someone who isn’t white it’s been like five years. i kind of feel bad for her, this situation is very suspicious. hello miss amane if you’ll just sit down over there while i get my brushes

misa (seeing the first person who has been even remotely sympathetic to her absolutely horrific life, noticing he hasn’t tried to make any advances on her at all [this is a good thing]): I AM DRASTICALLY IN LOVE WITH YOU.

light: what

misa’s plan of seducing light predictably fails because he’s light, so she explains she has to get the fuck away from higuchi somehow

light is like okay well i am sorry to hear that but what does this have to do with me.

misa, tearing up: im a damsel in distress! also i can get you information about his court

light: whats his job

misa: financial advisor

light: oh fuck yes okay

so light’s plan is now to worm into the yotsuba court to get funding and hopefully sway them enough to let him pitch his cool weaponry ideas so he can Change The World. he does need income in general too (both for himself and his family; expected lifespan was way shorter then obviously).

misa’s plan is to kill higuchi somehow which will be much easier with light as backup she thinks

so. light packs up and moves to the yotsuba court which is thrilled to have THE light yagami portrait artist (i do more than portraits…) in their employ

oh yeah, misa mentions, the prince of the yotsuba court is kind of… weird

light: you could have told me this before

misa: ehe. dont worry about it!! it’s just um. he had a weird personality shift a few years ago? and now he refuses to wear royal attire. he always dresses like a peasant.

light: well it’s not like i’m going to be there to judge him on fashion am i.

THAT’S RIGHT. SIKE THIS IS AN ISEKAI NOW. yes L does remember light killing him <3 he (L) woke up in fifteenth century renaissance italy in a twenty-something-year-old body immediately after the heart attack. by some miracle he already knew italian.

so everything is going swell until one day light walks into his workshop to find the prince flipping through his notebook

light, sleep deprived: hey what the fu—i mean. uh. good morning your highness

there’s no need for that formality. call me L.

(…but your name doesn’t start with an L?) thank you, your highness L. um. sorry i know my handwriting’s messy.

on the contrary i find it completely readable, as long as one reads backwards and caesar shifts it three letters forward.

(oh SHIT he’s onto me) haha what are you talking about?

in fact i think this mechanical dragonfly contraption is rather ingenious.

oh aha that’s not important, just a passing fancy honestly

[ignoring him] if only you had some better way of providing torque, because as it stands the spring engine is extremely poorly designed.

what the fuck did you just say to me

[they end up physically fighting over the notebook because of course they do. meet cute!]

some more details:

ryuk is the patron light eventually gets after being in higuchi’s court for a bit

rem is higuchi’s personal assistant, who was disowned by her own royal-blooded family because her family sucks. she hates her job. if it weren’t for misa she’d probably be on the other side of the country by now

i don’t know where the wammy kids are. they’re definitely competing to be the heir to L’s throne but also they’re not related because there is no way that all the wammy kids (the whole orphanage of wammy kids) could have come from the same person. maybe some kind of insufferably high collar royal boarding school? did they even have those? help me

kiyomi and teru are both advisors in other courts (which are extremely corrupt, light seethes, in his perfect world there wont be any of those anymore) (you work for a court light) (thats different)

okay i’m done for today. you never know about tomorrow though. /threat.

[ @deathnotetober day 12: isekai ]

[2rats1gogh]

I know people have this fantasy that Helaena would marry some Stark, Tully or Tyrell but a fantasy is truly what it is.

If she married Aegon or not, Helaena was never going anywhere. She claimed one of the biggest dragons in the world as a child, a female dragon who has laid eggs. Her only choices were always going to be one of her brothers or her nephews HAD THEY NOT been bastards. Or maybe it would have been a Hightower cousin, or one of Corlys Velaryon’s nephews but whoever her husband was, he was never going to be the Warden of anything or the Lord of his own castle. Helaena was never going to leave Kingslanding.

Alicent may have wanted her daughter close to her to protect her because of Helaena’s nature and because of her own experiences as a child bride but Viserys (who doesn’t know Helaena or give a damn about her personally) was definitely not marrying Helaena out to someone powerful and putting more trueborn obstacles in Rhaenyra’s way when he already had 3 trueborn Valyrian looking sons who would marry someday.

Targaryen daughters may marry out for a generation but their child is expected to marry back in. Daella was married into house Arryn but Aemma was married back in. Also to note that Daella was a second wife and her husband already had heirs, Visarra had she not died would have been married to a Lord who had already married several times and had already had heirs. Their sons would hold no lands, raise no armies full of vassal houses of their own. Rhaenys’s mother married into House Targaryen and Rhaenys married into house Velaryon and gave house Velaryon 2 more dragon riders in addition to herself. Thats why bringing her line back into the family was an important issue for the Targaryens. Helaena- a Dragon rider who could be fertile as her mother in her early years- would’ve given a non Valyrian house Valyrian blood and more potential Dragon riders.

Say Helaena marries an inheriting son of some Lord Paramount. Let’s give her 2 future Dragon riders and possibly a third as Maelor was too young when he was murdered at Rhaenyra’s request. This is 4 Dragons to whichever house she married into. These 4 dragons have an entire army behind them. They have legitimacy. What if her husband and father in law decide that the throne should be her son’s (like Rhaenys attempted to secure it on behalf of Laenor at the Great council) because Rhaenyra committed treason, sons are bastards and by law they can’t inherit anything (it’s high time we acknowledge that Rhaenyra, Laenor, Harwin, Viserys and Corlys were all breaking the law or complicit in the breaking of it.)

Team Black would hate Helaena Lady of house Stark/Tyrell/Tully/Lannister/Martell with a husband and a supportive extended family to back her because she would always choose her family over Rhaenyra’s like she does in canon.

So people need to stop blaming Alicent for this and realize that Helaena’s options were very limited and remember that in this world it’s normally a Father’s job to organize their daughter’s betrothals. HOTD seems to have thrown this piece of Lore out of the window in favor of trying to make Alicent look like a villain and for stupid scenes like Rhaenyra proposing the betrothal of the twins to their Grandmother instead of their father that she’s married to and lives with.

Literally this.

I never understood why it was so difficult for people to understand why Alicent decided to marry Helaena to Aegon. It always made sense to me personally. There are two main reasons to this:

a) Helaena is a very vulnerable girl, more vulnerable than anyone. By marrying her to Aegon, Alicent keeps her close to herself, in KL, where no one could hurt her.

b) Helaena as a dragonrider is very valuable. If she marries to some remote lord and then they pledge allegiance to Rhaenyra for whatever reason, TG is fucked and they lose a dragon. They need Dreamfyre if they want to win this war.

Helaena also couldn’t marry Jace or any other of Rhaenyra’s bastards, for a very simple reason. They are literally bastards and everyone knows it, and she would’ve become a hostage during the Dance. Also, the realm most likely would never accept Jace as a king, because no matter how kind and nice he is, he is still a bastard and that would cause a lot for problems.

[jackied0minguez]

Remote Work Redefined: TopDevz CEO Ashkan Rajaee on the Future of Flexible Business

In a world where remote work has rapidly shifted from a temporary solution to a long-term strategy, TopDevz CEO Ashkan Rajaee is leading by example. Speaking ahead of the Ft. Lauderdale International Boat Show, Rajaee shared insights on how his company has seamlessly integrated remote operations into its DNA—and why he believes this model isn’t just a passing trend.

A New Kind of Software Solutions

TopDevz isn’t your typical tech firm. Comprising an elite team of software developers, designers, project managers, and quality assurance specialists based in the United States and Canada, the company tackles the unique challenges that conventional off-the-shelf software can’t resolve. Rajaee explains that while standard solutions can cover 80–90% of business needs, the remaining nuances often cause significant inefficiencies. TopDevz fills this gap by offering custom solutions designed to address those critical details, ensuring that their clients achieve peak operational efficiency. With an impressive 96% workforce retention rate and 63% of their business coming through referrals, the company’s model speaks volumes about its effectiveness and employee satisfaction.

Mastering Remote Operations

Long before the global pivot to remote work, TopDevz was already thriving in a fully virtual environment. Rajaee emphasizes that the success of remote operations lies in having the right infrastructure and clear communication channels. “Working remotely isn’t as simple as logging in from home,” he notes. “It demands disciplined processes and a commitment to best practices—elements we’ve honed over the years.” His team’s seamless transition during the pandemic only reinforced the idea that a well-organized remote workforce can outperform traditional office setups.

The Indefinite Future of Remote Work

For TopDevz, remote work isn’t a temporary workaround—it’s the future. Rajaee envisions a business landscape where companies can lower overhead costs while empowering employees to work from anywhere. This flexible model not only drives client satisfaction by reducing expenses but also enriches employees’ lives by allowing them to choose environments that inspire creativity and well-being.

Rajaee even shares a personal touch: his passion for working from a yacht. Equipped with reliable Wi-Fi and satellite services, his unconventional workspace symbolizes the freedom that remote work offers. “If your current job doesn’t support the lifestyle you aspire to, it’s time to consider other opportunities,” he advises. His own journey from renting a yacht to eventually making it part of his regular work life underscores the importance of aligning one’s career with personal values and ambitions.

Empowering the Next Generation of Remote Entrepreneurs

Beyond leading TopDevz, Rajaee is passionate about sharing his remote work philosophy. Through his “RemotePreneur” initiative, he provides aspiring entrepreneurs and professionals with a playbook for building successful remote companies. This resource addresses the nuanced challenges of remote business management—from overcoming financial stagnation in traditional roles to confronting the inevitable criticisms that come with venturing off the beaten path. Rajaee’s message is clear: true freedom in work comes from rethinking established norms and embracing the possibilities that remote operations can offer.

Embracing a New Era

As businesses around the globe continue to navigate the evolving work landscape, Ashkan Rajaee’s vision serves as a powerful reminder that remote work, when executed with precision and passion, can unlock unprecedented opportunities. His leadership at TopDevz demonstrates that with the right approach, remote operations can not only sustain but also drive innovation, employee satisfaction, and overall business growth.

In a time when flexibility and adaptability are more important than ever, Rajaee’s insights offer a compelling roadmap for companies eager to thrive in a remote-first world.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

no one mourns the wicked (chapter one)

I have listened to this song too much. Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for beta reading!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed this!

-----

Jonathan Sims has been dead for five years and the world is better for it.

Well. Half of that is true.

Jon has spent those five years in exile, jumping from place to place, staying on the fringes of this post Change world. He has to, no one can know that he's alive or he won't stay that way for long, not when everyone knows him as the Archivist, servant of the Eye and the person who brought the Apocalypse.

But, more than that, they can't know about his family.

-----

Jon had always told himself he was happy to watch from a distance. 

He observed, he cataloged, he listened from the other side of a broad wooden desk or a reel of magnetised tape then he filed it all away. Nothing on his hands but a few spots of ink or a smudge of graphite. 

Jon had told himself that was safest. That detachment was the only way to stay alive. He wasn’t the hero, it wasn’t his story. He was the reader, able to close the book and walk away, and that was enough. It had to be.

Because look what had happened when he’d tried to play the hero. Not being in the story at all, watching from the sidelines, was better than being the villain. 

Five years was plenty of time for people to forget his face. Especially when people never really knew much beyond the terrifying and implacable Archivist, servant of the Ceaseless Watcher, herald of the new world and presiding over it all from his throne in the looming, lidless Panopticon. Not exactly a title Jonathan Sims lived up to in person. Even before he’d let his hair grow long and his beard fill in and he lost weight he never had to lose in the first place. 

Even knowing that, Jon couldn’t help the prickling anxiety when he was anywhere remotely public. There were only a handful of other people sharing the cafe with him right now, all of them absorbed in their own grey, rainy Tuesday afternoons, but it was enough to send his foot tapping restlessly under the table. He hunched his shoulders, pretending to be fascinated by the milk billowing and swirling through the cup of tea clutched in his hands, avoiding any eye contact. He knew that’s what would give him away if he wasn’t careful. How many people had seen those eyes, eagerly drinking in the worst moments of their lives?

Jon wouldn’t risk it, not usually. He was so careful with everything else, moving between short term rental places, having his shopping delivered, working several remote, mind numbing jobs where his employers and coworkers existed solely in emails and Excel spreadsheets. It was surprisingly easy to cut out all human contact these days, to be a kind of modern hermit in the middle of a crowded city. Sometimes it even felt encouraged, in this post Change world where people were still trying to get rid of the taste of fear lingering on their tongues.

Jon existed in isolation, his own kind of solitary confinement. Not to keep himself safe anymore, he’d stopped caring about that sometime around the moment he’d doomed the world. Now it was to protect everyone else. 

But there was one reason to break his rule, one thing that was worth the gnawing anxiety and the gentle tremble in his hands as he stirred his tea. It tasted like bitter mud water when he took a sip, nothing even close to the memory he was trying to evoke but he didn’t choose this cafe for its quality. 

His eyes flickered left every so often, out of the large front window he’d intentionally sat beside. It gave him an excellent view of the other side of the street, the building that was standing exactly opposite the cafe. It wasn’t anything special, it looked exactly like any other community center grimly clinging on from a time where councils actually had the money to do outreach. Squat and square with bricks worn dull by the city’s smog and a sign nearly illegible under the many graffiti tags. There was a noticeboard, the posters under its scratched plexiglass looking sun faded and out of date, adverts for a bed frame that would be rusted through by now, a flyer for a play that had been performed years ago, local health alerts urging people to get their eyes checked in words so faded they were invisible. But, somewhere under all that, was a sign saying ‘Ballet lessons for children ages 4-10. Tuesday afternoons, 4 to 5 pm.’ That was what brought Jon here, what brought him here as many weeks as he could allow himself without the guilt becoming something suffocating.

Finally, after countless nervous glances between the clock on the wall and the door to the community center, Jon saw them. It was like two swift punches to his stomach, one after another, no time to breathe between them and no chance of ever having braced enough. 

Martin came first, holding the door open, dressed in his usual jeans and an oversized t-shirt, though the tiny green dinosaur backpack thrown over his shoulder was a little less familiar. Jon looked for anything other than exhaustion on his face, that bone deep, aching tiredness with teeth. He’d looked like that for five years, every moment Martin thought no one else was looking at him. Jon dreaded and hoped in equal measure to see it ease, even a little, but it never did. 

The only thing that chased it back behind the clouds was Gertie. She came dashing after Martin, buzzing with her usual endless energy, even after an hour of ballet. She had a coat buttoned tight against the cold day, even though Martin had clearly forgotten his own, and a homemade knit hat pulled low over her ears. She was talking, she usually was, looking up at her father as she rambled and he nodded and smiled, knowing better than to interrupt. Even as she bounced and fidgeted and clumsily went through the new dance steps she’d learned, Gertie kept her little hand in Martin’s, hanging on tight, like she always wanted to know for certain that her papa was right there. Like the world was brighter just by having him close.

Jon understood. There were so many moments as they’d walked through the Change where he held on to Martin just like that. And so many moments after where he’d wished he could. 

He was staring. He needed to be more careful, anyone who looked over would immediately wonder why he was so fixated on the man and his child across the street, an association between them so faint but still far more than he could allow. But Jon couldn’t take his eyes away, it would have been less painful to pull them out of his skull. He made sure he didn’t miss a single step Martin and Gertie took as they walked down the street, as Gertie waved to passing cars and Martin frowned up at the gathering clouds, Jon watched devotedly like he was pressing every instant against his brain hard enough to leave a bruised imprint. These few seconds were all he had. 

And there was never enough of them. Too soon, far too soon, they turned the corner and disappeared, out of Jon’s sight for another week. Everything in him ached to follow, to run after them, to catch hold of Martin’s sleeve, throw himself down on the pavement and beg to be allowed into their beautiful, normal little life. 

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he could do was breathe, slow and steady, until the shaking stopped, wipe his eyes and leave money on the table beside his now cold cup of tea. Jon stood, making sure his hood was pulled up and his face was hidden, before stepping out into the cold and walking in the opposite direction to Martin and Gertie. He had to move quickly, he wanted to be back in the flat before the weight of it all paralysed him and left him unable to do anything but curl into a ball and stare into space. 

He was doing the right thing. This was the only way, the only thing that would keep his boyfriend and their child safe. It had to be like this, he could never do anything more than watch from a distance.

Jon knew this, he’d always known this. But he could no longer convince himself that it made him happy. 

-

People were calling it Post Change. 

That’s how everything was becoming divided, linguistically, into the world before and the world after. That was the phrase they were using on the news, in the press conferences, on posters plastering the tube stations, directing people to the hastily cobbled together government services that claimed to deal with the quagmire of issues people faced as they tried to remember what normal life meant. Here’s how our company is growing in the Post Change world. Dating Post Change, how you can move forward with a new love in your life. Post Change Therapy Groups near you. Contact the Post Change Office for help getting in contact with missing loved ones. 

See some suspicious activity? Contact the Avatar Alert Hotline. Help keep our Post Change society safe. 

Jon supposed it was an attempt at optimism. Post Change implied it was over, that they’d all just snapped back to real life after a horrible collective dream, that they’d all pick up where they left off and keep chugging merrily along through late stage capitalism. Back to their much slower and less literal apocalypse, comfortably of mankind’s own making. 

Of course it wasn’t an accurate term. The world wasn’t post change, it had been changed, permanently, irreversibly. It was scarred, in a way that wouldn’t fade in five years or five decades. Jon didn’t need a connection to an all seeing eye to know that. 

It was in the quiet as he walked to the train station. London had never been this quiet before, not even out here in the city’s periphery. It was an absence, the sense that these streets should be full of people coming and going, lives should be running in their restless currents, but they simply weren’t, they’d stalled or been snuffed out completely. It was in the nearly empty Underground station, so many people were still unwilling to face that kind of claustrophobic closeness, the darkness, the loud noises that would make the vague memories they carried feel just over their shoulder. It was in the low chatter that hummed through the train carriage, complete strangers talking about nothing because they simply didn’t want to feel alone, they needed to know there was someone else there, someone real who would nod along with them about how the weather had been terrible lately. 

Jon kept himself apart from it all, slumping against the window with his shoulders hunched, arms folded tightly across his chest. He lived for his glimpses of Martin and Gertie, those seconds where he could know they were safe and whole and so blessedly normal. Where he could see with his own eyes that he hadn’t ruined their lives completely. 

Jon loved those moments, needed those moments, but they left him so drained. He leaned against the window of the train, too tired to even shift so the vibrations would stop rattling his skull. At least it kept him awake. He couldn’t afford to sleep, however much his body wanted to. He couldn’t leave himself so vulnerable and, more practically, he hadn’t lived in this newest flat long enough to get home on automatic, if he slipped under and missed his stop, god only knew how he’d get back. 

That realization twisted the corner of his mouth, sending a bone deep feeling of wrongness jarring through his body, like he’d touched an exposed nerve. He couldn’t pretend his exhaustion was just grief over his family, he wasn’t allowed anything so normal anymore.

These fog came and went, they had since he first opened his eyes after closing them against the bright white glare of the Panopticon’s fall. Since he’d first seen the grey blue sky, heard the waves murmuring a few meters from his head, felt stones shift under his aching body. His first glimpse of the world Post Change, post Fear with a capital F, had been a beach in his home town of Bournemouth, one he’d played on as a child. 

But the world wasn’t Post Change, not really. And neither was Jon. 

It was impossible not to feel the frustration, as much as he hated it. When he wore the Watcher’s Crown, the information had been overwhelming, an ocean of knowledge that pushed out at the seams of him, ignorance was a blessed chance to take a gulp of air. But now it had evaporated, a barren desert in its place. The absence was so infuriating that simple things like realising he didn’t know how to get to his new address made him want to tear his hair or scratch his skin until it bled, the worst kind of withdrawal that didn’t seem to be fading. 

Jon would wonder if the other Avatars felt like this but he knew there were so few of them left. Those that hadn’t been torn down by mobs, who’d survived long enough for the justice system to cobble itself together again had been hunted down just as ruthlessly, it just ended behind bars rather than at the end of a rope. The sentence was the same, in the end. Jon had a morbid fascination with the fates of his fellow Avatars, he’d followed them quite closely and nearly every one he’d been able to track had ended with a body being discovered by a guard during morning rounds, no one with any idea how it possibly could have happened though Jon had a few guesses. And it wasn’t just the Avatars who were pulled down, they were bombs that exploded and scorched the lives of those around them too, anyone who was close. Jobs lost, homes seized, backs turned, all for the crime of loving an Avatar.

Better to be dead already. Better to have a boyfriend who everyone, including him, believed had killed you to save the world. Better to have a daughter who didn’t know she’d ever had another father. Better, however much it hurt.

Jon did manage to make it to the right stop without falling asleep, trying to let the gust of cold air as he stepped out of the carriage wake him up a little. It did but the itch stirred too, becoming something with teeth that paced in his chest and gnawed at the ribs he had left. Jon sagged in defeat, resigned before he’d even made it through the ticket gates. He wouldn’t be allowed to lock himself away in the flat and collapse under his grief. Not until he’d dealt with this. 

Finding a library wasn’t too difficult, he’d developed a bit of a nose for them over his life, like a floundering ship desperately surging towards a lighthouse.Though it did take a lot more walking than he’d expected, he was further in the mass of London then he’d ever lived before while on the run and most of the streets were given over to bars and shops. Finally he turned a corner to see a public library. 

It was a squat, rather sparse building, like it was fully aware that no one in their right mind would visit it when the grand, sumptuous London Library and British Library were just a tube ride away. But it was exactly what Jon needed, it was close, it was quiet and it had books. He walked quickly through the revolving doors, past the front desk, scanning the sign by the stairs for the non fiction section, heading up them the instant he knew that was what he needed to do. All with quick, purposeful movements he’d practised over the last five years, the way an extra might move in the background of a movie. 

The moment Jon inhaled the smell of old, well used books, he felt better, the itch cooling just at the edges. He started grabbing some off the shelves, not looking at the section he was in or even glancing at the titles, going off instinct. It didn’t matter what they were about, what he would find as he cracked the spine of the first one, which turned out to be about gardening. The only thing the itch cared about was the flow of knowledge, the sensation of facts about winter perennials pouring in through Jon’s eyes as they darted across the text. 

It was a far cry from the all consuming, overwhelming tide of the Eye simmering in the back of his mind or the true omniscience of those terrible minutes he’d sat as the Pupil. But, as if his brain knew this was the closest he’d get in the Post Change world, it let this be enough. 

Once the pile in his arms felt heavy enough, Jon took them to the nearest table, ready to tear through them and absorb enough things he didn’t know that the need would die down back to a low drone. It would flare again, it always did, but maybe he could even get some sleep if he fed it enough. Maybe he’d even see Martin and Gertie in his dreams, if he replayed those moments enough in his mind, like running a tape over and over until it scorched onto the TV screen.

Though Jon had to be careful what he wished for. There had been other dreams of Martin, of Gertie, ones he didn’t think he could handle seeing again. Ones with eyes, his own staring eyes, unable to even blink against the blood, the twisting pain, the sobbing. Just thinking about them, the briefest second of memory before he could roughly shove them away, had Jon screwing his eyes shut in physical pain. 

But it wasn’t enough, he could still hear a soft, shuddering voice hitching with tears, a voice that was far too young to be filled with fear. He’d never gotten to hear her speak her first words, he’d never gotten to hear her say her first words, he’d never gotten to hear her call him daddy but he knew how his daughter sounded when she was terrified. The unfairness of it all, the bitterness of the ashes he was left with, was suddenly so overwhelming that he couldn’t take a breath, he could only put his hands over his ears and try to hold himself together.

But the sound of the crying still didn’t fade. Confusion was a shock of cold water, enough that Jon actually had a moment of silence, an eye to his storm, enough to take a breath and realise it wasn’t a dream or a memory. It was just a sound. A sound there with him in the otherwise silent stacks of the library. 

Jon knew better. He did. He’d spent five years and a lifetime before that convincing himself that distance was the only option, that all he was allowed to do was watch from a distance. He had an apocalypse’s worth of proof that everything he touched turned to ruin and, if that didn’t convince him, he’d watched the entire world celebrate his supposed death, turn Martin into a hero for killing him. 

He knew all of this. And still he didn’t hesitate. 

Gertie was standing in the middle of the historical section, hands twisting anxiously, her round cheeks streaked with tears and lower lip wobbling. She was crying in the way toddlers did where the sobs took over their whole bodies, hitching her shoulders as she looked around helplessly. 

It was all Jon could do not to take her in his arms, hold her tight, do anything he possibly could to stop those frightened tears. It took every fraction of his self control to walk slowly, to keep his hands shaking on his knees as he knelt down a yard or so away from his own daughter, to keep his voice from breaking as he murmured to her. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. Are you lost?”

There was a little wariness in Gertie’s eyes as she turned to face him, a slight tensing of her shoulders that deepened the fracture in Jon’s heart. He pulled down his hood quickly and pushed his hair out of his face, trying not to look quite so much like a vagrant. 

God, she looked so much like Martin. She had from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, the moment he’d cried in relief to see so much of his boyfriend in their child, from her button nose to the perpetually messy auburn curls to the round cheeks with their slight dusting of freckles. He hated knowing she cried like him too, hated how close it was to the last time he’d seen Martin’s face before the Panopticon fell, burning with tears against the cold metal sliding between Jon’s shoulder blades. 

It was only the eyes that were different. The same deep, mossy green as his own.

“Uh huh. I can’t find my papa,” saying it out loud seemed to make it more real for Gertie and she began to cry harder, words tumbling out between her shuddery sobs, “He was looking for books for school and I was supposed to stay in the kids books but I wanted to read some grown up books and be smart like him so I went to find some and now I can’t find my papa and I’m lost and…and…”

Jon blinked, absorbing that rush of information, realising that rambling was apparently as hereditary as freckles and hair that curled in defiance of any hairbrush. 

“Oh…oh, it’s okay, we can fix that? I can help you get back to the children’s books and he’ll come find you there. Or maybe we can go to the front desk, they’ll put an announcement on the tannoy and he’ll come straight away,” Jon risked a few inches closer, smiling softly for her. 

“He will?” Gertie gulped in air, looking at him with a new trust. 

“I promise,” Jon felt his voice tremble ever so slightly, “Everything will be okay…what’s your name?”

“Gertrude Blackwood,” she pronounced it carefully, like she’d practised saying all of it, scrubbing a pudgy fist against her eyes, “My papa is…um…” 

She paused, face clouding with the confusion of a small child who had to consider the fact that her parent had a life outside of actually being her parent. 

“Martin! Martin Blackwood!”

“You have a very pretty name,” Jon chuckled, “I’m…I’m Jon.” 

He supposed it was a common enough name. And he was already skirting far too close to lying to his daughter. 

Gertie nodded, smiling at that, “I like your name too. Hello, Jon.”

She stuck her hand out to him, little fingers reaching from the sleeve of the coat she still wore. It took Jon a moment to realise she wanted to take his hand, that she trusted him enough to anchor herself to him. That her world had only ever been full of adults who meant what they said. 

His hand shook as he reached across the distance and closed his fingers around hers. Five years. Five whole years since he’d held her in his arms, felt her warmth against his cold skin, felt as she shifted closer to his heartbeat like that sound made her feel safe. 

It had been under the Panopticon, in the tunnels of the Institute. He’d taken her from the makeshift bassinet they’d cobbled together from a blanket and a box that once held Archive files, feeling bad for waking her but knowing he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. He’d whispered to her, keeping his voice low and soothing even as the tears had fallen from his eyes, promising that he didn’t want to leave but he had to. That this was the only way. That he would build her a better world, one she could live a full, safe, happy life. That he loved her so very much but he had to go. 

That he would always be watching from a distance to make sure she was safe. 

At least he’d been able to keep that promise. Up until this moment, anyway. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Gertie,” he murmured, “Thank you for letting me help.” 

-

Establishing himself as Gertie’s rescuer apparently opened some kind of floodgate in her. She began to chatter, bright and cheerful like the tears from before were in another lifetime, stopping Jon at nearly every shelf to peer at the books and ask him questions about them, like she assumed he was an expert on everything. 

Jon was nearly giddy, pressing every word to his heart like beautiful flowers preserved between the pages of a book. He knew he needed to be careful, a not insignificant part of his brain was babbling frantically about that. But he couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest as he watched her simple joy, the first break in the endless fog after so, so long. 

It would be okay. He’d take this unexpected gift, treasure it while he could, then make sure he was out of sight before Martin came back to the children’s section to find her. No harm done and more gained than he’d ever dared home for.

“Have you read this one, Jon?” Gertie asked brightly, pointing up at a thick book that, according to the spine, was a history of the Roman Empire, “It has a horse on it!”

“Can’t say I have,” Jon chuckled, pulling out so she could see that there were, in fact, even more horses on the cover, “You really read books like this?”

Gertie nodded, her chest puffing out with pride, “Uh huh! I read big grown up books! Some of them aren’t as exciting as the little kid books but some are real good…papa says not to tell people at school though. He says just read the books my teacher says to.”

Jon stalled at that, his stomach turning, “He does?”

Gertie nodded, already careening off down the next aisle and trusting Jon to keep up, “He says they wouldn’t understand why. And they might get scared.”

Jon did understand why but he was definitely scared. Of course he’d worried about the effects of the Apocalypse on his daughter, after being carried across it, half inside him and half in his or Martin’s arms. Most other fathers asked how many fingers and toes their newborn had, Jon had only relaxed once Martin told him Gertie had just two eyes. 

It had been slightly strange, a baby who didn’t cry, didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, who peered out at her surroundings with a curiosity much older than her features. But there hadn’t been any fear or pain, the only thing Jon had dared ask for back then. He’d told himself that, when he fixed everything, Gertie would be released. She’d go back to normal, she’d get to live the childhood being held in stasis. Like a butterfly, he’d told himself. 

“Gertie…” he pulled out the book that had caught this second’s worth of attention, a book about- ah, of course- the structure of the eye, “Can you read some of this for me? Can you show me?”

He held it open to a random page, watching with a sinking feeling as her eyes fixed on the words, in the same way she’d watched the ruined landscape roll past them. Her voice flowed easily, without hesitation, almost rhythmic. 

“The size of the pupil (often measured as diameter) can be a symptom of an underlying disease. Dilation of the pupil is known as mydriasis and contraction as miosis…”

“Thank you, Gertie,” Jon swallowed hard, pulling the book back, closing it firmly and pressing it against his chest like he was trying to contain it, protect her from its contents, “That…that is very, very cool.” 

Gertie’s face lit up at the compliment, a delighted giggle escaping her. Jon smiled back, even as his heart clenched painfully. What other traces of the Eye were still clinging to his little girl? What clumsy smudges of ink had he left on her?  And who else would notice? He slid the book back on the shelf with more force than was needed.

“I can read all the grown up books I like when I’m in the shop, though!” Gertie confided, taking Jon’s hand again and squeezing it in her excitement, “Papa takes me sometimes when he has to work.”

“Your papa works in a bookshop?” Jon tilted his head as he was pulled along, curiosity dulling his anxiety. He couldn’t deny his hunger to learn everything he could about Martin, to fill in some of the sparse sketch he could make from one glimpse across a street per week. 

He almost wished for the early days, when Martin was on the newly restored television most mornings of the week, jumping from channel to channel, telling the same story as it was requested again and again. The story of how he’d killed the Archivist and saved the world. At least then he’d been able to see his face, hear his voice, as he’d tried to tune out the words. 

That didn’t happen anymore. Jon selfishly hoped it was because Martin refused, that maybe those words had been as hard to say as they’d been to hear. 

“Uh huh! It’s on Murray Street,” Gertie nods, “He doesn’t own it but the man who does isn’t around a lot so I can read all the big ones I want. They’re all real old and interesting.”

Jon smiled, imagining Martin behind the desk of a bookshop full of warm, dark woods and old leather spines with gold filigree titles. It felt right. Like seeing a penguin in Antarctica or an owl nestled in the bolt hole of a tree. 

“Papa does his homework for school and I get to read,” Gertie continued, eyes bright, “And I can have one cup of tea cos papa says caffeine is bad for little girls but he drinks so many…”

“Your papa goes to school?”

Gertie nodded so hard her curls bounced, “Uh huh! University in his computer! He learns about people’s brains and next year we get to go to his graduation and he said I can throw his hat in the air like in the Simpsons.”

Jon gave a soft laugh, a rush of pride and relief easing the ache in his chest like he’d taken a swallow of warm tea himself, “That’s wonderful. He’s…I’m sure he’s always been a very smart man. I’m glad he’s happy.”

A cloud passed over the sunshine in Gertie’s expression, she halted in her flitting from book to book like there was a sudden weight on her shoulders. She tugged on Jon’s hand, pulling him down to her level and lowering her voice like she was telling him some secret. He knelt, leaning close, putting both of his hands around her small one almost reflexively, following fatherly instincts he’d thought he’d never gotten the chance to develop. 

“Sometimes. When I’m there. But when I’m not, papa looks so sad…he thinks I don’t notice but I do…”

Jon swallowed hard, that momentary relief shattered though he scrambled to comfort her, to do anything to ease the worry on her face, “Ah. I see. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to worry, Gertie. After everything that happened, it’s normal to be sad sometimes?”

“That’s what Auntie Georgie said when I asked her,” Gertie worried her bottom lip, the same way Martin did, “She said he lost someone when the bad stuff happened and he misses them a lot.”

Jon blinked rapidly, having to feign a sudden interest in the laces of his battered trainers before she saw the tears that rushed so quickly to his eyes, “Oh…”

Gertie hesitated, that strange perceptiveness like a light in her gaze, a strange green lighthouse on a shore Jon thought he’d left behind. Her voice was soft, gentler than he remembered anything from that place being. But it pulled the truth from him all the same, powers or not.

“You look the same way he does. Did you lose someone too?”

Jon didn’t trust himself to speak straight away. He’d gone too far, he knew that. He needed to find that distance again, he needed to take a step back before he made things worse, before he ruined everything again. Martin had clearly worked so hard to build a real life for himself and Gertie, he needed to pull away before the sickening radiation that rolled off him sent it all crumbling down. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t hurt them anymore than he already had. 

“I…I lost everything.”

He dropped her hand, pulling his away like he’d burn her if he held on another moment. He made to croak that he wanted to take her back to the children’s books, back to where Martin would be, that he wanted Gertie to forget she ever saw him. But, under that green gaze, he couldn’t say anything but the truth. So those words wouldn’t come. 

“I’m sorry, Gertie…”

He turned to just walk away, seeing no other way out that didn’t end with Gertie hurt. He would tell the front desk there was a lost child in the non fiction stacks, they’d help her. Anyone would be better to help her than him. She’d find Martin and her soft, warm, safe life could continue, with him at a distance. Their story would go on and he’d be a ghost in the background of the illustrations, a bad ending they’d mercifully avoided, a dragon they’d slain to earn their freedom.

It was enough. It had to be. 

Gertie was a five year old girl, her grasp wasn’t strong, but the moment she reached across the distance between them and grabbed his hand again, Jon froze in place, unable to move. 

“Please don’t go.”

Jon knew what he should do. He knew what he needed to do. He knew what he couldn’t do. 

But he didn’t know what he was going to do. And he would never have to. 

“Gertie? Gertie, where are you? Oh god…”

There was no time to do anything but stand there as Martin turned the corner of the stacks. The face Jon had been doing all of this for, the face he saw twisted in pain, in fear, in hatred in his nightmares. He looked so much older, the streak of white had never left his hair, the exhausted lines in the corner of his eyes that the make up on TV had never really been able to cover. 

But Jon knew that smile, that had never changed. He got to see it break across Martin’s face, pure relief as he saw his daughter standing there. He opened his mouth to thank this stranger, eyes warm and happy as they looked up and fixed on Jon, just like they used to be. 

And he had to watch as that warmth froze and died. As he stepped back into Martin Blackwood’s story and broke it clean in two.

“...Jon?”

[kemecon]

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Uni Love II

Deyna Castellanos x Reader

Summary: You'll follow Deyna anywhere

It was a no-brainer, really.

To follow Deyna from America to Spain. You didn't have roots firmly planted in America anyway, more than happy to disappear across the world with her.

You roll your eyes as girls tumble into your apartment, organised chaos as they strip off their shoes and jackets. You've got a patient file on your lap, jotting down the last of your notes before you slam it shut and place it in your filing cabinet.

"Hola, y/n!" Laia cries as she vaults over the back of the sofa.

You roll your eyes again as you slap her feet off the coffee table and then turn to slap at Elena as she takes a sip from your water. "You are too comfortable in this house!" You declare but they ignore you, fighting over the remote as you make your way to the kitchen.

You lean against the fridge, arms crossed over your chest. "Your teammates are children."

Deyna smiles at you, crossing the space and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. "But you love them anyway?"

"I love you," You reply," I can tolerate them." You open the fridge. "And I'm not cooking for them. If they want food, they've got to order it."

Deyna nods, yelling out your orders to the rest of the girls in your lounge. "How was work?"

"Long, boring." You shrug. "The usual. I had a teenager come in today looking for antibiotics to treat an STI." You groan. "And then an old granny who definitely is hooking up with the twenty-year old carer that brought her in."

Deyna winces at you weary tone and pulls you into a hug, letting you rest your head against her shoulder. You slump against her and close your eyes, content to sway back and forth in her arms.

"Oi! Lovebirds!" The voice of Laia cuts through your relaxed bubble. "Can we order sushi?"

"You brought her home," You say into Deyna's shoulder," You talk to her."

"She's not a dog."

"No? One of those yappy terriers? Barks when you're eating dinner? Squares up to the bigger dogs?"

You can hear Laia stamp her foot from where she's waiting for your answer in the doorway. "I'm right here!"

You pull yourself out of Deyna's embrace and run a hand over your face. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

"No!"

"No sushi for you." You kiss Deyna's cheek and brush past Laia back to the lounge.

"But! y/n! That's not fair!"

●～●～●～●～

Trading sunny Spain for rainy England had also been a no brainer.

England was always hunting for doctors so getting a job was easy enough and Deyna settling in at City was even easier.

"Don't touch that!" You snap, firmly placing the ice pack back onto Deyna's swollen ankle, having taken a nasty fall at training.

"It's fine!" Deyna whines, trying once again to remove it. "It's cold!"

"It's meant to be cold!" You whirl around to tuck Laia back into the blankets. "You! Stay still!"

"y/n," She whines too but you silence her with a look. She'd come bursting into your home with the chill and you'd immediately tucked her into a seat with a blanket.

"No!"

You glance around the room, happy that your two patients are doing as you say before falling back on the sofa and grabbing the remote, flicking away from the football game playing.

Laia whines at that too but Deyna doesn't. Instead, she leans her head on your shoulder and places a placating kiss on your neck. You lean into her body too, arm moving to wrap around her shoulders as Laia continues complaining.

"Do we have to keep letting her in?" You ask softly as Laia gets tangled in the blankets as she tries to free herself.

Deyna grins at you. "She'll just bang on the door until we let her in again."

You groan, loudly before returning Deyna's smile. "How's your ankle? Feeling better?"

"Freezing."

You roll your eyes. "But better?"

Deyna rolls her eyes too. "Yeah," She admits finally," It does."

You cup your ear and give her a teasing grin. "What was that? Sorry, I can't quite hear you?"

She sighs, loud and drawn out. "Thank you for your unsolicited medical advice."

You flick her ear. "I'm a doctor. You have the pleasure of getting unsolicited medical advice every day."

She rubs her ear but still presses kisses to your lips. You grin at her, surging forward to slip your tongue into her mouth. She kisses back, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

Your front door slams open though and you break away, catching Laia's eye (who looks suitably horrified at having seen you and Deyna kissing like that) before turning to look down the hall.

Leila's there - another one of the strays that Deyna's picked up along the way - and you have to suppress a scream of annoyance when you catch the bruise forming along her cheekbone.

"It was an accident!"

[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

SIC PARVIS MAGNA ~[MASTERLIST]~

DC Birds Of Prey x ATEEZ

An au by @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict & @seventhcallisto

Character profiles: (Pt. 1) (Pt.2)

{Prologue}

With the only way to make it there by bridges and ferries, a towering city lies on a series of islands connected by bridges. Full of vibrant colors and skyscrapers that make the view even more impressive. The most beautiful glance of the moon rising over the ocean and plenty of places to sightsee. Dreamy, right? Who wouldn't want to live in the darkest and most dangerous place in the world? Notoriously known for being just that. There's an asylum not far away, remote, but still incredibly dangerous. And you have to watch your back every corner you turn. The alleys are full of criminals, which makes the locals fearful. And when the police do nothing to stop it, those same locals will decide to take things into their own hands. Vigilantes roam to protect as well as they can, despite balancing their lives on their fingertips. And then there are those who take it a step farther, anti heros, villains, thieves, and then your heros. All of it, in the City of Seoultham.

With the consistent activity of terrible occurrences in your life- you're really just trying to get by. College is your peak and you're using all of your energy on it. Your job takes up most of your free time, along with the amount of effort it takes to not tell the next set of persistent robbers to stop robbing the same store over and over. And luckily enough, you've got two rowdy best friends that have managed to keep you sane and a brother who supports you with anything you need. Despite their constant worry for your safety in the shady apartment complex you live in. Hey, rent's cheap! Plus, you're not safe anywhere in Seoultham…or anywhere, really. You know that from experience. So it's no big deal. Well.. that is until you're pressed into a corner, hidden behind the bar as gunshots and landed blows are heard over the intense music. The screaming of the party goers file out the door but the sound of shattered glass and knuckles hitting skin doesn't. Tonight, everything will change. All thanks to a series of events that lead to you crouched behind the bar counter and trail you further into something you weren't exactly prepared for.

MAIN STORY

Pt. 1:"Streets"

Pt. 2:"Who??" (COMING SOON)

[megan0013]

really want to write this fic but have zero inspiration beyond replaying a few scenes from it in my head whenever i need to zone out, so:

nathalie has never, not for a split-second ever entertained the idea of sleeping with clients. she’s had offers, of course – wealthy businessmen and wannabe treasure hunters – but she’s never been the least bit tempted

until gabriel and emilie agreste

they’re much younger than her usual clientele and gorgeous, and nathalie’s 100% attracted to both of them. which is good because they haven’t stopped plotting how to get her into bed with them since she pinned some asshole’s hat to the wall behind him with a hunting knife the day they met

but nathalie is a professional. she was hired to guide the agrestes through the mountains of tibet and that’s what she’s going to do. she will not be participating in a threesome with them. nope, no siree, not gonna happen

but then there’s a blizzard, and the three of them are stuck in a yurt for four days with nothing to do but triple-check supplies/maps/research and drink a very potent version of local moonshine. the situation makes it ridiculously easy for her to fall into bed with them, and nathalie wakes up the next morning feeling both (incredibly) physically satisfied and more than a little relieved that they can get back to business now that her married clients have satiated their curiosity

except, they haven’t and it keeps happening

to the point where nathalie’s pretty sure the agrestes aren’t having sex without her at all anymore

fast forward to finding the peacock and butterfly miraculous and the subsequent parting of ways. it’s harder than nathalie expected, saying goodbye. she’d let the couple into her bed, yes, but she’d also let them into her heart far more than she’d ever thought possible

judging by gabriel’s scowl and emilie’s teary eyes, they did too

anyway. a few months go by and nathalie is out in the field somewhere when she gets a call from the ‘home office’. the agrestes are in need of some help deciphering a text they’d found alongside whatever treasure they found and her assistance would be greatly appreciated

the next six weeks are spent hooking up with gabriel and emilie (or, one or the other, depending on the circumstances) as they work through the grimoire to perfect the peacock’s abilities/limitations in creating new life. when that happens and her lovers are ready to take the next step, it’s bittersweet for nathalie. on one hand, she’s so so so happy for them. on the other, she’s fallen in love with them but whatever they have is obviously going to be over now that a baby is involved

so, she accepts a job somewhere (anywhere) else in the world that’s so remote she doesn’t receive a single bit of communication from them until she resurfaces in london a year later. and when she does, it’s to a birth announcement for adrien something-something-something-or-another agreste dated six months prior

there are also emails and a few voicemails, little messages from the agrestes (emilie, mostly) asking about her travels and updating her on adrien’s development. she tries not to put too much stock in them. they’re friends, sort of, and she knows way more about their son’s conception than anyone other than the two of them should. it’s obvious they’d try to keep in touch with her for that reason alone

the christmas card sent to her london flat is unexpected, though

as is their surprise visit on boxing day

“we heard you were back,” gabriel says, leaning against her doorframe with a smirk on his stupidly handsome face as emilie grins by his side. “and amelie promised to watch adrien tonight. we thought we could catch up.”

and, oh, do they

nathalie officially meets adrien the next day

it’s love at first sight

and it only spirals from there

a few weeks later she spends an extended layover touring new york with emilie and adrien while gabriel’s caught up with fashion week. some odd months after that she stays at the agreste’s mansion for a full two weeks of what would be described as wining and dining if she thought the agreste’s intentions were romantic instead of friendly-with-benefits. then gabriel flies her from a dig in sanremo to milan for a weekend, and a month after that all three agrestes kidnap her from her own london flat for a week in monaco

and then nathalie scores a longterm gig in milos

it’s a lot like that year she had zero service, except this time she’s able to communicate when her busy schedule permits. which, unfortunately, still isn’t quite often enough to satisfy gabriel or emilie, and they wind up booking their own grecian holiday a couple of months after nathalie’s tenure there begins

this is where everything changes

but not right away

nathalie is still busy, of course, but the agreste’s rented villa is close enough to the site her team is excavating that she’s able to stay with them most nights (which is very convenient for her and great for her employer’s lodging budget) and the three of them have fallen into a comfortable, oddly domestic routine by the time summer starts slipping into fall

and then the diving accident happens

emilie isn’t there when nathalie almost dies, but gabriel is only a few meters away when a pylon collapses on top of her and is still visibly shaken when they return home hours after he narrowly saves her from drowning

something in the overall dynamic shifts then

there’s a sort of awkwardness that hadn’t been there before and when they aren’t being overly affectionate towards her, the agrestes are having hushed conversations that have to be about her since they always seem to grind to a halt the second nathalie’s within earshot. and then one day a little over a week after the incident when she’s playing hide-and-seek with adrien she gets the confirmation she needs that they have been talking about her

“… be okay with it, right?” she hears emilie say

“it’s what we want,” gabriel responds softly. “she’ll understand.”

“but what if she doesn’t? want it, that is. what if she wants everything to stay the way it is? would you be okay with that?”

there’s a long pause, then: “no. no, i don’t think i would be.”

so, that’s that, nathalie thinks. they’re ending it. they don’t want me anymore

she makes excuses and leaves the next day without ever knowing they were not going to end it. that, in fact, they were going to tell her they were head-over-heels in love with her, that they’ve felt that about her since tibet but were too afraid to tell her, that they couldn’t bear being parted from her ever again and wanted nothing more than for her to be their girlfriend/partner

[this is when my original thoughts went to amelie outing nathalie’s pregnancy to a shocked gabriel and emilie six months later, but based on a few screenshots i’ve seen this little story has grown some canon legs so we’ll just leave it here]

[rainydayz-nstuff]

Scarab, Reader is his co-worker (kinda like Prismo, but maybe in different speciality)

Enemies to lovers, pleaseeeeee

Being honest… I haven’t watched Fiona and Cake yet. Mainly because I’m focused on Moomin Valley and HTTYD.

But I just watched so many clips of him and… ooh-

That man fine~

And enemies to lovers is my favorite!

Hope you like it!!

Your job, like Prismo and Scarab, deals with many universes and dimensions.

This time you were given a task to… follow Scarab.

Like that’s it. Just follow him. But you weren’t told to help him so….. you fuck with him.

And he gets pissed.

Just walking down the path of the Farm World, Scarab could feel eyes on him, and he knew which pair it was.

“Scabby! Hey! Buddy, pal, numbskull, how’s it going?”

He knew that voice from anywhere, and he wished he didn’t. He grumbled under his breath while picking up his pace.

You suddenly appeared next to him, making him swerve out of the way. You floated around him, appearing and disappearing while he tried to get further away.

“Come on, don’t be a stick in the mud.” You teased him.

Once you realized he wasn’t going to stop, you sighed and rolled your eyes. Then you appeared next to him, matching his speed.

“Scabby, baby, sweetie-pie, darling-“

He cut you off by grabbing your shoulders and pinning you down to the ground. You could easily teleport somewhere else, but you wanted to see how this would play out.

“If it weren’t for our boss, I would’ve snapped your neck by now!” He yelled.

You blinked carelessly, not bothered by his outburst. “Scarab, you know you can’t do that. Both in the sense of getting fired and the fact that I’m higher up than you. And by how much? Hmm… oh yeah, by one.”

His grip tightened and you just smirked. You then pulled him close by his collar and he instinctively let you go. He stood tall, brushed himself, then walked away.

You sighed dreamily before giggling, then teleporting away so you could bother him later.

He doesn’t see you again until he tried going spider mode on Farm World Finn.

You just popped out of nowhere and held his two speared hands back.

Everyone was confused, scared, intimidated, and… they thought it was hot.

Like, this guy was easily being pushed down by you, who looked badass and low key attractive.

You swore you heard the cat say you should kiss someone, but you’re still not sure who she was referring to.

Scarab, in an effort to distract you, changed his lower mask like face into a real one.

You raised a brow at the sudden change, then he dove in and kissed you.

You froze at the feeling, but then you calmed down and accepted the kiss.

Your grasp weakened as you tried to wrap your arms around his head.

Then, he pushes you off and leaps towards Fiona, Cake, and Simon.

They all disappeared when Simon used the remote.

Your face, still flushed from the face, brightened more in anger at how he stupidly distracted you.

You stomped a bit before disappearing again into Prismo’s room.

After ranting a bit to your now cubed friend you calmed down and found Scarab in another world.

And he was frozen.

You laughed at his frozen state until the top started to melt.

When his face revealed you yelled at him before teasing him for being frozen.

Before he could free himself, you floated up, grabbed his face, and gave him a Spider-Man kiss. (Something you picked up from a comic in another world)

Then before he could say anything, you disappeared in front of his eyes.

Now he was the embarrassed one with feelings he’s too scared to admit.

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you guys think for my first time writing this character.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

What To Get A 19 Year Old Boy For His Birthday...

Pairing: Platonic! Peter Parker & Reader; Reader x Bucky (but that's not really plot relevant)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none as usual, you yell at Strange lol

Genre: super fluff

Summary: You happen to be the only person who still remembers Peter Parker exists and you are not about to hang him out to dry. So what happens when you take Peter in and basically become his guardian? Well- nothing is simple where super-teens are involved, but you and Peter can certainly handle whatever comes your way. Right?

***

You from to yourself, feeling like you're forgetting something even though you're just watching TV with Bucky. There's nothing to forget that you can-

"Oh shit-" You gasp sitting up suddenly. Bucky grabs the remote and turns the volume down.

"What?" He frowns shifting to look at you.

"I just realized Peter's birthday's next week and I haven't even thought of what to get him or what to do or-"

"Take a breath y/n. You still have a week." Bucky reminds you with a hand on your shoulder.

"What do I get a nineteen year old boy for his birthday?" You turn to him.

"Why are you asking me?" He blinks.

"You're a guy!"

"I'm a hundred and seven?! I haven't been nineteen in like eighty years, do you really think I would have any idea what a modern teen would want? I can guarantee my interests at nineteen were far different." He scoffs.

"Well what did you want at nineteen?" You ask.

"To avoid another world war?" He shrugs and your mouth drops open.

"I can't fucking stand you." You laugh shoving him lightly.

"Oh come on, how could I resist?!"

"You're so irritating! Be serious." You say fighting giggles.

"Alright, alright, what's the kid interested in?"

"I dunno, comic books, video games, nerdy stuff?" You shrug.

"I've never seen him play video games before." Bucky frowns.

"He plays them on his computer."

"He doesn't have a gaming system of some sort?"

"No?"

"Do you own one?"

"No."

"So get him one of those and a couple of games." Bucky shrugs.

"That's a great idea! And you said you wouldn't know what to get him." You smile.

"I'm sure you could've figured that out."

"You'll come shopping with me won't you? I have no idea what games to get for him honestly."

"How about you take care of the system and I'll worry about the games. Split the cost of this birthday thing."

"What do you mean you're going to worry about the games?" You frown.

"Just trust me. How much is the system anyway?"

"Probably three, maybe four hundred dollars. Depends."

"Sheesh. That's- pricier than I expected honestly." He hums.

"Yeah they can get pretty up there." You shrug.

"Alright then if you buy the system I'll take the kid out and get him an equivalent in games."

"You really wanna spend $600 on his birthday?" You blink.

"I mean he's lost his entire family and he never goes anywhere or talks of friends, we're probably the only people he's going to get gifts from. We can take some of the money from the Stark account." Bucky says. When Tony died there were a couple of accounts set up in your name to take over Avengers related expenses. One to be used for the team's avenging related tasks and one to help the team with personal affects- mostly Thor since he'll likely never have a job here but he's not here that much these days anyway.

"I don't want to get into the habit of using that money, in case of an emergency." You say.

"Baby, you're a witch and I'm a super soldier I can't imagine there will be many emergencies where that money is our only solution. Stark died and we ended up with enough money to change our tax bracket. Six hundred dollars would hardly make a dent and if ever we're in a situation where we do have to use that money for an emergency and we find ourselves $600 short I'm sure neither of us will look back and say 'if only we hadn't given that kid we're responsible for a great birthday gift he loved'." Bucky says.

"Very well, we'll use the Stark account and do it big for him." You say.

"There- now you can stop panicking about his birthday." Bucky pulls you back into his side and turns the volume back up on the TV. You don't point out to Bucky how it seems he's bonded with Peter a bit. At least to some degree since he's suddenly advocating for a big birthday gift for him. You know he'll deny it if you bring it up so you simply smile to yourself at the thought and settle back into his chest. You'll head to the store tomorrow to pick up a console and some birthday supplies.

*~*~*

"Bucky can you grab the candles from the bedroom please baby? They should be in the bag on my desk." You shout while carefully removing the plastic covering from Peter's birthday cake.

"On it!" Bucky calls back from the living room. Moments later, he hands you the opened candles.

"Thank you for opening them." You kiss his cheek and carefully stick the 1 and 9 on the cake without disturbing the Happy Birthday Peter written in blue frosting.

"How long do you think it'll take him to come back?" Bucky asks.

"I only asked him to get some salt, he should be opening the door any minute now." You shrug. "Do you think he suspects anything?"

"Nah, I'll bet when you didn't wish him happy birthday this morning or make anything special for breakfast that he assumed we didn't know or weren't going to make a big deal about it."

"Oh- I hope he's not moping through the streets thinking we forgot." You frown.

"I mean I don't-" Bucky stops suddenly. "He's coming down the hall, light the candles." He tells you. You grab the lighter and quickly light the candles, lifting the cake just as the handle turns.

"Hey. Got the salt you asked for-"

"Happy Birthday Peter!!" You shout when he enters the kitchen.

"Happy birthday kid." Bucky nods.

"You remembered my birthday?"

"Of course I did sweetie! Make a wish." You walk the cake over to him and hold it out for him to blow out the candles. He looks between you and Bucky a couple of times before closing his eyes and blowing out the candles quickly.

"Yay!" You say setting the cake on the counter.

"Thanks guys- I- I kinda thought you'd miss it."

"Nonsense! How could I? Oh and before I forget, your gift." You float the prettily wrapped box from behind the island, into the Peter's hands.

"What is it?"

"You know the point of wrapping a gift is for you to unwrap it in order to find out what's in it." Bucky tells him.

"I know- but I thought maybe you'd tell me anyway." Peter shrugs.

"No way! That ruins the surprise! Open it." You clap excitedly.

"Alright alright." Peter says. He quickly tears off the wrapping paper and his mouth drops open when he fully reveals the box. "You got me an Xbox?" His voice is full of disbelief but you can't say for sure if that's good or not.

"Do you like it?" You ask.

"A-are you kidding?! This is like the best gift I've ever gotten!" Peter says throwing his arms around you. You hug him back relieved that the gift was a success.

"I'm glad! Bucky and I had no idea what to get you." You chuckle.

"You did great." He says.

"This is only the first half of the gift technically. A console needs games, so I'm taking you out to buy some." Bucky adds.

"No way- you don't have to this is already plenty I-I mean these things aren't cheap I don't wanna take advantage of-"

"It's not a question kid, we're going. After lunch." Bucky cuts him off.

"Really? Today?" Peter blinks at him.

"You wanna be able to set that thing up or not?"

"We'll go after lunch." Peter nods. "Are you coming with us y/n?"

"I can't hon I've got some errands to run." You say.

"I hoped we'd all be together for my birthday."

"Don't worry, we'll all be back for dinner together."

"Oh, okay, that's fine then."

He's probably nervous about spending extended time alone with Bucky but you think it'll be good for them to find common ground that's not contingent on you. Obviously, they're capable of coordinating if your anniversary is any indicator. You want to give them the chance to build on that.

In the meanwhile, you have something of equal importance to take care of. You push open the heavy doors to Stephen Strange's lair. He doesn't call it that, and he rather hates it when you do, but that's basically what it is.

"Strange!" You shout.

"Y/n! Hello, to what do I owe this visit?" He asks floating down to meet you. You walk up to him and smack your palm against his forehead. "I guess this isn't a friendly visit then." He hisses rubbing his forehead.

"Not quite." You roll your eyes. A quick succession of hand gestures completes the spell that unlocks Stephen's memories of Peter. He takes a sharp breath as his memories return.

"You know- there are less painful ways do that spell." He says after a moment.

"There are also more painful ways to do that spell be glad I just tapped your forehead." You say.

"Tapped is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

"I wanted to beat your ass. Count your blessings I didn't come in here and do that."

"I assume this is about Peter, then?" Stephen sighs.

"Help me with the math here, a 17-year-old comes to you and says 'I want to alter reality' and you don't consider- not doing that?"

"Well hang on I definitely warned him it was a bad idea but he was insistent that it was ruining his life."

"Dude he was 17. A 17 year old will think the world is ending because his best friend moves away before senior year of high school. Granted he's dealt with some pretty intense adult troubles but he's still just a kid and you're like pushing 50 he isn't the responsible party in that situation." You say.

"Watch it, pushing 50 is an exaggeration." Stephen points.

"Not. The point. You altered the very fabric of time and space not once, but twice at the behest of a child."

"It wouldn't have been twice if he hadn't totally screwed up the first one."

"You're the sorcerer not him. It was your spell. Your responsibility." You say.

"Hey he kept adding caveats in the middle of my casting and magic is tricky enough as is without that."

"I know how tricky magic is, which is why I wouldn't have an untrained teenager be part of casting a spell of that magnitude in the first place! It was a bad decision on your part and in the end you got to walk away as if it never even happened. And that might be even more egregious, you completely abandoned the kid after all that chaos."

"Well not completely, I knew the probability of you being unaffected by the spell and thus stepping in was almost 100%."

"Almost 100 isn't 100 and that's still abandoning. The moment you decided to do that spell for him you took on a responsibility." You say.

"So what was I supposed to do? Simply take him in?" He scoffs.

"Well when you take away his entire support system with a spell that is the least you can do Strange."

"He knew the consequences, and it all worked out fine. He's got you now." He shrugs.

"I wonder if you just don't hear yourself speak or if you truly struggle with emotional intelligence so severely." You take a moment to really look at him as if the answer will come to you if you stare at him for long enough. "Whatever, I didn't come here just to yell at you."

"Really? I couldn't have guessed that."

"Today is Peter's birthday. I came to fix your memories so you could send him a birthday card." You say.

"Why would I do that?" He frowns.

"Because your botched spell resulted in the death of his only remaining living relative? We're all he's got."

"Hey I fixed that situation to the best of my ability."

"And it didn't bring his aunt back. It also cost him every relationship he's ever developed. Send him a damn card. Today." You spin around and walk back towards the door. "Be glad I won't drop him on your doorstep. He doesn't deserve that punishment." You scoff, waving the doors open and heading back towards your own apartment to get started on dinner. 

"So how did game shopping go?" You ask Bucky and Peter once you're all sat eating dinner.

"Oh we got way more than I would've expected. Mr. Bucky was overly generous I just hope it's clear how greatful I am."

"You've thanked me at least 10 times in the last hour. You've been more than clear kid. It's your birthday so you can stop now."

"I'm glad you had a nice time." You chuckle.

"What did you get up to while we were out baby?" Bucky asks.

"Just some errands nothing interesting." You shrug.

"Nothing interesting?" He raises an eyebrow.

"A little of this a little of that. My to-do list never ends really. Some shopping, I hit the bank, made some visits. You know how it goes."

"I dunno about you but that sounds rather suspicious to me Peter." Bucky turns to him.

"Definitely." Peter nods.

"I clearly made a mistake letting you two spend the afternoon together." You roll your eyes grabbing yours and Peter's now empty plates.

"We will discover your secrets y/n." Bucky warns.

"Good luck with that." You chuckle kissing Bucky's temple before walking the dishes over to the sink.

"Oh no you don't, you cooked, I'll do the dishes." Bucky wraps his hands around your waist and moves you from in front of the sink.

"Fine fine, Petey you want help setting up your Xbox then?" You ask.

"Sure! Is it okay to set it up in my room?"

"Of course it is. It's your thing. Plus if you end up playing all day long I don't want you taking over my living room." You tap his shoulder.

"Cool." He chuckles.

It doesn't take you long to set up the system in his room, it's just a matter of plugging in it and then the rest is for him to do on his own, make an account and such. You're just about to leave his room when a small portal appears in front of him.

"Peter. Happy birthday." Strange says reaching through with a card. You hold back a smile as Peter takes the card with obvious shock on his face.

"T-thanks Mr. Strange." Peter says. Stephen nods and closes the portal without another word.

"I didn't think he remembered me." Peter blinks at you.

"The world works in mysterious was huh." You ruffle Peter's hair. "I'll leave you to get used to your new toy." You add before exiting his room and joining Buckyin the living room.

"Okay, so where did you go today? Really?"

"Honestly I had to go yell at Strange for some magic related things." You say.

"What did he do?"

"It's complicated. Let's just say it'll be a while before I leave our timeline in his hands if ever again." You muse.

"Ah is that why you didn't bring it up at dinner? So the kid doesn't ask about Strange?"

"Yeah basically." You shrug. You're sure Bucky means in terms of Peter not knowing that you're an Avenger or whatever but seeing as you can't explain the real reason you didn't want to talk about it at dinner you see no reason to correct him at the moment. Eventually you'll give him all the details, but today has been good for all of you, you'd like to end on a high.

***

Tagged Users: @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @buchi91