#she doesn’t get to have anything larger than a b cup

[captain-orphic-al]

Don’t ask me about hands they don’t exist.

[astroboots]

omg tbh grumpy bored Miguel just having to sit, wait, hand over his credit card and then carry bags from lingerie store to lingerie store is so important to me and my daydreaming lmaoo. Punishment fits the crime imo!!

I also love the idea of him going solo and buying lingerie he likes and leaving her little presents because A) if she likes the pieces then perfect!! or B) if it’s not her taste then it’s perfectly okay for him to rip them of her and she doesn’t even get mad 😏😏

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

When you had asked him to come with you to go shopping for lingerie, he had been thrilled.

Why wouldn't he be.

It had sounded like a great way to spend a few hours of on a lazy weekend together.

In his mind, it'd be you half naked, parading in scanty underwear for his eyes only.

A private fashion show, except sexy, instead of boring, where you'd be wearing a lacy piece that would barely cover your ass cheeks for him. A sheer peer of white panties that would leave nothing to the imagination. A frilly pair that was begging for him to rip them off right then and there, in the changing room.

He hadn't know then that it would be like this.

That apparently, in lingerie stores, men aren't allowed in the changing rooms. That he'd be banished in the lounging area, sat in a pink velvet armchair so tiny, it must be made for dolls that he can barely squeeze his ass into.

He's sitting here, exiled to this depressingly sad space of other bored husbands and boyfriends, who are half dozing off or staring at their phones like dreary zombies. Meanwhile he's hunched in on himself like a shocking elephant trying to fit in a goddamned teacup.

Not for the first time since he arrived in this world, the thought strikes Miguel that your world is a dystopia.

Because what other way is there to describe a world where one is supposed to sit sit mere feet away from their partner, while they get undressed and he's not allowed to look. Not allowed to touch. Not allowed to...

Shock.

This is torture. Why is he left out here like some abandoned dog out in the streets, forced to imagine what you look like in that tiny dressing room.

Forced to imagine you naked, with nothing on but a bra as you look at yourself in the mirror, and nothing he can do about it. Except sit here, as his dick stirs between his legs at the thought of it. Nothing to do but be tortured at the thought of you and your hands cupping your breasts as you try to decide if it's a good fit.

At the way you'd spin in front of your own reflection, and the way those sheer lacy panties he picked for you to try, that splits in the middle, would part as you move.

His fangs itch in his mouth at the thought of it. Fingers gripping into the arms of the armchair, as he resists every instinct to rush to his feet and break into your dressing room. Press you up against the wall until you're flat against it. Every inch of him pressed along yours, your legs wrapped around his waist, spreading you wide open as he --

"Miggy."

He breaks out of his reverie. Blinking up to see your face gaze down at him.

"I'm done," you tell him, showcasing the big shopping bag like a treasure.

Reaching over, he takes it from you. "What did you get in the end?"

"All of them. You've ripped so many I don't have anything nice to wear anymore except my old granny panties, so I figured I needed a whole new collection," you say a little pointedly as you serve him a side eye and steer him out of the shop.

He shakes the bag to peer inside, and the familiar white cotton and cherry patterns of the panties you wore this morning peeks out from the other wrapped items.

"Are those the panties you wore here?"

"Mhmm," you hum absentmindedly as you continue to steer the two of you towards the exit of the mall.

It's probably not easy for you to do, cause Miguel is larger than you, and the place is crowded, but he's too distracted to be more helpful to you in this moment.

Images of you flit through his mind. Of the cute sheer panties you'd picked up earlier hugging your hips even as you're walking next to him in this moment.

"Which one are you wearing now?" He has to swallow down the saliva flooding his tongue so he can ask the question.

Training his eyes on the bag, he tries to sneak another peek, even though every other piece has been carefully wrapped in pink tissue paper. "Is it the pink one? or the red ones?"

You cock your head slightly to the side and observe him with an amused smile lingering on your lips.

"Nope," you tell him, still with that casual smile.

"The sheer lacy one then?"

"No, not that one either."

"The baby blue?"

You shake your head and he frowns. This game of 20 questions is getting a bit too drawn out for his liking. And he doesn't quite get why you won't just give him the answer. Still there's only two more guesses left.

"The black satin?"

"No."

"So the--"

"I'm not wearing that one either," you finish before he even can point out the final option.

His eyebrow quirks in question. "What do you mean?

The gears in his heads are turning but not fully comprehending what you mean by that. He saw the ones you wore this morning in the shopping bag, and if you didn't wear any of the ones you bought then--

"I'm not wearing anything."

... Shock.

Dedication & Credits: To my most beloved @thirstworldproblemss for always having the patience to listen to my unhinged thoughts. She had the most delicious thots about what happens minutes after this.

How Miguel would be too impatient to wait until you made it back home. How Miguel would have you pinned against the wall in a semi-secluded area, all: “don’t worry about it, nena. I’ll know if anyone’s coming, and we’ll be long gone before they get here.” But then being so distracted by you and the feeling of you wrapped around his cock that you nearly get caught anyway, and it’s only because you notice in the last second before discovery and tap him in alarm that makes him manage to haul you out of sight before you got caught.

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[meekmedea]

conversations over tea (VIII)

previous part

~~~~

Clemensia falls in love when Pup returns to the Capitol a few months later with the dog in tow. His name is still up in the air and ‘dog’ has been its current placeholder these past months. 

Regardless, pictures hadn’t done ‘dog’ justice – he was far larger than she ever imagined. And ‘dog’ was due for a trim with how he resembles more so a gigantic ball of white fur than anything else.

`

A name is hastily chosen when they take him to the vet to make sure he’s in good health, gets his shots and everything. Well, technically ‘dog’ has final say on his name. 

Pup first suggests ‘Argos’ and the side-eye the dog gives him makes Clemensia laugh. They quickly run through a few more names before settling on ‘Sirius’.

The vet places Sirius at about a few years old and says he’s a Great Pyrenees. Which would explain his enormous size as the breed were once bred to guard livestock, being able to fight off wolves and supposedly scare off bears. 

`

Under the guise of courting –training Sirius – they try to get Sirius comfortable with Clemensia so that when Pup has to return to the ship, she won’t have much trouble on her hands. 

So far Sirius is wary of most, if not all people. Especially males. He’s also very active. At least more so than Clemensia. Twice a day – long walks. Her health has literally never been better. 

That and for such a large dog, he doesn’t seem to realize he’s not the size of a lapdog. Sirius will attempt everything a lapdog will do, but the outcomes are not quite the same. Quite a few of their cups have been shattered this way when he launches himself to lay on their lap. 

And he’s very, very strong. At a park, Sirius runs, chasing after something. Except she’s dragged along for the ride as she’d still been holding the leash. Pup attempts to catch them or at least one of them – they end up in a mud puddle sans the dog. To his credit though, Sirius returns once he realizes neither of them had followed and sits primly by the puddle, wagging his tail. 

`

“Maybe we should just get a place with a huge garden and set him loose,” says Pup with a groan as he got to his feet and offered out a hand to her. 

“Would our garden survive the day?”

“That can be the gardener’s problem.”

~~~~

Washing the dog is a veritable feat. It’s a group effort between the two of them and by the time the task is completed, she’s too exhausted to move. “Do we still have to meet your parents for tea?”

“M’afraid so,” he says, just as morosely. 

`

For all the mischief and stubbornness that Sirius is, Clemensia likes having him around. Having a 90 pound ball of fluff wait for you to come home is surprisingly a lot more heartwarming than she’d have imagined.

Also, their dog had great taste in people -  Pentheus could say whatever he wanted, but honestly, what did her cousin expect? That mocking Clemensia in front of Sirius wouldn't have any consequences? 

`

“Are you training Sirius to bark at my cousin?” 

Caught in the act, Pup looked conflicted on whether to lie or not. “No?”

“Pity.” Out of the corner of her eye, she swears she sees him slide Sirius a treat. 

~~~~~~

Held in one of the grand hotels within the Capitol, it seemed as if his and her families were determined to go all out for their engagement party. 

In her ear, Pup mumbled that if all this was for an engagement, then what would they be subjected to for a wedding? 

“This is our curse for being an only child,” she whispers back. 

`

And in a few days, they'll be due for yet another party - though this one is to celebrate his promotion to Captain. 

The captain of the ship Pup was serving was retiring soon, and it seemed the higher-ups had been pleased with his track record as of late, setting him up to take over that very ship. Although Pup's rank was higher now, his duties are more or less the same as the previous captain had usually let Pup call the shots anyway. 

`

Invidia is unofficially introduced to her as Coriolanus' girlfriend when he brings her along to Pup and her’s engagement party. 

Invidia seems alright, they don't talk much save for the compliment she gives Clemensia about the strand of pearls that she's threaded into her hairstyle tonight. 

She does privately note that Invidia is wearing the earrings that Coriolanus had custom ordered for her. They suit the socialite well, adding to her regal appearance tonight. 

`

“Have I ever told you that your cousin has a very punchable face?” asks Pup once he's returned from greeting some of her relatives. 

Clemensia stifles a laugh behind her hand. “You don't say?”

“With his personality, Pentheus would never last a day, much less an hour on my ship without the whole crew wanting to toss him overboard.”

`

And whatever frostiness Coriolanus has for Pup melts when Pup puts her boorish cousin in his place in front of him. 

“You know, it's a real pity that duels aren't legalized anymore…”

“A pity,” agreed Coriolanus. “Perhaps an exception should be made for the odd occasion or two.”

“Please don't fight him,” Clemensia interrupts with a sigh. “Besides, it wouldn't be a fair fight. We all know you'd lay him out on the ground in less than a minute.”

 ~~~~~

Pup doesn’t stay very long in the Capitol after he’s been officially promoted to the rank of Captain – and as promised, he brings her out on his ship for a few days. Sirius comes along as well as neither of them were quite comfortable with leaving the dog alone for a few days. 

The ship runs like a well-oiled machine – both the vessel itself and its crew. By now, he’s introduced her to some of his crew – they seem to like him and are loyal. Even comfortable enough to crack the occasional joke with Pup. 

Like Coriolanus had mentioned – the smell of the sea was strong, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t grow accustomed to. However, Clemensia would never admit that she’d been seasick for the first day or so. Coriolanus would only make fun of her for that tidbit. So this, she swears Pup to secrecy, a vow that he laughingly agrees to keep. 

~~~~

first part

next part

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 4

Chapter 1     Chapter 3

“We have a problem,” Tim grumbled as he stumbled into the dining room.  He threw the morning newspaper down on the table, letting it slide the last few feet until it stopped millimeters short of Bruce’s coffee.

Bruce sputtered his eggs and grabbed the paper, staring at the picture of him speaking with Marinette and Adrien that took up the entire front page above the fold.  He threw the paper back on the table.  “Son of a b…”

“We’ve been getting calls from PR all morning,” Tim interrupted him before Alfred got upset with Bruce for his language. “Because they’ve been getting calls from every newspaper, news station, blog, and interested citizen in the world, calling to ask them about it.”  

Tim poured himself a large cup of coffee, larger than usual.  He’d had patrol last night and gotten woken up at the crack of dawn this morning with calls about the story. So he was running on all of three hours of sleep and just wanted to crawl back into bed, but with this story, there was no chance of him getting to bed until after tonight’s patrol had already left.

It didn’t help that he was beating himself up for not picking up on the cues she was giving that night.  He’d run into her.  He and Stephanie had talked to her.  He saw her freeze up when she realized who he was.  He knew she was acting off, he just hadn’t thought it was nefarious.  If anything, it seemed hurt, not scared.  He should have caught onto her body language. He should have noticed how she seemed to freeze when he mentioned the family.  She must have thought he was fishing, letting her know he was onto her and her plan to do this.  

“You’d think after all the false alarms they’ve reported in the past that they’d know better by now.  Not every black haired, blue eyed child is a Wayne.  I’ve had PR draft up a statement that while we appreciate her support for the orphans, she is not, in fact, a Wayne,” he finished, taking a bite of his muffin, missing Bruce’s grimace.

Damian grabbed the paper, wrinkling it in his clenched fists as he scanned the text.  “She must have orchestrated the whole thing to put this out.  How else would they know these details?”

“No,” Dick commented thoughtfully, prying the paper away from Damian to take a look at the picture.  “If she was in on it she would have put on a better act.  Look at the image.  She isn’t playing into it.  She looks scared, not excited to ‘introduce her fiancé to her family’.” Dick quoted. He briefly scanned the paper for more information.

All the evidence appeared to be the picture, her physical features, and some call logs to her parent’s business.  Dick scrunched up his face with concern.  While not damning, it was interesting.  He didn’t know any reason Bruce would have to contact a bakery in Paris.  “Not to mention the story would have gone out yesterday for a bigger circulation boost. Sundays are the big press days. They wouldn’t have waited until Monday. That suggests they researched, or rather stole the information.  And no quotes from her in here.”

“Fine,” Damian growled, acquiescing to his logic. “Maybe she did it after the fact. She saw the opportunity and took it.”

“No,” Bruce admitted quietly.  “She wouldn’t have had to do that.”  The room seemed to become still as everyone turned to face him.  “If she wanted this story to go out she could have put it out at any time.  And she would have played up the dance, would have sought me out at the gala.  But she didn’t.”

“What dance?” Duke asked cautiously, his focus entirely on Bruce now.

“I asked her to dance.  She said no.  Ran away as quickly as she could actually,” Bruce chuckled self-deprecatingly as he stared at the paper in Dick’s hands.

Damian blinked at him as though the longer he stared the clearer what was happening would become.  But no matter how hard he stared, the image didn’t become clearer. If anything, things became hazier. “This could all be a clever ruse. She wants to appear innocent so when you confront her she can point out that she didn’t do those things.  It says she’s an aspiring designer.  This could all be for publicity.”

“She wouldn’t have to go through all that,” Bruce stated again, more finality in his voice.  He finally looked up, but still didn’t make eye contact with any of them.

Dick stared at Bruce, taking in his response, letting the words and their broader meaning sink in.  The words he wasn’t saying hung in the room like thick smoke, winding their way into everything they touched, stealing the air out of the room.  “What are you saying Bruce?” Dick asked cautiously

“The story’s true, isn’t it,” Tim observed.  It was a statement more than a question.  

Bruce nodded with a sigh.  “Except for the meeting her fiancé part.”

Tim knew it was true even before Bruce’s verbal acknowledgement.  The pieces suddenly fit together.  It was the only thing that made sense.  That’s why her reactions were off.  That matched.   He saw her face when they told her the gala was to celebrate family.  He saw her body language change sharply when Stephanie joked about Bruce taking in everyone he saw.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time and didn’t really even try because it didn’t seem relevant and they had more important issues to think about, namely celebrating Duke.  After the story, he thought the reactions were a tell.  But now… now that he knew, they were a tell, but for something else entirely.

She was trying to be polite about it, not letting on how hard it was hitting.  And oh God, didn’t that make it worse.  Everything they said had been cordial, joking at Bruce’s expense, at their own expense. But with the new knowledge… it was at hers.  They weren’t jokes, they were digs.  They were attacks.  They were him putting her ‘in her place’; out of the family.  Tim took in a shuttering breath and collapsed on the couch, his head in his hands.

He would have so much to apologize for.  He would have to find her and make sure she knew he didn’t mean his words the way they must have come across.  He knew how it felt to not be accepted.  He knew how it felt to not feel loved by your parents. He knew how it felt to have your place in the family questioned constantly, to be attacked, to be unwelcome. He wouldn’t wish that on enemies, let alone family.

“Who is she, Father?” Damian demanded.

Bruce met his eyes, guilt swimming in his own.  “She’s your half-sister.  Her mother and step-father have been raising her in Paris,” Bruce answered calmly.

Damian fought the gasp his lungs demanded against his will.  His father was confirming it.  He was acknowledging her.  But never trusted them with the information.  “Were you ever going to tell us?” Damian finally asked with forced coolness

“I was letting the dust settle on introducing Duke before I broached it,” Bruce hedged.

“So you just found out,” Damian asked angrily.  That would make sense.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, him.  It was that he didn’t know until recently.  Of course that was what happened.

“No.”

Damian gaped at him, his hastily built protective construct shattering with one word.  “How long have you known?”

“Since she was born.”  Damian gaped at him.  He’d known. He’d known since before Damian came to live with them and still never told them.  He didn’t trust him.  Even after all he’d done, he still didn’t trust him.  And now he was letting this unknown, this daughter, even just thinking the word made him wrinkle his nose in disgust, do whatever she wanted.  He trusted her but not him.

“You have a daughter, a biological daughter you’ve known about for decades and that you never told us about,” Dick asked again in a daze.  He fell into a chair staring at Bruce incredulously.  There was no way.  He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.  He loved kids.  He loved his kids.  Why would he send one away?  He hadn’t even wanted to do that to Jason.

“So I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know?” Duke asked. He looked around, taking in the stunned, disbelieving, hurt expressions.

“Not just you,” Damian gritted out.  

Duke sucked in a breath and pulled out his phone, texting Jason and Cass to let them know what was happening.  They were going to want to know as soon as possible too. All of them were going to have questions and issues with this information.  And if the conversation went on much longer, they may want to be involved.

“Why was she there last night?  What did she want?  Surely she wouldn’t have come without a plan,” Damian pressed.  Nobody had access to the kind of power and money they had and just walked away.  If she was presenting herself and not to them, to the press, there must be a reason, a plot.  They needed to find out more about her to figure it out.  “How did she get a ticket in the first place?”  That might be a place to start.  It would give an insight into her accomplices and they could be pressed later for more information.

Bruce sighed and looked back down at his food, pushing the plate away, no longer hungry in the slightest.  “I can’t answer how she got her ticket.  As to why she was there, she was there to talk about a position for a friend of hers… with Lucius apparently, not me.”

“She was using her name to get her subpar friend a job,” Damian spat in disgust.  There had to be more though.  With their name, she could get much, much more.  This had to be an opening gambit.  The job must be placing an operative, loyal to her, within their institution.  Next was the stunt with the press.  They needed to figure out her next steps.

“No,” Bruce insisted.  “She didn’t mention her association.  He doesn’t know… well, he does now.  He spoke to me after the gala, said he discovered one of our managers is stealing ideas and there was someone he was going to spend the weekend researching but he was excited about hiring him.  Luthor is trying to hire him, so if we don’t act fast we’ll lose him.  I’m betting that was her friend.”

“You don’t know that,” Damian growled out.  “That could be a coincidence.”

“I’ll confirm with Lucius today, but it fits with what I know,” Bruce insisted calmly.  “From what her mother has told me over the years, it’s the kind of thing she would do; go well out of her way to help a friend.  And her mother let me know she was planning on attending the gala to talk about hiring her friend.  I just thought she was going to talk to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us,” Dick asked breathlessly. He was staring at Bruce with hurt saturating his eyes.  He heard nothing after Bruce admitting he’d known about her and never told them.  He was aware Bruce had been saying things for the last few minutes but none of it had registered.  None of it was what he needed to know.  

Bruce sighed and ran his hand over his face.  “Nobody knew.  Nobody but me and her mother and step-father.  It was easier that way.”  Easier to pretend was left unsaid.  Easier for Bruce to pretend like he hadn’t cut her out of his life, like he didn’t regret it every day.  Easier for Bruce to try to forget.

“Not even her?” Duke asked.

“Not even her,” Bruce confirmed with a sigh.  He ran his hand over his face.

“Why?”  Dick was staring at him in wide eyed confusion.  It didn’t make sense.  None of it made sense.  He’d been with Bruce for twenty years and never heard a whisper of a biological daughter. But she existed.  And he knew.  Bruce took a deep breath and Dick scowled.  “I swear to God, B, if you say some dumbass excuse like to protect her…”

“She has a happy life.  Her mother and step-father love her beyond words.  They support her, love her, encourage her.  They’re there for her whenever she needs it.  They never miss an event.  Family dinners every night.  She has friends… a good life.  She’s safe.  She never had to worry about defending herself.  She never had to be taught what to do when she got kidnapped.  Never had to… doesn’t remember seeing the people around her dead from the latest rogue attack.  Not like what she would have here…” he again left the last part of the sentence off. The “with me” was left for everyone to fill in on their own.

“You’re a good father,” Tim assured him weakly, because at this point, with this information…

“I hope so.”  Bruce gave him a weak smile.  “But when she was born…  I had an obligation.  I had a responsibility.”

“She was your responsibility!” Dick yelled, his face suddenly contorting in anger and frustration with Bruce.

Bruce looked away stoically, face suddenly a mask devoid of emotion.  “She had a better option and I made sure she got it.”

The room was silent for a few moments while his words settled in.  The only sound was Dick seething in his seat.  “But she doesn’t know you?  You never visited.  You never interacted with her.  Even not telling her who you were to her,” Tim clarified.

Bruce shook his head.  “I visited her final project for her degree a few weeks ago under the guise of research for the fabric project.  She’s a designer.  I was hoping to get her in on the fabric project.  I thought it would be a good cover to get her comfortable with the family. But I didn’t talk with her while I was there.”  He chuckled slightly at the memory.  “I couldn’t even get close.  There were too many people talking to her, congratulating her, offering her internships. Her work was beautiful.”

“But you’ve talked with her parents,” Tim checked.

He sighed and waved his hand helplessly.  “I spoke with Sabine every so often to check on Marinette, make sure she was okay.  I helped pay for her schooling, but even that was disguised as an investment into her parents’ company.”

“So her parents were having you pay for their company, holding the secret over your head,” Damian spat out.

“No!” Bruce growled.  He knew Damian was having a hard time with this.  Hell, that’s one of the main reasons he waited so long, because he knew Damian wouldn’t react well.  Damian would have taken it as an attack on his position in the family.  And after the way he treated Tim and Dick when he first found out about them… They could protect themselves against his attacks. She wouldn’t have been able to. He didn’t know how far Damian would actually go and he didn’t want Damian to have to find out either.  He had been waiting until Damian was more settled, more secure in the family and their unconditional love for him before he reached out to her.  But he wasn’t going to let him disparage Sabine and Tom.  They’d been nothing but understanding.

“They only let me put in the amount for tuition. They wouldn’t allow me to give any more than that and Marinette got a scholarship for her university so she didn’t need any assistance.  I tried to keep giving them money for her to at least have spending money but they refused. They stopped accepting the transfers. They only relented when I said it would look suspicious.  So they’ve been creating a trust for her with it.”

Damian grumbled and looked away.  Whatever their game was, they were certainly good at it.

Bruce dropped his head into his hands.  “Nobody was supposed to know about her until I was sure it was safe,” Bruce grumbled into his hands.  “Until I’d had a chance to talk to everyone about it.”

“Well now everyone knows, so maybe now is a good time to start trying to make that connection,” Dick growled.

“If she’ll let us,” Tim added.  He remembered the look in her eyes when he talked about his… their family.  

“It’s never too late to start trying to bond,” Dick insisted.  His eyes were bordering on wild.  They could bring this back, right?  The family had come back from worse.  They’d faced steeper hills.  Hell, Damian tried to kill them when he first came.  Jason had also tried to kill them all more than once when he came back. She couldn’t be that bad.  They just had to make the first move.  “We just have to let her know we want to.”

Tim shook his head and looked down, not at all convinced it really was as easy as that.  Tim was awkward on a good day.  He could make friends but usually they made the first move.  He was pretty certain she wouldn’t make the first move in this instance.  Damian wouldn’t accept her, period.  Dick would crowd her.  Jason would… whatever Jason did, probably disappear.  She wasn’t a Robin so he probably wouldn’t try to kill her.  Cass would try, but her success depended on Marinette understanding what Cass wasn’t saying.  And Bruce… Bruce was never good at understanding emotions or sympathizing. Honestly, their best hope was Duke.

Duke breathed out a deep sigh and looked away. This family was not easy to get along with or find your place with.  And bonding with each other?  He managed because he fought next to them.  They bonded in the field, in their suits.  He wasn’t sure if they realized that about themselves.  If they interacted outside the suits it was because of the bond they formed inside them.  She wouldn’t have that opportunity and without it…  The prognosis was not good.

“What are you going to do, B?” Tim asked tentatively. “Because whatever your plans were, now she knows and she’s dealing with it on her own.  She… You need to talk to her.”

Bruce sucked in a breath and massaged his temples.  “I know.”  

“And you need to apologize,” Dick added firmly.

Bruce nodded.  “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick growled.  “You have no idea what has to be going through her head right now.”  He grabbed his bag and stalked out of the manor, slamming the door as he left.

“And you need to decide what we’re going to tell the public,” Tim added.  “We need to put a statement out soon.”

“I know,” Bruce agreed.  His voice this time was more detached.  That was something he would have to decide, but that wasn’t the priority right now and not something he wanted to do without her input.  

He needed to come up with a new plan and quickly. This was nothing like the one he had come up with.  He was supposed to have more time.  He was supposed to be able to ease into this.  He was supposed to be able to feel things out before deciding a path.  He was supposed to control the environment and how his family found out.  

But now he was thrown into it, they all were, and he had no idea how to proceed.  He didn’t know her well enough to anticipate how she would react to the situation or to him. He didn’t know her well enough yet to know the best way to approach her.  He needed to come up with a game plan.  He sighed heavily.  He had to get into the office, not show anything out of the ordinary.  And once he was behind his office door, he could talk to Sabine.  She would know what to do.

Chapter 5

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[jiminrings]

can we get a fratboy Jimin and good girl oc with pinning from both sides 👀 ahhhh thank u in advance love ur writing!!

cherry king

drabble week: day four

drabble week masterlist

pairing: fratboy!jimin x goody two-shoes!reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: "y-you uhm, you-? y'know, you like... doing that? is that why it's your nickname?"

feedback + support mean the world to me!!

“next!”

great!! the line’s moving :D

that’s only like the 87th time jimin has heard the word next and it makes him wonder how much more would it take him to bring him to the front

(it’s actually only been 14 times and jimin might just be a self-admitted impatient bitch!!!)

he understands that yes, it’s ten in the evening!!! and reasonably-large stores/pharmacies like these can have less staff at the time compared to ten in the morning

sure, checkout machines and cashier lanes could be broken down!! or they could just not be open at all

jimin gets that alright, maybe the self-checkout machines are close at this time of the night because it is ten in the evening

what’s not clicking in his mind, however is that at the exact time that he comes here

as in the EXACT time that he’s here (!!!) — there happens to be dozens of people in a store at ten in the evening, and there happens to be a grand total of one (1) cashier lane

atleast random store music would be entertaining :((( all he hears are the beeps of a scanner and the chatter of groups of people who came here

jimin was eavesdropping on some guys in front of him and he wAS invested but lmao turns they were just discussing the plot of die hard or any testosterone-jacked movie like it

he’s also tried looking at the smaller middle-aged woman’s phone in front of him who’s scrolling through her facebook feed, but quickly decides against continuing it

because what if u could see his face and when she turns it off, she’d see a college guy deeply-invested in the baloney article she was reading about how subway sandwiches are the work of the devil

so uh yeah he’s just looking everywhere besides the front, back, and the sides of him and in all angles basically

he’s,,,,, aimlessly scrolling through his instagram feed he’s already scrolled through tHREE times and his explore’s page a little too dry

it’s a good thing that jimin’s entirely sure he’s the nosiest person out of this line and no one else is trying to figure him out

might be wrong though

“cherry king?”

hold the fuck on

jimin’s eyes widen, head snapping up and clueless to the fact that he doesn’t look discreet at all, and his head-cocking’s the most movement he’s done the whole time in this store

WHO’S SAYING HIS NICKNAME?????

it can’t be a coincidence either because as far as he’s concerned, there isn’t anything named cherry king that’s being sold here

there is literally NO other plausible scenario happening here besides the fact that someone who knows him is in the store!!!!

his gaze falls to the person behind him, brows knitted in confusion until it clicks

oh

that was you?

“jimin? huh, it really is you. i thought i was losing my mind for a second.”

“y/n?”

okay maybe hE’S the one who’s losing his mind here

he knows you!! you’re the smart girl in his year who’s known for being pristine and stuff!! you’re like the good-est girl he’s ever known and heard of

.... quick question lads is that weird to know someone by

“you could’ve just called me by my name, y’know,” jimin chuckles heartily, still a little dumbfounded to see you here but he’s grateful for the interaction nonetheless

you look casual today?? like you still look like yourself but everyone else would think it’s an out-of-body experience to see you out of your pretty dresses and monochromatic get-ups

it’s you..,.. in a hoodie three sizes larger than your size with your pristine shoes traded in for socked-feet wearing slides

jimin thinks that you look like grace under pressure

“i wasn’t sure,” you smile right back and it’s the first time he realizes that there’s glasses atop your nosebridge, softening your image more from the usual composed look you carried

“how were you sure enough to say my nickname out-loud though?”

jimin questions you, bringing light to how he’s wearing a plain white shirt and is looking as relaxed as ever with how he’s dressed — his hair long enough to be put into a messy sprout of a bun

you clear your throat, the amusement bubbling in your scratchy throat

“you have yourself as your lockscreen, jimin.”

oh my gOD

he winces when you say it, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment that he whines in pain with how direct you put it

“n-no way — fuck you respectfully, y/n. i-i’m not- i’m changing it right now!!”

does he look the vainest person alive rn

the way he has a mini freakout entertains you to your core, giggles unable to be suppressed as he finds the latest-taken picture he has of dogs that he comes across with

that’s 10/10 an experience he doesn’t want to repeat again

“it’s okay. i won’t tell anyone.”

he hears you reassure and he believes you, a flustered blush on his cheek still as he coughs to make up for a diversion topic he couldn’t think of

frankly, you’re getting bored too and jimin’s the only form of entertainment you have because using your phone atm would be too disorienting

“what are you doing here, by the way?”

your head tilts in query and he’s relieved that you address something else, not being relieved seconds later when he realizes his answer

“just a little supply run for our frat. we weren’t supposed to run out of things for three more days, so this is just a lil emergency haul for awhile.”

you nod in understanding, glancing down at his basket and uh

uhm 1/4 of the space is literally occupied by boxes of condoms

....

......

jimin’s confused to why you turn silent, thinking that he must’ve gotten boring to continue talking to until he follows your gaze to his basket

NO WAY?!]>|>]%%[%]%]

“i-it’s not l-like that!!!” he crouches and immediately gets the food and the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to bury the condoms in the bottom of the pile, attractively getting more attention from you who’s ready to let it go

“i-it’s not — it’s ours — n-no!! t-they just gave me a list and i just put it because it’s on the list b-but like it wasn’t my-...”

how many more times will the universe fuck jimin up in front of the person he has a lil happy crush on

you only smile meekly, tilting your head and he thinks this is the part where you tell him how much of a douche he is

"y-you uhm, you-? y'know, you like... doing that? is that why it's your nickname?"

:O

“t-that?” jimin clarified albeit confused, thinking back to his nickname as he tries to rapidly connect the dots to not look like a fool

cherry king? that?? what do you-

WAIT WHAT

“nO!! o-of course not!!”

he almost shrieks and his voice sounds ultimately defensive, shaking his head no

why does he look so frantic

“hey, hey, i believe you! — calm down, jimin. you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

whew

fuck

but he argues that it iS the truth though!!!

but why won’t you just ask him why he’s called cherry king though >:(

you’re already content with the silence after the conversation but he isn’t, still wanting more

is it so bad that he wants redemption D:

“how about you? what are you doing here?”

you don’t answer instantly and it’s because you’re nudging jimin to continually walk, the cashier looking much more visible now as he’s nearer in line

he takes a look at the handful of things that’s in your basket —

electrolytes, hot pockets, soup, cup noodles and fever patches...?

“oh. i think i’m running a fever.”

what???

what are you doing here aLONE if you think you’re running a fever???

he’s not gonna lie about the fact that you don’t look too good

what if you pass out and no one’s there for you and all the graveyard shift employees do is put a wet floor sign around your figure???

“y/n?? what are you doing here alone then?? are you oUT of your mind??”

the panic in jimin’s voice is clear as day and you’re a little startled, instead responding to tapping him on the shoulder to point that he’s already the one on the cashier

what he does is grab your basket before he is, putting it in front of the conveyor belt because he couldn’t even wait for it to roll out

“i said i think i’m running a fever.”

jimin stops from simultaneously rummaging for his rewards card and putting his items on the counter to unceremoniously drop the box of condoms down jUST to put his hand on your forehead

“you are.”

you surely don’t think low of jimin but you can’t help be surprised either at his concern for you when this is the only time you’ve had a conversation with him!!!

“you drove here?” he asks in seriousness, sending you a look while waiting for the total amount

“walked. the airconditioning makes me even more sick,” you answer with no fuss because even thinking about car fresheners while you’re sporting a fever makes you want to gag. “let me-...”

jimin already pays for both your items in cash, getting them bagged separately as he’s not gonna take no for an answer for what he’s gonna propose next

“then i’ll keep the windows down. i’ll drive you back to your dorm.”

he grabs both your bags in one hand and uses the other to beckon you over, holding you still because it’s dark out and a fever vision wouldn’t exactly help

it’s only when he straps you in and (true to his word) puts the windows down and starts his car that you start asking

“why are you doing this for me?”

why IS he doing this for you??

jimin thinks about his answer in a second

“would you do the same for me?”

well

if you were in front of him at a godforsaken line, had yourself as your lockscreen, realize that jimin’s behind you with a fever and is by himself in a store at 10 in the evening

“of course i would.”

jimin smiles, steering away from his parking spot

“then i would too.”

( ♡ )

maybe you’re thinking of jimin

no wait you’re dEFINITELY thinking of jimin

you’re much better now and your fever’s already subsided enough for you to go back to class!!!

the whole interaction with him was three days ago and maybe your head is just full of him at this point

“are you sure you’re okay to handle this by yourself??”

jimin worries when he drops your bag to your hands, briefly coming inside your dorm to set it down

“mhmm. i’ll just sleep it out.”

“i think if you’re missing a couple of steps.”

you snort as his paranoid features, waving him off. “i’ll eat. then go to the bathroom. and then sleep.”

okay good enough

“what if this just-“ jimin trails off, his expansive mind suddenly running as he points to your chest, “stops????”

cute

“i have a smart watch.”

“would you put me as one of the emergency contacts? please?”

he’s making you take down his number without malice because jeez he’s gENUINELY worried!!!!

it may not always be great sharing a house with his frat brothers, but he knows that if he has a fever, atleast half of them would dote over him and you have atleast one who would go into hysterics!!! it’e a full package!!

“i’ll be okay, jimin. i’ll call you when i need someone to hand me my puke bucket.”

“please do. i’m not even kidding. get better now because i miss your dresses.”

o_O

uhm

“n-no i meant your usual style!! wait, not that there’s anything wrong w-with your style right now. i-i was-...”

“yeah. i miss them too. now go home, jimin.”

“you sure?”

u never really had the impulse to invite a guy to go inside your place but maybe now you do

“mhmm. drive safe.”

okay

:-)

“good night, y/n. call me whenever.”

classes were a bit rough today because you’re still easing yourself on getting back to the groove of things, but it was tolerable!!!

you’re getting your key out of your backpack when a lock clicks open a couple doors away from you, the hinge noisily squeaking

it’s jimin who leaves it, with seri who’s the actual occupant of the dorm leaning on the doorframe

“y/n—!”

he squeaks the moment his eyes land on you

your hand automatically waves, the same meek smile for him to see

“jimin.”

( ♡ )

the last interaction you had with him is still on jimin’s mind, a whole week later

it’s been bothering him recently that you know what it looks like the last time around!!!! but he could swear up and down that it wasn’t

he just feels this great urge to explain even if you haven’t asked

“oh. so we have to move out for the time-being?”

jimin clarifies with namjoon, the head of the frat, and he’s met with a solemn nod

it makes sense!!!

the house got checked today and there were mULTIPLE fire hazards!!! and it needs to be fumigated anyway under new campus protocol so it indeed makes sense

practically everyone's going home because it’s a long weekend anyway because of a holiday

and he’s not sure if he wants to take the same route.

“hi.”

jimin squeaks the moment you open your door, surprise evident on your face but not shock to the point you’d close the door on him

“jimin?”

okay maybe he’s gonna go straight to explaining

“frat house needed to be closed because of some complications, and it wouldn’t be open to us for another three days. most of the guys are coming home,” jimin clears his throat, his head down while he shyly scratches the back of his ear, “i have one, but i’m not sure if i wanna.”

oh

it’s that problem

it takes one, two seconds before it all registers in your head, nodding surely

“you can take my bed. i’ll take the couch, it’s a pull-out anyways.”

you open the door for him widely and the only thing you ask if he’s had dinner and if he’d like some

god you’re really throwing him in a loop here

it’s after a batch of your cooking that jimin’s only ache is why you were the way that you were, half-dazed the whole time he’s met you properly

“why do you never ask me?”

“hmm?” you hum as you dry the dishes that you’ve used, wanting to get it done as soon as possible so your full attention would be on him

no, actually. jimin WANTS you to pry!!

he wants you to worm your way into his privacy and into the confines of his mind

but it seems like you’ve already did without even asking.

“ask me why i’m called the cherry king.”

you tilt your head in confusion, that time playing in your head of why jimin looked confused when you didn’t continue to ask further

maybe you’ll indulge him

“why are you called the cherry king?”

jimin smiles, leaning to your couch with his arms relaxed

“we did secret santa for christmas at our frat house. taehyung thought it would be nice if he pranked me by gifting me a jar full of cherries, but i thought that was his actual gift, and i liked it to the point that i finished it in one sitting.”

tHAT’S ACTUALLY PRETTY ENDEARING

cute, even

“ask me why i came out of seri’s apartment last week.”

oh that’s.,.,. that’s a bit higher in level compared to nicknames

“why did you come out of seri’s apartment last week?”

“because seri’s the ex-girlfriend of hoseok, my frat brother, and he wanted me to return all her stuff because he doesn’t want to be reminded of his cheating ex.”

well that was definitely weighted

jimin plays with the hem of his shirt, the words tumbling out of his mouth

“ask me why i love you.”

why do you wHAT

your mouth drops open, the new position you took on the other end of the couch taking an impact on him

“w-why do you love me?”

jimin’s a lot of things but he’s not drunk tonight

he doesn’t know why he’s letting his feelings slip either, but it’s the bottomless need that he feels when he’s around you

“i feel wanted. i feel needed.”

he smiles cheerfully even if he feels shy dropping this on you all of a sudden

“not sure if you want me nor need me, but i feel welcome with you if that makes sense.”

:)

“you just make me feel loved, i guess.”

jimin looks at you for the first time since he’s opened his mouth, an equally fond look on your face

you said no words but what jimin receives is a gentle tug, your hand on the side of his face until he’s leaning on your shoulder

“i wanna know what's up there.”

he points a finger to your temple, an amused lilt to his tone, “surprise me.”

it’s an unfolding of things that was weeks in the making but months in developing, the distant glances leading you to recognize jimin in the shop in the first place

“i feel the exact same with you,” you answer honestly and it makes his laugh from his chest, his cheeks warm and his heart content

and you just wanna suspend yourselves in this moment forever

“oh! and if i were to lose my virginity to anyone at the moment, it'd be you!!”

...

....

jimin swats at your shoulder to which you only giggle at, a toothy smile on display as this is the warmest he’s ever felt

“i wasn’t kidding!!!”

you yawn when you defend yourself, predicting that you’d fall asleep sooner or later on the couch, but for the time-being, you just stroke jimin’s hair to soothe the both of you

jimin is now the furthest thing from sleepy

"what? you told me to surprise you!!"

[britishassistant]

When Villain!Yuu manages to return to their dimension and finds out their minions did, it’s one of the few times that the Supervisor has lived up to their title as heir. The next day the head of the minions of the attempted murder squad was found battered, covered in bird poo, and tied in front of RSA. If Crowley asks, Yuu makes the excuse that they are simply following one of the rules of villainy. If a minion steps out of line, don’t correct, make an example out of them.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

Warning for dark under the cut.

There are three items on the desk.

One is a cellphone. It’s a compact, black brick of a thing, the sort that could survive a drop from a window a story up. Its screen is currently dark and silent. It has not buzzed or vibrated, or given any indication that it’s even on.

The second is a glass of clear liquid. The glass looks pretty standard, no fancy plane designs or rectangular shapes. Just a squat round cup with a round lip and clear liquid an inch or so from the top. There are small bubbles forming in the bottom, the longer it remains undisturbed. It doesn’t seem like those are the results of carbonation, or some other nefarious properties.

No. If anything, the cup is there for the third object on the table.

A pair of two pills are sitting innocently by the cup’s side. One is larger, pale pink, and lozenge shaped. The other is smaller, a capsule that’s colored dark green and blue.

The minion swallows. The phlegm feels like it’s lodged in his throat.

There’s a sigh from the other side of the table.

The Supervisor leans forward. The supervillain’s features are slightly drawn, like they’re preparing to undertake an unpleasant chore.

The minion has the insane urge to giggle at the sight.

“So…” The Supervisor splays their hands. “Unfortunately, following reviews of your recent performance, we have found that you are…not a good fit for this business. It’s been determined that it’s in everyone’s best interests for you to be terminated from your current position effective immediately.”

The minion—or rather, ex-minion—gives a shaky nod.

The Supervisor tilts the brim of their top hat up, so they can better make eye contact with him. “You have two choices for your…ah, severance package.”

One hand gestures to the glass and pills. “Option one: you take these. The pink one is a sedative, and it’s up to you whether you take it before or after the other. It’s pretty fast acting, so it shouldn’t matter so much either way. All you’ll know is just falling asleep.”

The other gestures to the phone. “Option two: I make a call to Dr. Crewel. You’ll be transferred to his department. But in the, ah…volunteer capacity. Instead of the minion one. Do you have any questions?”

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“W-what?” The ex-minion stutters. “B-but…I, I don’t understand?”

“What don’t you understand?” The Supervisor asks, patience in every line of their posture. Like they were an adult helping to explain something complicated to a small child.

This, in spite of the fact that the ex-minon was a decade the supervillain’s senior.

That helps the ex-minion order his thoughts somewhat. “I-I thought the rules for g-getting fired were that the min-minion in question would be turned over to the police for arrest. Or to the local sup-superheroes.”

The Supervisor nods. “That is what happens in most cases, yes. However, in those cases, the termination is contingent more on minion incompetence or betrayal. You and your…friends, regrettably, fall outside that purview.”

The ex-minion’s mouth moves soundlessly. “But…I don’t understand. Isn’t this for betrayal? That I betrayed you?”

The Supervisor’s mouth tightens, even as the rest of their face remains impassive. “That…is another crime you committed, and one that was taken into account when making this decision. But it is far from the main motivating factor behind all this.”

The ex-minion wracks his brain. “But, what…?”

“You attempted to murder a child.” The supervillain exhales, some dark, wounded emotion entering their eyes for the first time. “Another version of myself, true, but an injured, defenseless child. One who had never done anything to you, or anyone else in this world. Who had no involvement in whatever quarrel you have with me. Who nearly bled to death on my roof due to the injuries sustained as a direct result of your attempted murder.”

The Supervisor shakes their head. “And that would be bad enough, especially as I was under the impression that they would at least be cared for in my absence. Except this? This was not an isolated incident, was it? Looking over the behavior of the perpetrators, it’s become clear this is only the culmination of a dangerous trend I should’ve seen and put a stop to ages ago.”

The ex-minion doesn’t think he can breathe.

“The first endangerment of Miss Elena Blackwood back at the bank. The repeated suggestions of attacking elementary, middle or high schools or public playgrounds to divert heroic attention during heists or schemes. The inclination to ignore my orders when I specified that children were to be released immediately if caught up in a hostage situation we organized. The attempted hostage taking of Mr. Cheka Kingscholar while he was my guest.”

The ex-minion tries swallowing again. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “I thought you didn’t know about that.”

He winces at the mindless admission.

The Supervisor’s eyes narrow at him, and fury rolls off them in almost visible waves. There is no doubting the Night Raven’s genetics were used to make them like this.

“I have my ways.”

The ex-minion quails under their glare.

The Supervisor sighs, scrubbing a hand over their eyes. “Do you understand now? You are not being fired for betrayal. You and your cohorts are being terminated for repeated and willful perpetuation of un-villainous crimes of one of the highest orders, in accordance with League Statute A55. So, what’ll it be?”

“Sh-shouldn’t there be a hear-hearing, or, or an appeal, or something?!” The ex-minion begs desperately.

“If you wanted forgiveness, you should have applied to the Royal Sword Association.” The Supervisor rattles off blandly. “We here at Night Raven Corporation specialize in putting the super back into supervillainy.”

The ex-minion slumps. “…I always hated that slogan.”

The Supervisor pulls a commiserating face. “Not some of Dad’s best work, I’ll admit.”

He stares at the pills and at the phone.

“…Which did Miette pick?”

The supervillain pointedly glances towards the glass and its companions.

He snorts. “Naturally. She’d rather be dead rather than be something monstrous like you.”

The Supervisor inclines their head but doesn’t deny his words.

He considers it some more. “…Would I still receive a paycheck? As a volunteer?”

The Supervisor shrugs. “One that’s considerably reduced from what you currently earn, but yes. You would be compensated for your services. And your current life insurance will still be maintained and paid out to those you specify in the event of an accident under Dr. Crewel’s care. Or, indeed, if you take the other option.”

Like he has anyone he wants that money to go to.

His eyes dart between them.

The choice is easy in the end. Miette can call him a coward all she wants beyond the grave, but he’s not letting this thing be the last sight he sees.

“Make the call.”

The supervillain nods, and picks up the phone.

It’s screen lights up as they lift it towards their ear, pressing a button. “Dr. Crewel? Mr. Aston Michaels has expressed his consent to be transferred to the volunteer department. When can we expect pickup? Five minutes? Yes. Yes, this is the last one. Well, thank you for your help. Have a nice day.”

They hang up, and set the phone back down on the table.

Something flickers across their face— distaste? Weariness? Regret? Whatever it is, he hopes it haunts this thing’s nightmares for the rest of its miserable existence. It’s the least it deserves.

The two of them sit there in silence. Then there’s a knocking behind him, and light spills over him as the door is opened.

A pair of minions in impeccable suits step through, nodding to the supervillain, who nods back. Each one of them takes one of his arms and gently pulls him up from his seat.

“I’d say you’re going to be dammed to Hell for this.” He says, almost cheerfully, before they can turn him away. “But I’m pretty sure you need a soul to go down there, and things like you don’t have those.”

There’s a subtle intake of breath from the suited minions on either side of him. He ignores them, his glare fixated on his now ex-boss.

The Supervisor smiles grimly back at him. For some reason, that kind of pisses him off.

“Oh, believe me, Mr. Michaels. I know.”

[parvulous-writings]

Ashe // SFW alphabet

​Request: Okay, okay. So I read your McCree SFW alphabet and WOWIIEEEE! I love it, so so so so much! I was hanging onto every word, and I 100% agree with everything that you put on there. So I kinda just wanted to request a lil something... 🥺Could you possibly do Ashe next? Like, she's amazing too. I love Ashe I mean like HhNnnng- An Ashe SFW alphabet would be SOO cool! If you actually take this request, THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU! I'm sure good writers like you get tons of requests, so I'll just leave this here. 💞😚

Requested by: Anon

Summary: A sfw A-Z for Elizabeth Caledonia "Calamity" Ashe, from Overwatch!

Warnings: mentions of alcohol.

Notes: Would you be shocked if I told you this is my second request in nearly two months or so?   Also some of these are a little short, so I do apologise-  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

When it comes to affection, Ashe is like two sides of the same coin. In public, she doesn’t show all that much affection to anyone. Even you can’t make her stray from that mindset- she doesn’t want people to think she’s gone soft. In private though, very different story, for the most part. She can sometimes be a bit awkward with affection, be it giving or receiving, but she tries her best. 

B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)

Ashe is very much a no-nonsense sassy friend.She’d tell it to you straight, leave out everything that’s necessary to her point. The bond between you would probably start when you where speaking to Reyes about McCree. She’d jump in to tell you a few embarrassing tales of him before she informed you of the practical backstabbing he’d done. 

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Ashe isn’t too much of a cuddler, or a hugger for that matter. She was deprived of physical affection for most of her life, so affection is often very awkward. She’d attempt to cuddle you with your head on her chest, but she finds it a little bit easier to cuddle and hug from behind. 

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?)

No. Ashe is most certainly not a domestic woman- she can just about cook, never really bothered with cleaning as she didn’t need to, and she has never thought about settling down properly, even with you. 

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

She’d be blunter than the butt of her rifle- again, no nonsense. She wouldn’t beat around the bush, she’d would get straight to her point. Life’s too short for euphemisms.

F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?)

Commitment, like settling down, was nothing that Ashe really considered. And to be honest, she probably still isn’t considering it. 

G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?)

Not overly gentle. She can be pretty rough- linking to both her upbringing with absent parents and gang activity. She will try, rarely, when she thinks it’s needed. 

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?)

She isn’t keen on hugs, either. (See C- cuddles).

I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?)

Like hugs, cuddles, and most forms of affection, the L word isn’t one Ashe eagerly wants to let past her lips. She has said it to you once or twice, when she thought you were asleep, and wouldn’t hear her. 

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)

Ashe is an incredibly jealous woman. She gets very angry, and very confrontational when jealous too. Not always the best emotions to course through the hot-head’s veins, but she doesn’t shy away from her negative emotions at all. 

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Quick, heated, passionate. When they do happen at least. Usually her kisses come before some very lustful scenes, so.. There’s that. 

L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

Please keep Ashe away from children. Please. She is not good around them, at all. Not even as a family friend.She is not a good role model in any sense of the word. 

M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?)

Ashe is usually up pretty early, and doesn’t hang about too long- she doesn’t like wasting daylight. She’ll occasionally stay for a few minutes longer for a cup of coffee, but apart from that she’s usually gone just after you wake up. 

N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

She’ll spend a lot more time with you in the evening, winding don with you by her side. When I say by her side, I mean at least vaguely around her. 

O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?)

Much like McCree, almost never. Though, if you gave her enough whiskey, you could probably wrangle at least a few details out of her. 

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Needless to say, though Ashe tries to be reasonable at times, she has a very short fuse. Almost anything can set her off- a small, repetitive noise, someone telling her to repeat herself or even just waking up in a bad mood.

Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?)

Almost everything. She knows your star sign, your favourite colour, the way you have your favourite hot beverage, and every date important to you. Just because it seems like she is absent doesn’t mean it’s entirely true. 

R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?)

Her teaching you to shoot glass bottles and porcelain plates with her rifle. It was a fun day, for both of you. You have a picture of it too, and she keeps a copy tucked on the dash of her bike.

S - Security (How protective are they?)

Very protective. She is aware that you, in theory, could fight your own battles, but insists on doing them for you regardless. It was almost no effort for her, her sphere of influence was larger than it may first appear. 

T - Try (How much effort do they put in?)

About average, overall. When she’s out, not all that much. When it’s just the two of you alone, she tries her best to put her heart out to you, though it’s hard for her. 

U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?)

Swearing, violent tendencies (though not towards you), and manageable drinking. 

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She does put some effort in, but she isn’t precisely vain. Her looks come naturally to her. 

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

She would certainly feel like something is missing from her life, for a little while at least. She would eventually move on, 

X - Xtra (Random HC)

Ashe had B.O.B tear off McCree’s arm because he was looking at you “With heart eyes, dove.” 

Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?)

Too much back-chat- she doesn’t like getting sassed. 

Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)

Ashe is a rather light and restless sleeper, hence why she always gets up so early. She wakes up at first light and can’t get back to sleep. 

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch.11 Creepypasta x Fem! Reader

Four days had passed since their first brawl. Toby had observed her staggering improvement and powerful determination to learn. He hadn't seen that kind of behaviour in a long time. As nightfall came they began to clear up and head back. Both tired from the long day of training, Toby walking in front of her as they went on their way. The walk was peaceful, the night sky illuminating from the dense array of trees as the crickets chirped their lullaby. The sky was littered with beautiful stars and the girl couldn't pry her eyes away from them, looking up in amazement like a child on Christmas day. Toby on the other hand wasn't paying any attention to anything around him, with his hands in his pockets and head down, eyes focused on the patchy road ahead.

The walk to the cabin was beginning to feel longer than usual, the air now becoming tense from all the silence, but the girl still didn't bother to speak up as she knew it was futile. Toby was a man of few words, always keeping to himself, there would be days where they would only say two words to each other. This was a drastic change from what she was usually used to with the others, especially Ben. " So." Her thoughts were cut off as she looked at Toby, who had now slowed down and was walking in since with her. " Um yeah." She sighed out, looking ahead both hands in her large pockets. " Ab-about the necklace." He continued still trying to put his thoughts into words. " What about it." Her eyes widened a little, not expecting him to bring that up as she looked at him pulling it out from underneath her jumpsuit and holding the tiny bottle between her rough fingers. " D-di he tells you wh-why he gave y-you it?" He asked in his usual bored tone. " Yeah, he did. It's for safety and protection. He gave it to me almost two weeks ago and I usually wear it most of the day." She answered honestly softly smiling as she looked at the pretty plant inside of it. It calmed her looking at it. " Interesting." He said to himself not wanting her to hear him but she still managed to.

Her eyebrow raised, why was he so interested in the necklace all of the sudden. " So...do you and Ben get along or...?" She said trying to further the conversation while they walked to the cabin. Toby was hesitant with answering the question, as he took a moment to think of the right response to such a subject. " Yes a-and no. But more n-no. I te-nd to avoid that blab-blabbering idiot but h-he has his moment at ti-times. Very few a-a-and in between but st-still there non the l-less," He answered simply glancing at her direction as he did.

The girl was intrigued by his answer, she assumed he despised him as they were the polar opposite. The assumption wasn't unprompted either, as Toby didn't seem to like most people. " But then ag-again, he tries t-to hard. He acts too m-uch like a child. It's frust-rating." He finally finished his thought, looking back at the road and softly closing his eyes as he walked, admiring the cool night air. He hadn't felt this clam in a while, he enjoyed the feeling. So much so as a small smile crept up his lips. It wasn't noticed by the girl standing next to him but he didn't mind.

In the distance, they could make out the cabin, relief washing over both their bodies like a title wave. " Almost there, finally I can rest." The girl announced dramatically, sighing. It made Toby eye her watching her hunched form drag her feet while walking. Almost close to collapsing. He grunted, at this rate they'd reach it till next morning, clearing his throat he hunched down sweeping her off her feet. She was startled by the sudden action as her eyes widened in surprise, now settled in his arms bridal style. " WHAT! What the hell are you doing? Put me down." She shrieked flailing her arms. But it was to no use as she was too tired to do any harm. Toby grunted as she thrashed, waiting for her to stop and when she did, he smiled softly picking up his pace.

The girl was surprised at how he was able to hold her weight, as he looked quite thin, but as her back pressed against his arms she could feel the defined muscle. Toby didn't say anything, he seemed like the extra weight didn't even affect him. She could hear his heartbeat, it was slow and quiet. The soothing rhythm made her relax even further melting into his arms. They finally reached the cabin, but Toby didn't bother to put her down, no he managed to open the door with her in his hands and she barely noticed. Walking inside, warm air hit his face making him sight. Going to the living room he carefully set her down on the couch and stepped away.

The girl sat upright, her whole body resting as she softly smiled. It had been a while since she could get some rest. Toby had walked to the kitchen slowly lowering his mask and pouring himself some water, looking into the living room while he drank it. He could see the back of the girls head. " Did you also have to train as I do?" The girl's voice broke his peaceful trance. He cleared his throat pondering on his answer as he usually did. " Not r-really." He simply said rinsing the cup and putting it back into the self. " What do you mean by that?" She perfused, wanting to know him better. " Well," He sighed putting his mask back to place and walking towards her, sitting down on the armchair next to the couch. " You have y-y-your duties so you ne-need a different type of trai-ning and mentors. M-my mentor was much wo-worse than we a-a-are."

The girl let out a snort when hearing the last part, looking at him with a curious look. " Really, how so?" " He i-i-is a being co-comprised of pure e-evil so you could imagine it your-yourself." " Pure evil? Is this the Operator man everyone is talking about?" " Bingo." Shed started to get frustrated by how short his answer always was, shed has to ask multiple different questions to know the smallest thing. " What's up with this Operator fella? If he's so powerful why does he need a human guarding his forest?" " Easy. A human is a b-b-basic, morally grey, being. F-for example, you we-were chosen be-because you weren't all t-that good bu-but not all that bad, in the mi-ddle aka The middle-man. So it d-doesn't matter how po-powerful h-he is if there's no real ba-lance in the fo-forest and your j-j-job is to hold that balance." He finished taking a big sigh and slouching on the couch, making it clear that he didn't feel like talking anymore. Soon he would fall asleep.

The girl watched him thoughtfully, eventually getting up. They had finished a little earlier than usual, at this time she would be heading back to eat and then go to bed but something was telling her to look around the cabin, something she wasn't able to do. There were no bookshelves. Its walls were all very sterile and plain. Same for the kitchen. But something in her gut was telling her to go up the stairs, slowly approaching the railing she sighed, with every careful step she would look behind her to make sure Toby was asleep. Reaching the final step she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, the narrow hallway felt longer than before, and she felt strange not immediately heading to the left.

Turning her body to the other side of the dimly lit hallway at the end was a door, she hadn't noticed it before. ' Was that there?' She asked herself approaching it and reaching for the gold knob. The door was painted in a thick layer of black paint, scratches and carving covering its whole surface, one of the larger carvings was crossed out circle. A chill when up to her spine when she noticed it quickly pulled back her hand. Taking in another harsh breath and mustering up the courage she turned the knob, but it didn't budge. She pressed her whole body on the door and began to push but it still wouldn't work, finally, she got frustrated and began to hit and thrash the door handle. But it still didn't move, so she had to reluctantly give up.

There was something important they were trying to hide and she made it a point to find out what it was.

[kinkmaster3000]

oh wow if you can do more character a and character b things that'd be so cool!! maybe with an office setting, some secretary spread? >:9 im down for anything tho I'm still sad that other imagines blog is on hiatus :,(

This ask has been in my inbox for like two fucking years, very sorry to whichever beautiful person sent it 🙏 I mixed the genders up a bit just for funsies but they’re pretty much interchangeable with whoever you want to be in that role.

- A tends to be a comfort eater, and it’s been a very stressful day at work. He takes his lunch break and finds himself eating in the breakroom alone. He clears out everything he brought in about 5 minutes, and opens the fridge to get his drink, only to be tantalized by everyone else’s meals. He goes on a messy binge, devouring everything in record time and getting crumbs and condiments on his expensive button-down shirt. By the time he’s finished, the fridge and cabinets are completely empty and his shirt buttons are digging into his flesh. He feels too heavy and lethargic to move, and sits there in a daze. As the stupor clears, not only does he feel incredibly guilty about eating everyone’s food, but he remembers that he has a video conference in 15 minutes with some very important clients. The problem is, he cannot stop hiccupping and burping, so this would be a disaster. As he’s freaking out about his situation, his cute secretary, B, walks in to get a cup of coffee. He tries to apologize, feeling awful about eating her lunch, but she just smiles at him sympathetically, knowing the stress he’s been under. She just gives him a firm pat on the belly (bringing up a sizable burp) and goes off to call the clients and reschedule his meeting.

-Same as the one above, except character B is A’s client instead of his secretary. Even though B could be getting a better deal somewhere else, he continues to do business with A’s company because he finds A to be very attractive and likes dealing with him. He also happens to be a feeder. He’s excited for the video conference with A, and doubly so when he sees A miserably trying to stifle hiccups. He even awkwardly shifts his eyes downwards at one point, hoping to catch a glimpse of A’s stomach, before remembering that it’s a video call. A is looking increasingly more anxious by the minute, as he continues to hiccup and burp very softly behind his hand as he explains the figures, while B is just getting more and more giddy. Eventually, the tension in his stomach gets to be too much, and he can’t hold in a guttural belch that clips the microphone a bit. He’s mortified, apologizing profusely and trying to make an excuse to continue the meeting later, but B insists, lying and saying that he doesn’t fully understand the pricing yet. A reluctantly continues talking, accidentally burping a few more times, before he realizes that B doesn’t care at all. In fact, he seems very pleased. A begins letting out closed-mouth burps in-between sentences, regaining a bit more of his confidence with each bit of pressure that is eased out. B gives him a better offer than he began with, and (almost too) enthusiastically asks him to “talk about it over lunch” next week. A is thrilled about making a good sale, and has no clue about B’s devious intentions.

-A, a classy, serious woman who is in upper-level management at a prominent company, gets terrible indigestion from anything with even the smallest amount of spice. The problem is, she loves spicy food, the hotter the better. One day, during lunch, her bubbly, motor-mouth assistant manager, B, insists on the two of them going out to eat at a restaurant she just has to try. A reluctantly agrees to leave her work because B won’t take no for an answer). When they get there, she perks up a bit when she sees Phaal curry on the menu. It’s deliciously flavorful, and also packed with habanero peppers. She’s in heaven as she eats it, and then hell 10 minutes later as her chest starts to burn intensely and her stomach starts to roil. She tries to hide how bad she feels from B to maintain her image, but long, queasy belches that burn her throat start to come up involuntarily on the ride back. Her stomach is gurgling like thunder the entire time. She even has to pull to the side at one point and let the concerned and unusually quiet B, who is a notoriously bad driver, commandeer her precious BMW on the way back because she can’t focus at all on the road. A is completely undone, groaning, hiccupping and belching with increasing length and violence as they work their way back to the office

She manages to hold everything in as B ushers her up the stairs (wanting to avoid seeing someone else in the elevator), until she gets back to her private office. She’s horribly embarrassed and gives B a rare apology, saying that this often happens to her and she shouldn’t have gotten the curry knowing that. But before B can even reply, A’s notoriously strict higher-up gives them a call, wanting to speak with the two of them about some important matters. They know better than to decline the call.

The more they talk, the less A is maintaining. She’s having trouble keeping up with the conversation, and the pressure in her belly is becoming unbearable. Unable to take it anymore, she turns away from the machine and risks letting out a soft burp, but it keeps going and becomes loud and gravelly, tearing up her throat as it comes out. The entire room goes quiet, but before she can start apologizing profusely, B does it for her, taking the blame and saying that she ate too much at lunch. Desperate to save face, A scolds her and has her leave the room, apologizing on “her behalf” when the higher-up is displeased at her “unprofessionalism”.

After the call thankfully wraps up with no more outbursts, she rushes to find B, who is sitting at her desk and filling out paperwork, somewhat sullen. A apologizes for her actions, thanking B and saying she didn’t know what else to do. B simply stands up and knocks A harshly on the back, dislodging an even larger belch before. She asks if A “got it all out” and A just nods, a bit sheepishly. “That’s good and all, but I’m never letting you order spicy stuff ever again.”

- A and B are both receptionists for the same company, and work at the same desk answering calls. The two of them are close, and A has a bit of a crush on B, but she has a boyfriend and A is very shy, soft-spoken and dorky. B is kind of a glutton, which A thinks is adorable, and A loves to cook, which B thinks is adorable. So everyday, A brings B Tupperware of increasing sizes filled with delectable homemade meals. B can’t get enough of A’s cooking, and A can’t get enough of watching B chew and swallow and sighs in satisfaction. He finds himself listening very closely for little burps and hiccups, and when she wears blouses that are tight or sheer, he has a hard time keeping his eyes off of her belly. They do this every shift for a couple months, and B starts to get a bit of a stomach pooch. It drives A wild, but one day, B comes in looking distraught, and won’t talk to A. When she refuses his lunch, he presses her on what’s wrong, and she says that her boyfriend made an unsavory comment on her weight as she was getting ready that morning, blaming A for always pushing so much food onto her. A is hurt but apologizes, saying that it wasn’t his intention but that he thinks that she looks amazing with the extra pounds. B is touched and accepts A’s food, enjoying it as always, and finally starting to see him as maybe more than just a friend.

[iam93percentstardust]

i was about to ask you to continue your marvels unsolved ‘verse but then i saw your specific ships so i’m going to ask for a fantasy au with winteriron!! but tbh you should do whatever makes you happy it’s your birthday month!!! (happy birthday! your writing makes me so happy thank you so much for it)

Thank you so much!! I’m so happy you like my writing!!!

I ended up being inspired by the magical flower shop AU I wrote last August, but that’s not necessary to read to understand this fic. Since tumblr is still having issues with links, I won’t include the link here but if you’re interested in that one, it’s Chapter 27 of AU-gust

As always, this fic can be found on my ao3!

Roses and Rowan

It’s storming when Bucky drives past Ravenspoint’s limits. The rain is coming down hard enough that he almost misses the sign for the little town in all the gloom, but then there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the foreboding faces of the town patriarchs glaring down at those who would dare enter their town. Bucky shivers, resolutely turning away as he continues on his way.

He’s not here for them anyway. The patriarchs are long dead, their only descendants long since fled. There’s another flash of lightning, this time illuminating the hill off to the left and the old manor on the hilltop. From what little bit he can see through the storm, it looks like it was once a stately mansion but it’s falling into disrepair now. Bucky blinks and suddenly he can see the golden glimmer of the wards around the whole hill, sealing the house and grounds off from the would-be adventurers brave enough to test their mettle against the ghosts of Rosewood Manor.

Another shiver runs down his spine. The magic is strangely familiar, though he can’t place where he might have seen it before. He blinks again and the golden glimmer of the wards disappears from his view. “Spooky,” Bucky mutters. In the passenger seat, Alpine mraows her agreement. He reaches over and scratches under her chin, grinning when she purrs loud enough to drown out the music coming from the car speakers.

They pull into town a few minutes later, only knowing it by the stoplight Bucky just barely manages to make out through the sheets of rain pounding down. He would have missed it otherwise, the storm too heavy and the buildings too dark to see in the night. Ravenspoint is a small town with a population of only three thousand people, exactly one stoplight, and two streets that run the length of town, connected by a series of smaller cross streets. It’s exactly the last place Bucky ever thought he would find himself and yet here he is, searching for someone who had made it clear he didn’t want to be found.

“What am I doing, Alpine?” he asks the cat. “He told me he didn’t want me to come after him.”

Alpine can’t respond but she rolls over, exposing her belly to him, and he gets the sense of reassurance through their bond.

“I know,” he responds. “Tellin’ people he wants to be left alone when that’s usually the last thing he wants. But let’s be real here, this place is pretty far off the beaten track.”

Another pulse of reassurance.

“Well if you ask me—” the helper figment starts to say.

“I didn’t,” Bucky interrupts before it can say anything else. Damn figment’s been more trouble than it’s worth this whole trip. “Where’s the turn?”

The figment gives him a sullen look. “In five hundred yards, off to the right.”

Even as the figment says it, Bucky spots the glowing lights of the shop in the distance. He slows down and pulls over into one of the parking spots off the street, peering up through the rain at the shop sign above the door.

“Bluebells and Belladonnas,” he reads. “He always did like alliteration.”

“Great,” the figment says waspishly. “Can I go now? I got a hot—”

Bucky flicks his fingers and the figment disappears back to whatever dimension figments come from. Alpine flicks her tail lazily, giving off a sense of amusement and a little bit of hunger. Bucky laughs and scratches her chin again.

“Yeah, I would’ve let you eat it if it wouldn’t have given you indigestion,” he says. “’nother couple of minutes. I’m sure he has fresh tuna for you.”

He sighs and looks at the shop again. The sign on the front says it’s closed but there are lights on inside both in the shop itself and in the apartment above the shop, telling him that the owner is probably still working.

“So what’re you doing sitting out here?” he asks himself. He gives another baleful look at the stormy clouds and the rain still pouring down, groans, and then shrugs his hood up over his head. Nothing for it. The rain isn’t supposed to let up for another couple of hours and Bucky doesn’t feel like sitting in the car that long.

“You gonna be good out here?” he asks Alpine. She blinks slowly at him. That’s a yes, then.

Quick as he can, he gets out and dashes for the cover the awning provides. Once there, he throws his hood back and then knocks on the door. He waits about a minute before knocking again, this time a lot louder. It takes a moment before he sees a person-shaped blob behind the water-streaked glass. He knocks for a third time. The person gets larger as they move closer and then the door unlocks and swings open with a wave of the person’s hand.

“What—”

“You know,” Bucky says, stepping over the threshold. He bites back a shiver as a wave of magic washes over him, verifying that he has no ill intent. “You are a hard person to find.”

“Yeah, some people would take that as a hint,” Tony Stark states flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glares at Bucky.

~

Bucky is born with the ability to see magic. Or, at least, that’s the sfigmentlest way to explain it, if not the most accurate. Just about everyone can “see” magic but what they see are actually just the effects of magic—what was produced or what was done. Bucky has the ability to actually see the threads of magic. It’s a Barnes family gift, although none of the Barnes mages have had this ability in nearly two centuries. Bucky is the first in a very long time and because of that, he ends up having to go to school rather than being trained at home by the family mage (also known as Ma to Bucky and his sister).

It's at school that he meets his best friend, Stevie, and Stevie’s other best friend, Tony. Tony is a bit of an oddball, not that Bucky and Steve are incredibly popular either. Steve should be popular because of his dragon heritage and the power that brings him but he comes into his inheritance late and has a strong sense of morality and that gets him into trouble, more often than not. And Bucky just ends up following behind him.

But Tony—Tony is hard to pin down. He has incredible amounts of power, which is unusual in a mage from the Jarvis line. He’s a lot younger than most of the other kids, which isn’t so unusual for people with a lot of power—Bucky can think of a couple examples off the top of his head of people who went to school early because of their powers—but all those people went to school early because they didn’t have control, and Tony is nothing if not controlled. He doesn’t much look like either of his parents and the way he acts sometimes… it’s clear that he’s been through a lot, is all.

It’s not until their fourth year that Bucky starts putting the pieces together, and it starts when he finds out that Tony doesn’t actually get his powers from the Jarvis line but from the Carbonell line instead. He wasn’t supposed to overhear that but he and Steve had gotten in trouble again and were sitting outside the Headmistress’s office while she finished up a meeting with the Jarvises.

That’s when he’d heard it: “The Carbonell magic is strong in Tony,” the Headmistress had said, and that had been all Bucky had heard as the pieces had started falling into place. It had always puzzled Bucky how Tony’s magic, so suited to big things, had come from the Jarvises, both of whom were more skilled in household charms and enchantments, but if Tony was adopted… Adoption was rare in magical families, as magic was so often tied to filial lines, but it wasn’t unheard of, and that explained so much about Tony.

He spends some time in the library after that, researching the Carbonells. They’re an old line, originating in Italy, before coming to the Americas in the late sixteenth century. They’re known for producing powerful mages with the exact same proficiency in metallurgy that Tony’s always demonstrated. The last of them, Maria, had married one of the Starks, a newer family with a proficiency in elemental magics—another of Tony’s skills, Bucky realizes—and that’s where the trail goes cold. He never finds another mention of the Carbonells, or the Starks for that matter, in any of the old history books.

But there has to be more to the story, Bucky knows. Because there’s Tony, who looks just like Maria Carbonell, and that means there has to be more. However, he never brings it up. That’s Tony’s story, and if he doesn’t want to tell them, he doesn’t have to.

He never stops hoping that Tony will, though.

~

Tony is looking at him now, eyes dark and arms crossed. Bucky has changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt he’d brought with him as his clothes had ended up drenched, even from just the short run from the car and back out to grab Alpine and his travel bag. His clothes are drying by the fire now as Alpine explores the apartment, sniffing around curiously. Bucky is curious as well, but he’s been so busy drinking in the sight of Tony after almost two years of nothing that he hasn’t taken the time yet to look around.

“What are you doing here, Bucky?” Tony asks eventually.

He shrugs. “I came to find you.”

“Thought I made it obvious I didn’t want to be found.”

“I thought we had unfinished business,” Bucky says quietly. He gazes at Tony steadily until Tony squirms and turns away, busying himself with the coffeepot on the counter. He prepares two cups of coffee, one with more sugar than most people can stand and one with more milk than coffee, and hands the one with milk to Bucky.

Bucky takes one sip and blinks in surprise. “This is decaf,” he says.

“Yeah, and?”

“Tony, you don’t drink decaf. You called it the devil’s brew.”

There’s a hint of a smile lurking around the corners of Tony’s mouth as he raises his own cup to his mouth. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Seems like you’ve forgotten a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how I promised you I’d follow you anywhere.”

Tony stills for a moment before he puts his cup back down on the counter. “Bucky—”

“Tony, why?” Bucky asks, not even bothering to hide the anguish in his voice. It’s how he’s felt every day since Tony disappeared two years ago. “You told me we’d talk the next day, only I woke up to find you’d run. Did I push too hard? Was it not what you wanted?” He stops, frustrated and upset, and scrubs his hand over his face.

“Bucky, no,” Tony says, dismayed. He moves forward, taking Bucky’s hands between his. “It wasn’t you. You have to believe me. It was never you.”

“Then what was it?”

Tony bites his lip, hesitating. Even without using his Sight, Bucky can see golden magic swirling under Tony’s skin, pooling at his hands where they’re touching Bucky’s. He blinks and now he can see his own magic, cool silver, gathering at his fingertips, aching to reach out and touch Tony’s. Their magic has always been compatible, always stronger when they’re together, even before Bucky figured out his complicated feelings for Tony.

“Doll?” he asks, immediately regretting the pet name when it makes Tony flinch. He doesn’t take it back though. This is who he is, a little old-fashioned and a little flirty and a lot in love with Tony Stark.

“It’s me,” Tony eventually admits, looking down at their hands as though he can see the magic too. “I got scared. It’s—I’m not who you think I am.”

“Not what? Not a Jarvis? Tony, I’ve known that for ten years.”

Tony’s head jerks up so fast Bucky’s own neck aches in sympathy. “What did you say?”

“Tony, I know you’re not a Jarvis,” Bucky says again, patiently. He’s never admitted this to anyone before, let alone Tony. He can afford to be careful right now.

“How did you know that?” Tony breathes. “We’ve never told anyone.”

“Except for the Headmistress,” Bucky points out. “You prob’ly had to tell her so she could help you with your abilities.”

“We did,” Tony whispers.

He shrugs. “Stevie and I overheard her one time. She said your magic came from the Carbonell line. I got curious, thought it might explain why you and the Jarvises are so different, so I looked it up.”

“You didn’t think that was invading my privacy?”

The words are harsh but Tony doesn’t look upset. He looks—hopeful, almost, like he wants to believe Bucky knows everything about him and doesn’t judge him for it. It makes Bucky bold and he steps forward, right into Tony’s space, as he tugs one of his hands free and uses it to tuck one of Tony’s curls behind his ear, fingers brushing against his cheek.

“You are a puzzle I’ve only ever wanted to solve,” Bucky murmurs, bowing his head to rest his forehead against Tony’s. His hand cups Tony’s cheek for the briefest moment and then falls to his shoulder. Tony closes his eyes and inhales shakily. “But the moment the trail went cold, I stopped looking. It didn’t seem right to keep digging.”

“What did you find?” Tony asks.

“Two names: Howard Stark and Maria Carbonell, that’s it.”

Tony nods. “Those were my parents.”

“Were?”

“Could be are. I don’t know where they went after they left me, but I stopped calling them mine the moment they were gone.”

“What happened?” He feels Tony tense under his hand and quickly adds, “If you want to tell me. Don’t feel like you have to.”

“No, it’s—I want to,” Tony says, sounding frustrated. The space between his brows furrows in irritation. “I’ve just never told anyone and—I’m not sure I’m ready to tell the full story yet. It’s a lot.”

“Whatever you’re ready for, then. And when you’re ready for the rest, I’ll be right here to listen.”

Tony takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “I was born at Rosewood Manor,” he says quietly.

“That place outside of town?”

“Mmhmm. That’s my magic you probably saw guarding it.”

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath. “Tony, that place looks like it hasn’t had anyone living there for fifteen years.”

“Over twenty actually. I was three when—when that happened.”

“You were three? And you had that kind of control?”

Tony laughs humorlessly. “Believe me, that night I had no control at all.” He falls silent. Bucky waits for more, but Tony seems to be done talking for tonight, so he turns his head and kisses the corner of Tony’s mouth instead.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says.

Tony grimaces. “Not like I told you much of anything.”

“You told me what you were comfortable with. Believe me, doll, after two years of nothing—”

“You keep doing that,” Tony interrupts. “Calling me doll.”

Bucky hesitates. “I thought you liked it when I did that.”

Tony looks away, a bitter twist to his mouth. “I left.”

“Yeah…”

“I left right after you kissed me because I was scared and couldn’t face up to what was going on between us even though I promised we’d talk.”

Bucky waits, sure that if he stays silent, Tony will explain further. It’s a trick that he’s used in the past and it’s always worked. Sure enough, after another couple moments:

“You know, I was so sure you were dating Steve? Let me finish please,” Tony says calmly, holding up a hand when Bucky opens his mouth. “You don’t know what it was like. I might have met Steve first but it was so clear that you two were a lot closer than I would ever be with him. So yes, I was convinced you two were dating and that I was alone in my feelings and when I found out I wasn’t, I panicked. I thought it was Tony Jarvis you liked, not—”

“I like you,” Bucky interrupts, unable to keep hearing Tony talk about how he’d thought Bucky wasn’t serious about him, when he thinks maybe it’s the only thing he’s ever been serious about. “I like you as Tony Jarvis, Tony Carbonell, Tony Stark, or just plain Tony.”

“Like?” Tony asks shyly.

Bucky grins and kisses the other corner of Tony’s mouth. “Do you think I would have kept searching for you for two years if I didn’t still like you?”

Tony leans back for a moment, searching his eyes for something before he eventually says, “And what about Tony Barnes?”

Bucky’s heart about stops. He wheezes out, “You—”

“It’s not—I needed a name when I came back to Ravenspoint. I didn’t want anyone to know who I was and it’s a small town. People know every other name I go by, but—I didn’t think you’d mind or I wouldn’t—”

Bucky can’t stop himself anymore. He frames Tony’s face in his hands and kisses him soundly. It’s closed-mouthed and chaste and it’s still the best damn kiss he’s ever had, next to the only other time he kissed Tony. Tony’s hands flutter in the air for a second before wrapping around Bucky’s waist, clutching him to him.

“I love you calling yourself by my name,” he says hoarsely, pulling away long enough to get the words out before he kisses Tony again. “And one day, I swear I’ll give you that name for real, forever and always.” This time, it’s Tony who whfigmenters and kisses him again, sucking Bucky’s tongue into his mouth as Bucky’s hands slide back into his hair to hold him right where he wants him.

“Wait,” Tony pants, struggling against Bucky’s grip to move away. Bucky lets him go reluctantly, gratified when Tony only moves a couple inches. “How did you find me?”

“Your magic,” Bucky tells him, trailing kisses across every inch of his face. “It’s been callin’ out to me since the day you left, leavin’ me a trail to follow.”

“Lucky me,” Tony whispers.

And as Bucky kisses him again, unable to resist for a single second, he thinks to himself, No. Lucky me.

[bitchin-beskar]

honey and clementines - chapter one

Rating: T (eventually changing to M)

Warnings: brief mentions of injuries/blood, but nothing too graphic. 

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: hey all!! this is my first ever Marcus Moreno fic!! this is one-hundred percent the fault of @mxndoscyarika, she is my thot twin and an enabler and I love her so much. y’all need to check out her series, Honeydew, which is a beautifully written Marcus Moreno x OC fic. it’s seriously one of my favorite M.M. stories ever!!! I really hope y’all like this story!!!

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment! I love hearing what y’all think!!!

“Have a good day at school Missy!”

You waved to the young girl as she dashed into the building, her backpack disappearing inside the doors just as the warning bell rang. Slumping back in your seat, you sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face. This morning had not gone according to plan, and you’d barely managed to get her to school on time. It wouldn’t be the first time Missy was late, but you always felt guilty whenever she was. Usually her teachers were pretty understanding, what with her dad being the Marcus Moreno, afterall, but you tried to avoid tardiness whenever possible. 

Pulling out of the drop-off lane, you began the short drive back to the Moreno household, mentally going over the list of things you had to accomplish today. Marcus had some late meetings tonight, so you and Missy were going to be on your own for dinner. 

You were mentally going through the list of ingredients you’d need for spaghetti when you pulled into the driveway. Grabbing your purse, you shut the car off, climbing out and locking the doors behind you, double-checking with a quick yank on the handle. 

So lost in your thoughts, you nearly tripped over a package sitting on the front porch, placed dead center of the welcome mat. Sighing, you bent down, picking it up and tucking it under one arm as you unlocked the front door, and stepping inside. You needed to be more aware of your surroundings, isn’t that what Marcus always told you? 

Shutting the door behind you, you dumped your purse and keys on the table in the foyer, walking on autopilot into the kitchen. You set the package down on the counter and grabbed the notepad you always kept sitting beside the bowl of fruit, beginning to write down the things you needed to pick up when you went to the store. 

You were startled out of your scribbling by the feeling of your phone vibrating in your pocket. Pulling it out and glancing at the caller ID, you smiled. “Hey Marcus, don’t worry, I got Missy to the school in time–”

“I need you to listen to me carefully.” 

Back straightening, you jerked up in surprise at the low growl of Marcus’ voice. He sounded scared, which worried you, a lot. When the leader of the Heroics sounded scared, you knew it was serious.

“Was there anything suspicious laying around when you came home? Is there anything out of place?”

You quickly scanned the kitchen and living room, looking for anything strange or out of the ordinary. You couldn’t see anything, everything looked pretty much how you left it. In fact, the only thing that looked any different was the package you’d brought in–

Marcus could hear you suck in a sharp breath over the phone, and his frantic voice crackled through the speakers. “What? What is it? What do you see?”

“I–I brought in a package–” You stuttered, slowly backing away from the counter where the small brown box was sitting innocuously. “I–It was sitting o–on the front porch–”

“Get out of there! Get out! Now!”

Turning, you dashed for the front door when there was a sudden explosion of sound and heat, and your world went dark.

***

Marcus stared horror-struck at his phone, the sound of an explosion still ringing in his ears, even though the screen showed that the call had dropped. 

He was standing at his desk in HQ, phone held limply in his hand as the giant screen at the front of the room flashed with the warning they’d received from Explosivo only minutes earlier. 

 B I G  S U R P R I S E S  C O M E  I N  S M A L L  P A C K A G E S,  M O R E N O. 

His heart had stopped when he’d first seen the message, and his first thought had been to call you. When you’d answered, he’d breathed a sigh of relief, but the panic came back full force when he heard the explosion just before the phone went dead.

“Moreno?”

Granada’s voice cut through the haze, and he jerked his head up frantically to look at her. 

“Send a team to my house and Missy’s school. Now.”

He didn’t wait to see if she listened to him, turning on his heel and sprinting out of the room. He called Missy’s school to warn them of the potential threat as well as the fact that a team was on their way to secure the building as he raced towards his car. 

He probably broke every single traffic law in existence in his effort to get to his house as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His heart sank when he saw the multiple fire trucks and ambulances parked outside, as a team of firefighters worked over the smoldering ruins of his home. 

Screeching to a stop, he ripped his seatbelt off and threw his car door open as he practically fell out of the vehicle in his haste. 

He frantically scanned the people milling about outside the caution tape, trying to spot you. He finally spots you, sitting in the back of an ambulance, a shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a paramedic tending to a bloody cut on your head.

His feet are moving before his brain can even process what he’s seeing, and in what seems like seconds he’s standing just behind the paramedic, eyes roving over your figure as he tries to see if you’re hurt anywhere else.

***

You winced as the paramedic dabbed at the cut on your head, your fingers tightening in the scratchy grey fabric of the shock blanket one of the many first responders had draped over your shoulders. You were still shaky and a little dazed from the explosion, but miraculously, you weren’t too badly hurt. 

 Your eyes drifted shut for a moment, and when you opened them again, you saw Marcus standing in front of you, just behind the paramedic. Eyes flying wide open, you went to stand, the paramedic placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you still. 

“Marcus–!” you gasped, and he jerked forward, coming to stand next to you, his hand hovering just above your shoulder, hesitant to touch you. 

“Are you okay?” He demanded, eyes frantically flicking between you and the paramedic who’d just finished bandaging your head. “Is she okay?”

The paramedic nodded, before turning back to you. “You’re gonna be just fine, ma’am. The cut on your head isn’t as bad as it looks, head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but you won’t need stitches. You’ve got some bruises that’ll be tender for a few days, but nothing worse than that. You’re incredibly lucky ma’am.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and he nodded again, closing up his medical bag, and stepping away, leaving you and Marcus standing alone at the back of the ambulance. 

You barely had time to open your mouth before Marcus was pulling you up and into a frantic hug. His grip was tight and unyielding, and he pressed his face into your neck as you felt him take in a deep, shuddering breath. Your own arms came up to grip the back of his leather jacket in your shaking grip. 

He holds you for a long time, longer than is probably appropriate. You can tell he’s reluctant to pull away, and you’re reluctant to let him go. But eventually, he does pull back, only to cup your cheeks as he turns your face to both sides, eyes scanning all the little superficial cuts and scrapes along with the larger, bandaged cut on your forehead. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He murmurs, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I’m so sorry, I called you as soon as I got the warning–”

“I’m okay,” you reassured him, letting him check you over to confirm for himself. “How did you know? What– Am I allowed to know what happened?” You knew that unfortunately, being a civilian, you weren’t always allowed to know what threats the Heroics faced, even with your connection to Marcus. 

Marcus sighs, and releases you to drag a hand over his face, and you faintly notice that he looks exhausted. “It’s a new supervillain,” he starts, speaking quietly so as not to allow the emergency personnel milling about to hear him. “Calls himself Explosivo, has a fascination with bombs and explosions. He sent HQ a message that mentioned me directly, right before I called you. I don’t know why he’s targeting me specifically, I’m so sorry–”

You placed your hand on his chest, stopping his apology in its tracks. “Don’t you dare apologize, Marcus Moreno. I knew what I was signing up for when you hired me as Missy’s nanny. This is not your fault.”

You can tell by the look on Marcus’ face that he doesn’t believe you, but before you can argue, a team from Heroics HQ arrives, and immediately descends on the ruined house. You watch, dumbstruck, as heroes use their powers to begin repairs immediately, undoing the damage left behind by the package bomb. 

Suddenly, your eyes widen, and you frantically grasp at Marcus’ arm. “Wait, what about Missy? Is she safe?” 

Marcus’ eyes widen, and he quickly yanks his phone out of his pocket, frantically checking for any messages. He lets out a sigh as he sees a message from Granada confirming that Missy is safe and waiting for him at HQ. 

“Missy’s safe at HQ,” he confirms, and you let out your own relieved sigh. “I’m gonna take you to HQ too, until the house is repaired and the security is updated.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on Marcus’ face killed your arguments. You let him maneuver you towards his car, knowing that Marcus isn’t going to rest until both you and Missy are safe. You know his wife was killed in a supervillain attack, and you’re not surprised he’s being so protective right now. You’ve been Missy’s nanny for close to five years now, and you’ve grown extremely close to the leader of the Heroics. 

The drive to HQ doesn’t take long, something for which you’re grateful. Now that you’re no longer in immediate danger, the adrenaline is leaving your system, leaving you feeling drained. Your whole body aches from being thrown into a wall, and you feel slightly dizzy from the blood loss. 

Marcus is driving, but his right hand is resting lightly on your knee, thumb rubbing small circles as though to reassure himself that you are indeed sitting beside him in his car, and not in a bloodied heap of twisted limbs and broken bones under the rubble of his house. 

He’s not usually this tactile, preferring to try and keep a more professional relationship, what with you being his daughter’s nanny and all. But right now, touch is a comfort he’s willing to indulge in, and you’re certainly not going to complain, no matter how your heart is going to hate you for it later. 

When you walk into HQ, you’re nearly bowled over by a tiny, curly-haired freight-train named Missy. She wraps her arms tightly around you, burying her face in your stomach as she tries to get as close to you as physically possible. Immediately, your own arms come up to wrap around her shaking form, smoothing over her hair, already whispering reassurances. 

Marcus just stands back and lets the two of you have this moment. You’ve become almost like a mother to Missy in the five years you’ve been her nanny, and he couldn’t be more grateful. You love her like she was your own flesh and blood, and Missy adores you. 

He tries not to think about all the times Missy has begged him to ask you out so that the three of you could become a real family. 

He’s much too old for you, in his forties with a child of his own. You’re barely thirty, not even considering you were only 25 when he first hired you. You’ve got so many options, so much still ahead of you, he’s not going to try and ask you out and ruin things between you. 

He’s content with how things are, secure in the fact that you’re not going anywhere soon, and that he’ll have you in his life for as long as he can convince you to stay. He’ll do everything in his power to keep you safe. He already lost the first woman he loved, he’s not about to lose you too.  

Permanent Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @perropascal, @mxndoscyarika, @hayley-the-comet, @phoenixhalliwell, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @pedroepascal, @roxypeanut, @rynadjarin-reading, @anerdydragon, @justanotherblonde23, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @meshlamando, @sunsetmando, @bucketbunny, @mudhornchronicles, @huliabitch, @nerdypinupcrystal, @blackmarketmummy, @dinsbeskar, @mischiefnevermanaged94, @randomness501, @bisexual-space-slut, @lucifer-, @captainmunroe, @liadamerondjarin, @tulipsun-flower, @marvgrrl, @waatermelon-sugaar, @pedrospunk, @areolanya, @computeringturtle, @starlite41, @driftllocked, @gallowsjoker, @firstofficerwiggles, @pedro4ever

Marcus Moreno Tags:  @tulipsun-flower, @captainmunroe, @thevoiceinyourheadx, @snow30285, @pedro4ever

If your name is crossed out, I couldn’t tag you! sorry!

[mischiefandspirits]

Six Eggs in the Nest

Bruce returns from his trip through time to discover that not only had his kids grown, but so had his family. An old face had reappeared in his absence.

Part of the Six for the Age of One AU

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How are you feeling?”

…

“Come on, Bruce,” Clark sighed. “As subtle as it might be, your heart rate still changes when you wake up.”

Bruce grunted, not opening his eyes.

“Good to know your trip through time didn’t affect your language skills.”

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing of note on the League’s front,” J’onn reported and Bruce finally opened his eyes to see the martian was looking over Bruce’s vitals.

“Just business as usual,” Diana agreed from the doorway.

Bruce turned to Clark, who was sitting in a chair next to Bruce’s hospital bed. “Gotham?”

Clark gave a soft smile and answered the unasked question, “The kids are fine. They’d be here, but I guess Ivy and Freeze got into a fight just as they were about to leave and Penguin tried to use the distraction of the fight to move cargo or something.”

“I checked in with them just before you woke,” Diana said before Bruce could get worked up. “In Oracle’s words, I threw Harley at Ivy and Nightwing, Signal, and Corvid smashed Freeze’s helmet so that fight’s basically won. Batwoman reported that her team had taken down Penguin and were supervising the cargo’s transport to the evidence locker before heading in.”

Bruce nodded, relaxing. “I’d assume Batwoman is Stephanie. Nightwing… Dick?”

“Yeah,” Clark said, looking smug. “And Corvid is Damian. Tim’s going by Ghost Bat now.”

“When you disappeared, they all stepped up to become heroes worthy of your legacy,” Diana said. “You would be proud of how strong they’ve been.”

“I am proud.” He simply wished he’d been there to see them through the transition. “How long was I gone?”

“A year,” J’onn said, apologetically and Bruce nodded.

That was longer than it had been for him, but not by too much. A year though…

He’d missed most of the kids’ final year of high school. He’d missed their graduation. He’d missed helping them sign up for college.

Was Duke enjoying his literature studies? Did Stephanie go through with her plans to start the pre-med track or make good on her jokes about taking a year off? Was Damian able to decide between a business or veterinary medicine major? Had Tim figured out what he wanted to do? Did Dick change his mind about not continuing school?

And little Carrie was still so young. Would she even remember Bruce?

“What’s the cover story for Bruce Wayne’s disappearance? And Batman’s?” Bruce asked, pushing the rest down. “I’ll need to figure out how to spread out my appearances so no one becomes suspicious.”

The three shared a look and Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not that simple,” Diana said slowly.

“I’ve been standing in for Bruce Wayne with Timothy’s help,” J’onn said. “It was Duke’s idea. Richard had taken up your mantle, but he wasn’t able to convince those who really knew Batman so I was going to pretend to be you until enough time had passed that we could fake your death without it being connected to the change in Batman. Then Timothy and Damian found evidence that you were alive so we’ve kept up the ruse.”

Bruce nodded. It was a good idea, even if Bruce didn’t exactly feel comfortable knowing the martian had been impersonating him for so long. Something else caught his mind, though. “If Dick is Batman, why is he also going by Nightwing?”

“Dick was Batman for a while, but… someone else is Batman now,” Clark said, uncertainly.

“Who?”

“We don’t know. The children won’t tell us,” Diana said. “They’re as stubborn and secretive as their father.”

“About six months ago Batman just… changed,” Clark explained. “We didn’t notice at first since Richard was still the one showing up for Justice League stuff, then Nightwing appeared in the news. It was pretty obvious Nightwing was Dick. We thought that maybe he was setting up his own hero for when you came back, but Batman was seen working with Nightwing and all the rest of the boys. He’s also more…”

“Vicious?” J’onn offered. “And dramatic, but in a grim way. His fighting style is firmer as well, in a way Dick couldn’t manage no matter how much he held himself back. His Batman is more genuine than Dick’s. To the point that, from what we’ve gathered, those who realized he had replaced you already think you’re back.”

“We tried asking Dick the next time he came up for a meeting, but all he’d say was that he wasn’t ready to see us,” Diana added. “Clark went to Gotham -”

Bruce glared at the kryptonian.

“I know, I know. Your kids caught me within minutes and Stephanie gave me a lecture you’d be proud of. And don’t act like you’re not burning with curiosity. Do you even have an idea who it could be?”

“Did you find out anything?” Bruce redirected and Clark shook his head.

“I couldn’t see much because the cowl is as lead-lined as you always had it and he got out of there fast once Stephanie intercepted me. He was tall and broad like you and what skin I saw was fair, so he couldn’t be any of the boys.”

That… didn’t add up. Who would the boys have trusted with Batman? “I need to get home.”

All three looked like they wanted to argue, but J’onn unhooked him from the monitors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cave was empty when Bruce teleported in, though the still-warm cup of tea next to the Batcomputer’s keyboard and the lit-up screens showed that Alfred had recently been monitoring the comms before stepping out for a moment.

“- anything yet?” came Robin’s -- Nightwing’s -- voice when Bruce hit the button to unmute the main comm line.

“Wonder Woman said he was still unconscious when she checked in,” Oracle answered.

“Batman, Batwoman, and I will be at the cave in a minute. The two of us can head up immediately and report back,” Ghost Bat offered.

“Speak for yourself,” Batwoman huffed. “You can hang around Wonder Woman smelling like a sewer all you want, but I need a shower.”

“You will wait for us or I will give all your sweatshirts to Goliath as nesting materials, Ghost!” Corvid snapped.

“Nah, Goliath can do better than G’s hoodies. Besides, he’ll just go steal some from Metro. I’m pretty sure half the ones he’s got now are clone boy’s anyways,” laughed a voice Bruce didn’t recognize. Batman’s, he assumed. Something about it nagged at him, but he couldn’t place it. He was sure he knew the person though. Was he altering his voice for the suit like Bruce did? It didn’t have the growl, but maybe he was just making his voice deeper. If his voice was higher…

Bruce was torn out of his musings by a snarl. He turned to see a large groenendael stalking towards him. Behind the dog was a massive pillow with five other dogs atop it. A Great Dane was stretched out regally at one end, wagging his tail but otherwise not paying Bruce any attention. A lab and a pit bull were flopped over each other limply in the middle, fast asleep. A German shepherd was standing on the other end, just as alert as the groenendael without the aggression. A Chihuahua was similarly eyeing Bruce from her spot tucked under the Great Dane’s chin, kept quiet and still only by the larger dog’s presence.

Bruce wasn’t surprised the dogs had invaded the cave in his absence. He could only hope Goliath and Wiggles had continued to be cut off in their separate portions of the cave and Alfred the Cat hadn’t been allowed to torment the bats.

He knelt and held out his hand. “It’s alright, Jane. It’s just me.”

The groenendael quieted at his voice and continued approaching him. The closer she got, the more relaxed she became until she was close enough to cheerfully lick and nuzzle at his hand as an apology for growling.

“It’s okay, girl. You’re doing a good job protecting the cave while everyone’s out.”

Ace was at his side in an instant to sniff him over for injuries and nose his neck in a greeting Bruce easily returned. Titus yawned and turned away as things calmed down, which allowed Ami to leap to her feet. She gave two quick yaps at Bruce, then stomped over to curl up on a corner of the pillow. Haley and Hazel slept on.

A moment later the roar of an engine echoed through the cave, heralding the arrival of the Batmobile. Bruce’s spot was slightly hidden from the vehicle bay, so he had the chance to observe the three that climbed out.

Batwoman’s suit wasn’t too dissimilar to the one Barbara had donned during those two short years she’d held the mantle. All Stephanie had altered was swapping out the red on the bat, belt, cape lining, and wig for her signature eggplant.

Ghost Bat’s suit was black, sleeveless, and made from the same lightweight armor Tim and Dick always used. A grey bat was across the chest, the color matching his gauntlets. He wore a cape and cowl like Batwoman’s, though the cape lining and wig were grey. The wig was also cut short to match Tim’s chin-length locks instead of Stephanie’s chest-length curls.

Batman’s suit, at first glance, looked exactly like Bruce’s. On closer inspection, though, it appeared thinner, closer to the medium bulk armor Damian and Stephanie used. There were also knives hidden across the suit and the cape was shorter than Bruce kept it. His build appeared to be just as Clark described, but Bruce knew the suit enough to tell it was making him look broader in the shoulders and the boots’ soles were altered to make him look shorter. Bruce estimated him to be a few inches taller than himself and around Duke’s width. The visible portion of his face was a pale beige, distinctly different from Dick’s olive tone or the other boys’ darker skin colors.

“- soft and roomy!” Ghost was arguing. “It’s no different than you stealing Bruce’s!”

Batman shot him a perfect Bat-Glare, as the kids called it. “I don’t have any of his sweaters!”

“That’s because after you steal them, Alfred always washes them and puts them back in B’s closet,” Stephanie snorted, pulling down her cowl. She gave him a wink when he turned the glare on her. “Just because you only wear them to bed doesn’t mean we don’t notice. Also, Tim’s stolen horde isn’t just Kon’s. He also got some of mine, Cassie’s, Duke’s, Damian’s, and yours in there. Dick’s and Cissie’s aren’t baggy enough and Bart’s are scratchy. He’s also got one of Kori’s because he took it thinking it was Babs’ and now he’s too embarrassed to give it back.”

“STEPHANIE!” Ghost shouted as Batman snapped, “Is that where my green hoodie went?”

Stephanie snickered as she turned to head deeper into the cave. Her eyes caught Bruce’s and she froze.

“What’s wrong?” Batman asked and he and Ghost followed her gaze.

“Kids,” Bruce said after a moment of trying to figure out what to say.

Batman stiffened and Stephanie smiled. “Hey, B.”

Ghost shot forward, but stopped just before he reached Bruce, looking like he was barely holding back from throwing himself at Bruce.

Bruce took the decision away from him by pulling the boy into a hug. He pulled down the cowl to press a kiss to the top of Tim's head as the boy started to shake slightly with silent tears.

“So B’s here,” Stephanie said and he heard her voice echo through the comm in Tim’s ear.

“What!?”

“He’s supposed to be resting on the Watchtower.”

“Of course they couldn’t keep Father contained.”

“We’re on our way.”

“You’re here,” Tim whispered and Bruce pressed another kiss to his head.

“I am. I’m so sorry for being gone.”

“Tim’s the one who found you,” Stephanie said as she walked up. “Or, well, he’s the one who made it possible for the JL to find you.”

“I heard. I’m so proud.”

“Damian helped,” Tim muttered, burying his reddening face further into Bruce’s chest.

Bruce rubbed his back for a few seconds, then pulled away so Tim could pick up the Chihuahua nudging up against his ankle. He made sure Ami was helping Tim calm down before nodding at Stephanie. However, he soon found his gaze shifting back to the unknown factor.

Batman was still standing where he’d been the last time Bruce checked. He looked frozen in place, only his hand having shifted so that it could rest on Jane’s cheek. The groenendael was staring up at him as she licked and nuzzled at his wrist and hip in an effort to draw him back from wherever he was, though Bruce doubted he could feel it through the suit.

She must have realized it too as a moment later she stood up on her hind legs with her forepaws on Batman’s chest so she could lick at his chin instead, snapping him out of it enough that he looked away.

It was then that Stephanie glanced over her shoulder to see what Bruce was staring at. “Shoot.”

“What?” Tim asked, tucking Ami to his chest. He looked at Stephanie, then Batman, then his eyes shot to Bruce. “Oh. Crud. We really meant to do this slowly.”

“Are you two going to introduce me?” Bruce grunted.

His eyes were still on the stranger, but he could see both eighteen-year-olds open their mouths to respond. Before they could, Batman nudged Jane off and reached up to pull down his hood.

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat.

“Hey, Dad,” Jason said, running his fingers through his black and white hair.

Ace nudged Bruce’s side, just under his ribs.

He took a breath, then another.

“What part of do this slowly didn’t you get, Jay!”

“We all know he wasn’t going to rest until he figured out who I am. I’m just ripping off the band-aid.”

“This isn’t my Earth,” Bruce said.

The three shared a look and Tim pressed into Bruce’s other side. “It is.”

“My Jason is…”

“Dead?” Jason finished. “Yeah, it, uh, didn’t take. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not the time, Jay!” Steph sighed. “Come on, Old Man. You look awful. We’ll explain once you’re sitting down.”

Bruce’s hands itched to grab Jason. To grab him and pull him close and never let him go again.

He kept his hands to himself as he followed the kids to the meeting table. They had just enough time to get settled when the elevator dinged and Alfred stepped out with a fussing Carrie in his arms.

The butler took in the group, then gave Bruce a pointed look. “You are meant to be resting.”

“I had to check on the kids.”

“Of course you did.” Alfred came forward to deposit Carrie into the arms of her honorary grandfather then set a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Master Bruce. We’ve all missed you.”

Bruce nodded and looked down at the toddler.

She blinked up at him before smiling and poking his cheek. “Boosie back!”

“Yeah, Sweetheart, I’m back,” he said, voice hoarse.

Three motorcycles shot into the cave, the boys on them quickly jumping off. Bruce set Carrie on his knee as he took in his rapidly approaching sons.

Nightwing’s suit was similar to Ghost Bat’s, though his had sleeves and he had just a domino in place of the cape and cowl. The suit was black with a cobalt V across the chest that resembled a bird. The wings stretched all the way to the shoulders then ran down the sleeves to end at the tips of his middle and ring fingers. The blue color carried over to his domino mask and the trim of his boots. A pair of escrima sticks poked out from behind him and black pouches were connected to the waist of the suit like a built-in utility belt.

Corvid’s suit was black with a matching utility belt and carried the same moderate bulk Damian preferred. A long, hooded jacket sat over the suit, sleeveless and colored sapphire with white trim. It sat open, revealing the white outline of a bird stretched across his chest. The suit was finished off with a black domino mask with equally black lenses and tall emerald boots.

Signal’s suit looked the same as it had when Bruce was sent away, and Bruce took comfort in the fact that not everything had changed.

Stephanie ducked down for a quick hug, then removed her daughter from Bruce’s lap so she wasn’t crushed when Nightwing threw himself into it a second later.

“You’re so stupid for running off from the Watchtower, but I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, holding the boy close with one arm as he reached out to grab his youngest’s hand.

Corvid squeezed back as he glanced over Bruce, then let go and left to take a seat.

After giving Bruce a quick hug around Nightwing, Signal went to grab his own seat as well. He pulled off his helmet and looked pointedly at Jason before turning back to Bruce. “Guess it’s storytime, huh?”

“You couldn’t even keep it a secret for five minutes?” Damian tisked after he’d removed his mask.

“He was ripping off the band-aid,” Tim mocked.

“We all know how obsessive B gets when someone puts a mystery in front of him,” Jason huffed, throwing his hands in the air.

“It is something you’ve all inherited from him,” Alfred hummed as he began to set cups of tea in front of everyone except Carrie, who got a sippy cup of warm milk.

Dick squirmed around so he could remove his mask and accept his cup of tea, then made himself comfortable in his father’s lap.

“You’re getting too old for this,” Bruce teased, wrapping his arms around the eighteen-year-old, and Dick shushed him.

“Where should we start?” Stephanie asked.

[nalgenewhore]

storm

essar x lorcan, alternate canon au, domestic fluff, word count: 1556

Outside, the storm rages. The windows and cupboard doors rattle, the noise forcing tension to crawl up her spine. Essar sighs softly and turns over again, just as a clap of thunder erupts in the skies above. The female startles, immediately reaching for her bedmate.

As she stretches towards him, she hesitates, her eyes tracking over his slumbering face. He’s been so tired lately, what with all their preparations for the winter. She shouldn’t bother him, she thinks. With another sigh, Essar returns to her spot and tucks her hands beneath her pillow. She closes her eyes, but the flash of lightning is bright and they open a moment later.

She curses into her pillow, frowning in annoyance. Essar peeks out at her mate, who has hardly moved, except to rub the tip of his nose and wrinkle his brow. She turns her head and watches him, silent. Something in her chest calms as she continues staring at Lorcan, but she knows that sleep will still evade her. Carefully, the Fae gets up from her bed and pads across the mat-covered floor to the door of their bedroom.

Essar slips through the door and walks down the hall, Lorcan’s shirt falling to her mid-thighs. Her bright eyes trail over their cosy cabin, seeing the fire that glows in the coals of their fireplace. Before it, on a soft wolf pelt rug, her clothes are still laying rumpled from their… frenzy. A smirk pulls at her plump lips and Essar scurries into the kitchen, her body recalling his warmth. After her tea, she’ll curl up next to him and his presence will soothe her back to sleep.

The storm attempts to shake the house, but it doesn’t bother her as much anymore. Essar feeds kindling and larger pieces of wood into the oven, summoning her flame to set it alight. The heavy kettle is still halfway full, so she won’t need to fetch water for it. She puts it down on the metal surface and takes a mug down from the shelf.

She spins to the island counter, where they keep a collection of various everyday dried herbs to make their drinks. There’s a hand-sized mortar and pestle next to the collection. Essars plucks a small jar from the neat row and pries the cork off with an audible ‘pop’. She tilts it to the side, trying to determine how much of the tea blend is left.

A week or so ago, they traveled to the nearest village to stock up on supplies that were hard to come by, like specialty dried flowers and roots, dairy products like butter and a dozen pints of goat milk, eggs, flour, and sugar too. Their pantry is well stocked and Essar knows they don’t need to worry about starving over the colder months.

She takes a small linen bag and shakes some of the blend into it, then ties the drawstring closing shut and puts it in her cup. While she waits for the kettle to boil, Essar keeps her eye on the weather outside, watching it whip at their sheet-covered crops. A slight frown graces her brow. She doesn’t like to see their plants so abused.

It doesn’t take long for the kettle to boil. When its steam billows in the air, Essar lifts it off of the stove and carefully fills her cup a few centimetres beneath the rim. Then she lets it steep for a few moments as she hunts for the honey. She knows her love has hidden it somewhere. It’s a joking habit of theirs, wanting to keep the sticky-sweet treat all for themselves.

Essar finds the jar quickly and takes the teabag out. As she stirs in some honey, she hears steady footsteps tracking across the wood floor, made audible so that she isn’t scared moments later. Two big, tattoo-covered arms circle around her waist and his head comes down to rest his face in the crook of her shoulder. “Essar,” Lorcan grumbles, clearly displeased from waking up to an empty bed. He sniffs and presses his lips to the curve of her neck, his lips brushing against her, “S’matter, love?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs back, resting her free hand on his forearm. “Just can’t sleep. The storm.” Essar stirs in her honey and turns to look at him. Lorcan’s eyes are shut and she grins, leaning back against him. She loves the way his shoulders curl around her, protecting her.

He hums, “Why didn’t’cha wake me?”

“You… you were sleeping. And you’ve been working so hard lately.” Heat blooms across her crescent-shaped cheeks, knowing that he’ll think her reasons ridiculous. The male leaps at chances to comfort her and fuss over her. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Lorcan gently nips at her soft brown skin, his elongated canines scratching harder than the others. “You could never bother me, Tangaroa.”

She smiles and turns her head to kiss his temple, “Alright, darling. Would you like some tea?”

He sighs through his nose and lifts his head, humming lowly. “No, s’alright. Just wondered where ya were.” Lorcan taps Essar’s hip so she’ll turn and she does, her tea cupped between both hands. Lovingly, with such care, he brushes her wavy hair back and kisses her forehead, “Is it the storm?” His mate has never taken well to them. Storms don’t frighten her, per se, they simply disrupt her sleep and are a tiresome, stress-inducing nuisance.

Essar nods, “Yes. Come sit with me.” She reaches behind her to take one of his hands and neatly spins out of his arms, leading him to their living room. They bypass the large couch in favour of the armchair. It’s a snug fit, what with Lorcan’s towering stature. Essar is not a small being either – the top of her head comes just past his chin. Her legs are across his lap, her backside on the cushion beside his left thigh. Lorcan rests a hand on her thigh and eases his other arm around her waist, his fingers splayed across her ribcage.

She laughs when she sees his eyelids drooping and kisses the bridge of his nose, “Tired, are we?”

He smiles softly and nods. Blinking hard a few times, Lorcan sits up straight and strokes his thumb over her side as Essar sips on her sweetened tea. “Gimme a sip,” he implores her, nudging his chin towards her mug.

Essar smirks and arches a brow up while she moves her drink away from him. “Thought you said you didn’t want any.”

His grin widens, showing her those dishy dimples that they both know she’s weak for. “Just a wee bit, my love.” She rolls her eyes and concedes, letting him have a taste. In thanks, Lorcan kisses the curve of her shoulder before resting his chin atop her head.

She nestles into him and clicks her tongue, “Ya big thug. Stealing your mate’s tea. How shameful.”

Lorcan huffs a laugh through his nose and winds his fingers through her hair, his neat nails scratching her scalp. Essar melts instantly, near purring as her eyes become hooded and gently slip shut. Unseen by her, the male smiles a pleased smile, pride sparking in his chest at the sight of the female he adores happy under his care. Her lashes flutter as she opens her eyes, staying curled where she is, and finishes her tea slowly.

He takes her empty mug and puts it on the end table, right next to a stack of books. “Feeling ready to sleep now?” Lorcan asks her softly, petting her hair gently. Essar hums and kisses the underside of his jaw.

“Yes, but… only if you… carry me,” she whispers, voice drowsy and sweet.

“Of course,” Lorcan tells her, hooking his arm beneath her knees and the other across her shoulders. He cradles her against his chest and stands smoothly, walking across the cabin. The storm seems to have lessened in its intensity, the strikes of lightning softer, the rolling of thunder gentler.

He bumps the door open with his hip and kicks it shut, remembering to not use full force. Essar is seconds away from true slumber, he can feel it as she becomes heavier and heavier in his arms, relaxing into him. He won’t do anything to jeopardise her rest.

The layered blankets and quilts on their bed are rumpled, pushed to the foot of the mattress. Lorcan sets Essar down and eases himself beside her. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and shifts closer to him as he pulls the covers over them.

Essar fits herself against him, stretching her arm across his waist and hitching her leg over his hip. Her head is rested against his chest. Lorcan runs his hand down her side and fits his hand in cradle above her hip, making the shirt she’s wearing bunch up. He rubs his thumb over her waist and she hums again, shifting so that her chest is cushioned against his.

He buries his face in her hair, smelling her gentle sea salt and tiare blossom scent. “I love you, Ess.”

More asleep than not, his mate mumbles an incomprehensible jumble of words, but he smiles all the same, knowing exactly what she’s saying. With all that I am, and with all that I ever will be.

<3<3<3

an: i realise i dont have a taglist for this so......im going to tag a couple people who i know appreciate essar n lorcan <3 let me know if u want to b added for future writings !

@sassyhobbits @hellasblessed @ladyverena

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

You matter. Or whatever.

Happy Valentine’s Day! I wrote something for the Harringrove Heart-On!

Read it on AO3 and check out all the other phenomenal works in the collection, too!

I

"Valentine’s Day is an abomination."

"Wow, Hargrove, don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel." Billy and Steve are in the parking lot, smoking before school starts, and Billy is in a mood. His shoulders are tense and there’s a tightness around his eyes that Steve is starting to recognize.

"This day is the fucking worst."

"Oh no," Steve says sarcastically, "you're going to spend your whole day getting cards and gifts from people who like you." Billy snorts.  

"Giving someone heart-shaped shit on a pretend holiday invented by greeting card companies does absolutely nothing to convey that you actually like them. It's performative bullshit." That checks out, Steve thinks. He loves Valentine's Day. Well. Loved.  

"I hate to break this to you," he says, "but your day is going to be chock full of heart-shaped shit." He drops his voice like he's sharing a secret. "I don't know if you know this, but Billy Hargrove still doesn't have a date for the party at the quarry on Friday. It's, like, open season." Billy rolls his eyes.

"Maybe I don't want a date," he says. "Gotta keep those options open. Besides," he adds as he watches their classmates streaming into the building, "those people either fear me or they want my dick. Or both. Like doesn't really enter into it." Steve doesn't have anything to say to that, but it doesn't really matter; their silences are pretty comfortable by now. Steve watches a girl walk past them with a cluster of pink heart-shaped balloons. He sighs a little before he can catch himself. When he looks up, Billy's staring at him. He has a look on his face that usually means Steve is about to be mocked. Mercilessly.

"You love this shit, don't you?" Billy asks, a little incredulous. Steve looks back at the balloons. He does. Well, he did. He would have done something like that, before. He's not sure what insanity compels him to say that, though.

"I used to, yeah."

"Yeah?" Billy reaches over to bump his shoulder, smile sharp. "You liked getting all those cards and flowers and balloons from admirers?"

"No. I mean, sure, but that’s not why I liked the day. I liked thinking of special things to do for N...for people." Billy snorts.

"Making sure everyone knew what a great boyfriend you were?" The question is maybe a little mean, but Billy's tone, surprisingly, isn't. Steve just shrugs. He stares at the entrance to the building, not really seeing it. He likes to think that he wasn't entirely bullshit.

"I mean, sort of? It was more about showing the person that I put some thought into it, you know? Like, I cared enough to do that because...because they mattered." He catches himself. "Or whatever," he adds lamely, but he knows it's too late. His soft underbelly is already on display. He risks a glance at Billy, who is watching him with an unreadable expression. He finally shakes his head and smiles, a little genuine, and that's not at all what Steve expected.

"You’re hopeless, Harrington." If Steve didn't know any better, he might describe Billy's tone as affectionate. Steve smiles back, tentatively and shrugs.

"Yeah, probably." And then they finish their cigarettes and they go to class.

Billy doesn't take a date to the party, but he does check with Steve twice to make sure he's going to be there.  

II

Steve shows up at Billy's apartment for their weekly movie night with takeout, two aggressively unromantic movies, homemade sugar cookies, and a stack of Valentine's Day cards from the kids. Billy looks at them, a little bemused, when Steve hands them over.

"I tried to spare you, but they insisted," Steve says. "They made me open mine before they would let me leave. There are also heart-shaped sugar cookies in here somewhere. I have strict instructions about which ones were decorated specifically for you." Billy cocks an eyebrow in surprise and Steve shrugs.

"They invited you because they actually wanted you to come, you know." Billy looks down and doesn't say anything. He's a lot better physically, but sometimes larger groups are still a little much for him. Steve's voice goes softer. "It's also fine that you didn't go. Just...they actually do care about you. Despite the fact that you are a bitter cynic who cannot appreciate a holiday dedicated to love." His smile and tone soften the words. "And, as I have learned from personal experience, those nerds are absolutely relentless when they decide they like you, so. Probably best just to let them." Steve continues unpacking the bags and starts setting out boxes of takeout on the coffee table. He slides a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies across the table toward Billy. Billy glances at the cookies, and then looks again. His brow furrows.

"At least one of these appears to have a dick frosted on it. And that looks a lot like a hand holding up a middle finger." Steve smirks at him.

"I guess the kids know you pretty well." Billy tosses a throw pillow at him, which Steve dodges easily. He's laughing, and Billy can't suppress a laugh himself.

"Did you have a good time?" Billy asks, and if there is the tiniest thread of wistfulness in his voice, Steve knows better than to act like he hears it.

"It was surprisingly enjoyable, yeah," Steve admits. "Although I suspect I'm going to be shedding random glitter for months." He pauses, and then grins. "Max is a menace in the kitchen. We had to ban her just to get any decent cookies made. Haven't you ever taught her anything?" Billy shudders.

"I tried; it's impossible. No one could teach Max to cook. She and the kitchen just do not mix."

"Harsh, but probably fair," Steve says. He pulls an envelope out of one of the bags and tosses it on top of the pile. "That is for you," he says. Billy eyes it and then looks back at Steve. "Aren't you going to open it?" Steve prompts. Billy does, a little cautiously. It's a card made out of a folded piece of red construction paper. The front features a frowny face traced in glitter, two angry slashes for eyebrows. Billy looks up at Steve.

"Glitter is the devil," is all Steve says. Billy opens the card. Inside is a poem in Steve's messy handwriting.

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

You think Valentine's Day is an abomination,

And that's why I made this stupid card for you.

Billy snorts a laugh despite himself. Steve smiles, flushing slightly. He claps his hands together once.

"Alright. You will delighted to know that that concludes the 'celebrating Valentine's Day' portion of our evening." He pulls out the slasher movies he picked. "Ready to watch some idiots make terrible choices and promptly get murdered?"

"Sounds perfect," Billy says. They curl up in opposite corners of the couch. Steve watches Billy out of the corner of his eye as he casually opens the rest  of his cards, catching a tiny, crooked smile and the way he gently traces a fingertip over the lace edging on one of the cards. Steve smiles a little to himself and goes back to watching the movie.

After Steve leaves that night, Billy puts the cards up on his fridge. Most of them come down, eventually, but the one from Steve stays up.

III

The smell of coffee is almost enough to overcome the smell of burned pancakes, but not quite. Steve sits at their kitchen table, staring glumly into his coffee cup.

"What possessed you to try making breakfast, sweetheart?" Billy asks him as he slides another perfect pancake onto the growing pile.

"It's Valentine's Day," Steve says. "I just wanted to do something nice for you." There's a long pause.

"Ok, but why not just make dinner?" Billy asks. Steve huffs and tries to think about how to articulate this.

"You hate Valentine's Day," he starts, and Billy glances over at him for a second and hesitates.

"I do," he finally says, slowly.

"And dinner is...I don't know...it's more serious. The stakes are higher." Billy cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Is this you trying to tell me that the meal that you're good at cooking is somehow better than the meal that I'm good at cooking?"

"No," Steve says, starting to get frustrated. "Breakfast just felt like...like less of a commitment to the whole day. Like I could do a little thing in the morning, and if you hated it, we could just move on." Billy's expression softens.

"Baby," he says. Steve waves him off.

"It's fine. I fucked it up anyway, so."

"You did," Billy says, and Steve scoffs, burying his face in his hands. Billy just cannot fucking help himself sometimes, he knows, but still.

"But," Billy continues over Steve's scoff, "I think it's sweet that you tried."

"You do?" Steve asks, looking up. The word sweet is not typically a part of Billy's vocabulary, at least not as a compliment. Billy drops a kiss at the corner of his mouth and slides a plate piled high with pancakes in front of him.

"Eat your pancakes," he says, instead of responding. Steve looks down at his plate and freezes. The stack of pancakes is topped with a smaller, heart-shaped pancake. His eyes snap up to Billy's face. He starts to say something, but Billy cuts him off before he can speak. "Eat your pancakes," he repeats, waving his fork threateningly for emphasis. Steve does, but he can't suppress the little smile at the corner of his mouth.

He can't suppress it for the rest of the day either. Eventually, Billy resorts to kissing it off of his face, and they go to bed much earlier than usual.

IV

Billy is at his desk, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, curls a mess. He's clearly been running his hands through his hair, so he's stressed. The stack of papers in front of him is truly staggering, and there are more on every flat surface in his tiny office. Billy appears to be organizing them into binders. Steve isn't really sure what his internship at this law firm entails, but this entire week he's been 'preparing exhibits' late into the evening. Steve takes a minute just to gaze at his boyfriend, who still hasn't noticed him. Billy looks exhausted, which is fair. He's juggling a double major, a T.A. job, and this internship. It's usually fine, but apparently oral arguments for some huge case start on Monday, so it's all hands on deck this week. Billy has only been home to get a few hours of sleep each night.

Steve knocks on the door jamb to announce his presence. Billy looks up at him and smiles, and some of the tension drains out of his shoulders.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Billy says, coming out from behind the desk. He draws Steve in for lingering kiss. "What are you doing here?" Steve holds up the bag in his hand.

"I figured if you couldn't come home for dinner, I could bring dinner to you." Billy cups Steve's face in his hands and kisses him again.

"I don't deserve you, baby." He grimaces. "I know this week has sucked. I'll make it up to you." Steve smiles at him.

"I know you will." He kisses Billy one more time and steps back. "I should let you get back to it so that you can come home and get at least a little bit of sleep at some point." Billy closes the distance between them and buries his face in Steve's neck.

"But I don't want you to go," he says, more than a little petulant. He's so obviously tired. Steve huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around Billy's shoulders.

"And I don't want you to have to be here anymore. If I'm not here to distract you, maybe you'll get to come home at some point." Billy sighs dramatically.

"You're right and I hate it," he says into the side of Steve's neck. Steve rubs his back.

"Just keep reminding yourself that you love this internship."

"Not right now I don't."

"But usually you do. And you're trying to turn it into a job offer. And oral arguments are going to go really well next week because of all this prep, and they're going to beg you to work for them." There's a long pause.

"Ugh, just shut up," Billy finally mutters. Steve laughs. They stay there for a minute, just breathing. Finally, Steve steps back.

"Drink some water in between all the coffees, ok?" He kisses Billy one more time and then he's out the door. Billy stares after him, wanting nothing more than to follow, but he has more to do tonight. He goes back to work.

He only realizes what day it is half an hour later, when he finally opens the tupperware container Steve brought him. He stares for a long moment. It's his favorite meal. There's steak, and the fancy green beans with the slivered almonds, and garlic mashed potatoes. The potatoes are in the shape of a heart. Billy looks at the calendar next to his desk and groans, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Fuck," he says with feeling. "Fuck," he says again, as he stares at the piles of documents he still has to get through.

It's after midnight when Billy finally gets home. He leaves his pants and his fucking tie and his button-up in a heap on the floor and slips into bed, wrapping himself around Steve. He nuzzles into Steve's neck.

"Baby," he says. Steve makes a sleepy noise. "Baby, I need you to wake up for minute."

"Mhmm," Steve says. "'m awake." Billy knows better.

"Can you sit up for me? Just for a minute, sweetheart." It's the only way to be sure. Steve grumbles about it, but soon he's sitting up in bed facing Billy. He rubs his face with his hands, and then his brow furrows with concern.

"Is everything ok?"

"I'm sorry I missed Valentine's Day dinner," Billy says. Steve just stares at him, confused. Then his face relaxes a little.

"Is that why you woke me up? It's okay. Besides, you didn't miss it. I brought it to you."

"You know what I mean," Billy says. He takes a deep breath, and then he leans forward and cups Steve's face in his hands. "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course I--" and that's as far as Steve gets before his eyes go wide. Because he does know, Billy shows him all the time. He brings Steve coffee every morning, and he curls around him in bed every night and presses the softest kisses behind his ear, and he listens to the things that Steve says and actually remembers them in a way that nobody ever has before, but Billy's never actually said the words before. It's a whole thing for him, and Steve has tried so hard not to care about it that much, and it's fine, really, because Billy shows him all the time, but--

"I love you so fucking much," Billy says, and Steve thinks he might cry. Billy kisses him, and when they separate again Steve sneaks a look at the clock behind Billy. Billy catches him, of course he does, and he laughs and leans back in.

"Valentine's Day has been over for a while," he whispers against Steve's lips.

"You did that on purpose," Steve accuses after another kiss, smiling as he says it.

"I wouldn't do that to you, baby," Billy says. Steve pulls back to look at him.

"Because you love me," Steve says, thrilled by the words.

"Because I love you," Billy agrees, and then Steve lunges at him and they're too busy to do much more talking.

The law firm kicks ass at trial the following week, and Billy gets his job offer, and Steve makes his favorite meal again to celebrate. The next morning, Steve wakes up to mimosas and bacon and waffles with a frankly concerning amount of whipped cream. They spend most of the rest of that weekend in bed.

V

"I have to go," Billy says as he knots his tie. "Don't forget that we have that work thing at six tonight."

"Ugh," Steve grouses, still only half-awake. "Who schedules a work party on Valentine's Day?" Billy shrugs.

"It's not a real holiday, baby. We have to leave around 5:30 to give ourselves time to find parking, ok?" Billy seems nervous, which means this event is a big deal. He crosses the room to kiss Steve goodbye.

"I'll be ready," Steve promises. He leans up for the kiss and then reaches for the mug of coffee Billy has placed on his bedside table. "Have a good day!" he calls out as Billy heads for the front door.

"You too, baby!" he hears, and then the front door opens and closes. Steve stares at the tux hanging from the door of his closet. Who schedules a black-tie work event on a Wednesday? he wonders, but it's a fleeting thought. He reluctantly drags himself out of bed to get ready for work.

By 5:30 Steve is dressed and ready to go, hair looking particularly good, if he does say so himself. He leaves the bathroom and gets a look at Billy, who is also in a tux. He smiles appreciatively.

"Damn, B. You're just as gorgeous as the day I met you."

"I could say the same for you, pretty boy." They grin at each other, and then Billy closes the distance between them to run his hands up Steve's sides. He pulls Steve into a kiss, a slow, unhurried press of his lips. When he pulls back, he reaches up out of habit to tuck Steve's hair away from his face, but he stops himself before he touches it. "Don't want to mess up your party hair," he says, smiling. Then his eyes darken and his smile goes a little predatory. "Well," he corrects himself, "not yet, anyway." Steve shakes his head, smiling.

They're halfway to the restaurant--a fancy steakhouse that the law firm has apparently rented out for the evening--when Billy takes a wrong turn. Steve glances over, but Billy seems unconcerned. He takes a few more turns before Steve starts to recognize the route.

"Aren't we going to be late to the party?" Steve asks tentatively, not sure what's going on here. Billy grins back at him, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

"We've got time. I wanted to make a stop first." Steve gets out of the car, bemused, when Billy parks in a familiar lot. He follows Billy along a short trail to an overlook with a weathered wooden bench. The view out over the ocean is a familiar one--they come out here often in the evenings or on weekends to sit with snacks or coffee. Sometimes they talk, and sometimes they sit in silence, just letting the sound of the ocean smooth over sharp edges and frayed tempers. Steve wonders if Billy is having one of those kinds of days. He seems fine, but that isn't always a reliable indicator with Billy.

They stand there for a moment, watching the sun sink toward the horizon, and Steve feels himself starting to take deeper breaths. The sound of the ocean, the warmth of Billy's shoulder against his, the smell of salt in the air--it's all familiar and beloved and soothing.

And then all thoughts of calm desert Steve entirely because Billy drops to one knee next to him. Steve looks over, confused for a split second, and then immediately overwhelmed because Billy doesn't have his sunglasses on anymore, and his eyes are big and so goddamn blue and full of affection and hope and a little bit of fear, and he's reaching for his jacket pocket and taking out a box. Steve tries to remember how to breathe.

"Baby," Billy says, and his voice wobbles a little and his hands are shaking just a tiny bit and it is so incredibly endearing that Steve feels his heart overflow. He's pretty sure he's crying already. Billy clears his throat and tries again. "I've never been the best with words," he says, steadier this time, "but I hope you know by now that I can't imagine my life without you. I love your big heart and your terrible taste in music and your ridiculous, beautiful face. I want to bring you coffee every morning and trip over your goddamn sweats because you never manage to actually get them into the hamper." Steve laughs a little through his tears, swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his tux. Billy's expression goes soft and serious. "I want to make you breakfast, and eat your incredible dinners, and fall asleep next you, and wake up next to you, and know that I can come home to you at the end of a bad day and you'll make it better just by being there. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Steve Harrington." Billy opens the box to reveal a simple gold band. "Say you'll marry me?" Steve hauls him to his feet and into a kiss, so happy he can hardly contain it. He cups Billy's face in his palms when he finally pulls back.

"Of course I'll marry you, you romantic bastard," he whispers as Billy takes his left hand to slide the ring onto his finger, and then they're kissing again. A few moments later, a thought occurs to Steve. "Did you just propose to me on Valentine's Day? On purpose?" he asks, a little incredulous.

"You know what?" Billy says, as though it's just occurring to him, "I think I did."

"But you hate Valentine's Day," Steve murmurs in his ear, amused. Billy pulls back far enough to make eye contact with Steve.

"I used to," Billy says, unable to suppress his smile.

"And then what happened?" Steve asks, smiling back.

"Then I met this boy and he taught me that love means showing the most important people in your life that they matter. Or whatever," he adds with a grin. "And it can be real, even if you do it on a pretend holiday invented by greeting card companies." Steve is a little surprised that Billy even remembers that conversation.

"Really?" he asks softly, touched. Billy huffs a laugh.

"Steve, I've had a Valentine's Day card from you on my fridge for years. In multiple apartments. A card that you made for me before we ever even got together, by the way."

"Yeah, but you were already into me by then," Steve teases.

"I was into you pretty much the first time I saw you," Billy says, and Steve knows that, has known that for a while, but he is still definitely crying again. He tucks his face into the side of Billy's neck. He's never been happier. They stay there for a while, just breathing and listening to the waves in the distance.

"We're definitely going to be late to your work party now," Steve finally says.

"About that..." Billy starts to say, and Steve pulls back to look at his face. Billy is grinning at him, clearly pleased with himself. "It's actually more of an engagement party? I rented out the restaurant, and everyone flew out for it." Steve is speechless, and then he's kissing Billy again.

"I guess it's a good thing I said yes," Steve murmurs eventually. Billy snorts.

"Oh, like you were ever gonna get a better offer."

"How dare you?" Steve says with mock outrage. "I'm an incredible cook and I look like this." He gestures toward himself. "I'm a fucking catch."

"Counterpoint," Billy says, grinning. "I make the best breakfast and I look like this." He gestures in the general direction of his abs. He may not be quite as cut as he was back in high school--Steve really is an incredible cook--but Billy still spends enough time in the gym to make damn sure that he looks good.

"That's true," Steve says, nodding thoughtfully. "And you did propose to me on Valentine's Day. You're a total sap. It's adorable."

"You take that back," Billy demands, horrified. "I've never done anything adorable in my life."

"That's not true at all. You're the absolute cutest, B."

"Cutest? Oh my God, I take it back. I'm un-proposing," Billy says, reaching for Steve's hand. Steve snatches it away.

"Nope, too late, you're stuck with me forever," he says, drawing out the last word. It’s a joke, Billy knows it is, but he also hears the tiniest thread of anxiety in Steve’s tone. Billy looks at him for a moment.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby," he says quietly, smiling as he pulls Steve in close to kiss him.

They are absolutely late to their own engagement party, and Steve's perfect party hair is a distant memory by the time they finally arrive. They receive an enthusiastic, slightly tipsy round of applause from all of the people who matter the most to them when they walk into the restaurant. It's the best Valentine's Day either one of them has ever had.

[ickle-ronniekins]

luck of the irish

request from @stars-shaped-clouds: Hi! If your requests are still open I would like to request for Fred Weasley! :D maybe meeting Reader the first time and fred is all like it’s like love at first sight thing? I really love your writing!!!!

request from @keoghans: Hi! I love your work sm!!!! I wanted to ask for a Fred one, where the reader is a Beater in the World Cup finals, and is a friend of Oliver Wood, and he’s all giddy looking at her play and stutters a lot when they meet and yeah, idk, flustered, stuttering Fred gets me hahah thank you love! ♥️♥️♥️

pairing: fred x reader

word count: 2.9k

A/N: yo what the FUCK i loved these requests—also i know wood doesn’t play for ireland but let’s just ~pretend~ and also i knoooow that in gof they don’t go home for the christmas holidays because of the yule ball but again let’s just ~pretend~ and go weak for flustered, head over heels, desperately adorable fred and his love and first sight with a professional irish quidditch player

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @bobduncanlover @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added darlings!!!

Fred finds himself rather excited to get back to school. Not for the work, of course, but the mischief! He and George had also heard through the grapevine that this year is supposed to be more exciting, more chaotic—something will be happening, but what, he doesn’t know. He just has to sit tight and wait until the feast, where Dumbledore will undoubtedly give them a clue as to what’s about to happen. Fred can hardly handle the wait.

But when Fred ends up at the Quidditch World Cup with his father, siblings, and friends before he heads off to Hogwarts for his sixth year, the last thing he expects is to meet someone who makes him want to push off school for as long as he possibly can. He’s expecting the laughs and teasing and Butterbeer and Quidditch puns and stories shared with old comrades. Which, he supposes, he is getting, but also with something else, too. His twin makes sure to add in some extra teasing.

Fred’s skimming the campsite for a familiar face, and he finds himself becoming aggravated when he can’t spot who he’s searching for.

“Where the bloody hell is Wood?” Fred asks, searching desperately through the very large crowd gathered outside their tent. “I thought you said we’d be seeing him before the match?”

“I did,” George tells his twin, also skimming the sea of people in front of them. His voice gets lost in the crowd, “Could’ve sworn he told me so..”

Suddenly, Harry’s voice echoes loudly. “Oliver! Good to see you!”

George and Harry are giddy at the sight of Oliver Wood, their former Quidditch teammate and captain. The tall, lanky bloke stands outside of their tent, pulling both men into tight embraces. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen him, in fact.

It’s when he begins blabbering on about the Quidditch World Cup that Fred notices his arrival.

“Mate! Finally! How are things?” Fred says, seizing his hand for a firm shake. “Thanks again for setting this up,”

“Not a problem at all, glad you lot could join! Been ages since we’ve seen one another,” Wood beams, now offering greetings to Ron, Ginny, and Hermione respectively. Turning back toward the twins and Harry, he asks, “How was your travel? Okay? No hiccups?”

“Not a one,” George says brightly.

“Good,” Wood says, sticking his hands inside his pockets. “Really glad you guys could make it—I know it’s mad as a hatter, here, but I reckon that’s what makes it more exciting.”

Harry laughs at this and offers, “Going to be really wicked watching you play professional, you know.”

But Fred is no longer listening to the conversation in front of him; instead, you seem to have caught his attention, and to his surprise, you’re making a b-line right toward him! He feels as though his throat is closing up; it’s not until he realizes that you’re actually headed toward Oliver that he begins to breathe properly again. If you’re not the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—

“Merlin! Wood, we’ve been looking everywhere for you. We’ve got to head to the changing rooms in a bit. Reckon Lynch will want to give us a good chat beforehand.” Both you and Oliver erupt into chuckles, leaving Fred nearly breathless at the light, airy sound of your laugh.

“Who’s this?” Fred asks shyly, watching your eyes sparkling at the sight of all of them.

“Speaking of playing professional—” Wood begins, introducing you to the lot around you, “this here is Y/N. Wicked good Beater, started out just this year for the Irish National Quidditch team.”

Fred suddenly feels his insides constrict; you? A Beater? On a professional Quidditch team? You can’t be more than seventeen years of age, and the smile tugging at the edges of your lips as you shake hands with everyone nearly sends him to the ground in a flustered mess. Suddenly, you take his hand in yours and he feels the electricity almost immediately. He can hardly contain the nerves. He’s starting to believe in this whole ‘love at first sight’ thing—

“Fred and George are Beaters, too,” Wood explains to you, and Fred’s delighted to see an impressed look on your face, “really wicked, they both are. And Harry, here, what a brilliant Seeker.”

George playfully slaps him across the arm. Everyone around begins to laugh when he teases, “Stop it, Oliver, you’re embarrassing us.”

“You can’t be more than sixteen,” Fred says to you without fully registering what’s happening. He’s saying things without thinking. He apologizes, “Sorry—erm—what I mean to say is, you look so young to be playing professional Quidditch. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I—I mean—” he’s finding it hard to now create coherent sentences when all he can hear are annoying snickers from his brothers behind him.

“Color you impressed?” you ask, and he feels his knees go weak. He offers a nervous laugh when you continue, “I’m flattered. Seventeen, actually. But, yeah, I reckon I’ve just gotten really lucky for my age.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Oliver cuts into the conversation, “you’re brilliant. Just wait’ll you see her play—madhouse, she is.”

You begin to laugh and turn back to him, “Neither one of us will be playing if we’re late—Lynch is looking positively dreadful, reckon we’ll need to go and give the pep talk ourselves?” Wood agrees and picks up his broomstick he’d placed on the ground. You turn back to everyone, “It was nice meeting all of you. See you after the match perhaps?”

“Yeah!” George begins excitedly. To Wood, he says, “Mate, when your team undoubtedly wins, come back here for a drink, eh? It’s the least we could do to thank you.”

The nerves are bubbling up inside Fred; he’s hoping Wood will agree and bring you along. Something tells him he’s not quite finished talking with you yet.

Wood looks at you and both of you shake your heads. “Alright, then! We’ll see you in a few hours time!”

Shouts of luck echo from everyone in the group, including some people nearby in surrounding tents. Can’t this evening last forever? The thoughts of Hogwarts, and whatever’s planned for this year, have seemingly left Fred’s mind, now that you’re here. Before you leave with Wood, he says to you, “Good luck! But from what Wood says, it doesn’t sound like you’ll need it.”

You grin broadly at him. “Thanks, Fred. Keep your fingers crossed for me, though. We still need all the luck we can get if we’re going to crush Bulgaria.”

From behind George and Ron, Wood yells with delight, “We’ve got the luck of the Irish—it’s all we need!”

— -

The match is underway, and Ireland is absolutely crushing Bulgaria. When he flies close to them, Fred’s excited to see a very large grin plastered across Oliver’s face. But there’s still a long while to go, and plus—the Snitch is nowhere to be found.

But why is it, Fred thinks to himself, is he feeling so nervous? Perhaps it’s the heights. He’s standing with his family up near the top of the pitch, what looks like millions of rows of spectators beneath them. Are they in the highest one? He’s too nervous to move and find out; he’s nearly rigid.

He realizes, though, that it’s not the height that’s got him feeling jumpy. An incoming bludger is headed straight for the Ireland Chaser hovering right in front of them, and Fred feels as though his entire soul is on fire when you quickly fly past, pummel the Bludger to the other end of the very large pitch (much larger than Hogwarts’), and send a wink his way before heading in the complete opposite direction, nearly vanishing in thin air.

George notices this and laughs. When Ginny and Ron question him on this, he nearly replies, “Just having a laugh,”

“Why?” Ginny and Ron ask together. Ron continues rather anxiously, “You worried Bulgaria’s going to catch the Snitch before Ireland, too? That Krum is absolutely wicked—”

“No,” George laughs again over the crowd, “I’m having a laugh at Fred. Someone here,” he continues, pinching Fred’s cheeks, “is a bit flustered over one of those famous Beaters.”

“Am not.” Fred replies, a twinge of annoyance in his voice. He pulls at his long hair, trying desperately to cover up the cherry red color now flooding his cheeks. George just cocks his head to the side, as if to say, Really, Fred? You’re an awful liar. He can feel his insides tighten at the thought of it. God, you’re brilliant. He wouldn’t mind having you wrapped around him for the rest of the evening after Ireland’s impending win. He finds himself watching you with dazed eyes and a lazy smile, not even paying attention at all to the match in front of him. Instead, he’s counting the times you fly near them and meet his gaze. Fred swallows thickly and then agrees, albeit begrudgingly, “Fine. So what? She’s gorgeous—”

“—and sweet,”

“and our age!”

“and plays professional Quidditch.”

Fred rolls his eyes at the mocking yet truthful statements coming from his friends. George opts to continue, “It’s no wonder you’re in love, Freddie.”

Ginny squeals, “Putty in her hands, he was!”

“Would you lot shove off?” Fred asks, eyeing Mr. Weasley curiously, thankful to see that he’s deep in conversation with Amos Diggory. “Make fun of me all you want, but for Merlin’s sake, don’t let dad hear you—he’ll absolutely never let me live it down.”

“All the more reason to keep teasing, mate,” Ron tells him, turning toward Harry and Hermione before the three of them erupt into a fit alongside George and Ginny. Again, Fred just rolls his eyes.

But he doesn’t really care what they think. Not now, anyway. Not when you’re hovering near them again and he notices the tight grip you have on your broomstick, the thin line of sweat at your hairline, the dimples in your cheeks when you grin brightly at another goal for Ireland. You turn and glance at them again, wiggling your eyebrows at him before pummeling another bludger straight toward a Bulgarian player, and Fred can’t contain these feelings of both admiration and jealousy bubbling up inside him as his eyes try to follow you all around the pitch. All he can remember is the way your hand felt in his when you introduced yourself just a few hours ago. All he can think of is how bloody adorable you look in those Quidditch goggles and robes. And all that’s flooding through his mind now, as he watches you slam yourself against a Bulgarian Chaser and call out to the other Ireland beater across the pitch, are the grins he keeps eating up each and every time you make so to fly by his seat in the stands.

— -

“Holyhead Harpies, for sure. They’re brilliant!”

“Couldn’t agree more. And Puddlemere United?”

“Merlin, no—don’t tell Wood I’ve said this, but they’re bloody awful. Just like the Falmouth Falcons. How about the Chudley Cannons?”

“My family’s exclusive to the Cannons, actually.”

“Knew I liked you for a reason, Fred.”

He lets a soft laugh escape his lips as he watches you tip your goblet backward and drink hastily the rest of your Butterbeer. Your cheeks are flushed; is it Ireland’s win? The copious amounts of Butterbeer you’ve consumed? The fact that the tent is so bloody warm? Fred doesn’t know, but he gets a sense that it might be something else when you bat your eyelashes at him and bite down on your lip to keep from smiling too much.

He’s feeling much more confident now—nothing a few drinks and slaps on the shoulder from George couldn’t fix! He’s surprised at how.. normal you seem. He’s hungry and desperate to learn more about you in your fleeting time together that he’s not even letting anyone else chat you up for a bit. Not that you mind, really. It’s not like you’re itching to get away from him. Actually, Fred thinks to himself now as he watches you, you might just be inching closer—

“So tell me then, you’ve been a Beater since your first year at Hogwarts, yes?” you ask, and Fred nods his head, eager to hear more, “you and George. What about the other two?” you nod in the direction of Ron and Ginny, who are animatedly chatting up Oliver Wood now. “Your other siblings don’t play?”

“Not those two,” Fred says, grinning a bit, “They’ll join us for little games we have at home, but not for school. Although, come to think of it, Ginny’s kind of brilliant actually—maybe she’ll play for Hogwarts one day..” he thinks fondly on memories of the last summer when they’d finally let Ginny join in on some of their matches.

“And what about you?” you ask, the glittering of your eyes very evident in the moonlight poking through the tent, “plans for after school? Pranks, maybe? Professional Quidditch, perhaps?” you tease him a bit, nudging him in the ribs.

Fred beams again and sips his drink slowly. He absolutely loves that you want to know more about him. “You joking? Follow you after that brilliant match? I reckon you’d have quite a laugh.” Which you do. You laugh at this, and he’s positively melting into the ground beneath him, itching to hear your laugh more and more. “George and I have some.. plans up our sleeves. Creating mischief at school isn’t just a hobby, you know.”

“No?” you inquire, sipping again on another Butterbeer, “is there such a thing as ‘professional pranksters’?”

“If there is, that’s exactly what George and I are.”

The two of you fall into a fit of laughter, grabbing the attention of the other group nearby. George wiggles his eyebrows at Fred, who feels the nerves bubbling up inside him again and shakes his head at his twin, before turning back toward you.

“So tell me,” Fred begins again, soaking up as much information as he can before the night’s end, “you’ve won. You’ve won the bloody Quidditch World Cup—” the both of you giggle lightly, and he watches as you nervously pull at your hair and bite down on your lip again, “—what’re your plans now? School, holidays?”

“I’m going back home tomorrow, to visit with my family,” you reply, and Fred digests this. “My parents are here tonight, but they’re off somewhere with my aunt and uncle—tomorrow’s when I get to go and see my extended family.”

Fred nods, taking this in. He just has to ask; it won’t sound strange, will it? “Yeah? And where’s home?”

“Ottery St. Catchpole,” you tell him, twirling the Butterbeer in your hands, and there’s a catch in Fred’s throat at your words, “right in Devon, if you’re familiar?”

“You’re kidding,” he replies breathlessly, and he sees you waiting with bated breath for his next words, “that’s where we are. How’ve we never run into one another in the village? We live just across the large hill!”

You sit back, surprised, and Fred’s happy to see an enormous smile on your face. You open your mouth to speak, but just then, Wood calls to you from the entrance of the tent, noting that Ireland’s captains would like to have a quick word before reuniting the players with their families.

Fred feels his insides tighten; he doesn’t want the night to be over, and he finds himself clutching his goblet rather tightly. He glances at his watch; Merlin, it’s nearly one am! How long had you two been at this? He peers at you, the rosy color of your cheeks still evident in the moonlight, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same way. When you turn back toward him and glance at him with sullen eyes and a weak smile, he realizes you just might be. You tell him, “I’m sorry the night has to end.”

“Me, too.” he admits, continuing to twirl his Butterbeer in his hands, “I’ve had fun.”

“Me, too.” you echo him, standing up from your seat and stretching in your Quidditch robes. Fred’s feeling rather woebegone at your impending departure, but suddenly he feels his spirits lift a bit.

“Can I write you?”

You peer at him with admiration in your eyes. A large grin spreads across your face. “Absolutely. Is that a promise?” you wink.

He laughs cheekily and hope he doesn’t sound as positively giddy as he feels, “It’s definitely a promise.”

He watches as you look around the tent and pull at your robes. Then you ask him, “Could I maybe.. maybe see you for Christmas?”

He’s beaming again; he feels that fire coursing through his veins once again. He stumbles over his words and clears his throat, “Y-yeah—that sounds great. I’d like that.”

You grin and place a hand on his arm. “Good.” And much to his surprise, you lean in and place a gentle kiss upon his cheek before squeezing his arm once again and making your way to bid farewell to everyone else, and then toward the entrance of the tent. Once more, you turn back to him, raise a hand in farewell, and nearly vanish into thin air.

Fred doesn’t even realize that George and Wood are standing beside him; he’s merely feeling the electricity buzz through him at this very moment, and is already beginning to count down the days until the Christmas holidays. When George pokes him in the ribs and interrupts his thoughts, he’s brought back to reality and notices everyone watching him now—each of them winking and chuckling lightly at this new relationship he’s seemed to have sparked. He can feel a chill wash over him when Wood leans in and says to him before leaving,

“I’m telling you—it’s the luck of the Irish, mate.”

reblogs & feedback are much appreciated lovelies, thank you for reading and requesting x

[pikemoreno]

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter I: Coffee Cures All Ills

a/n: Here it is folks! The first part of a Marcus fic heavily inspired by the Netflix rom-com Set It Up. 

It’s more structurally and conceptually inspired and not an exact scene-for-scene remake because a) I was interested in the idea of this not even really being an AU. This is extremely canon-compliant and you’ll see more of that as we continue on. 😏And b) because I had lots of ideas that spun off from watching Set It Up that I just liked better for the purpose of this fic. So that’s what you can expect. It’s gonna be cheesy and fun and great.

The first couple of chapters are a lot of, well, set up (which has been infuriating). But we’ll get into the meat of it soon. My outline says so.

As a side note, a lot of the gifs I’m going to be using are from the movie, but these are not my face claims for any of the characters. I’m using them simply for the ~vibe~ of the chapter. Reader is not a small white girl... Or she might be. She is you. Or whatever OC you’d like her to be. Period. 

And that’s it. Let’s go, I guess.

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2k (probably one of the shortest chapters we’re gonna see out of the 14-ish lolz)

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love. 

He’d seen what it had done to him in failed relationships including everything up to a failed marriage. Some would argue that it wasn’t love then, that love doesn’t fail, so it couldn’t have been. But he disagreed. He knows it when it hits. It comes on you like lightning, bright and fast. You accept it, letting it run through your veins, and risk suffering a fatal blow to your heart. And it most definitely can fatally fail. It can cause joy and pain in equal measure. He’d already been struck so painfully once, the blow of the electricity going straight to his heart. He was beginning to hope to the high heavens that he wouldn’t be so unlucky as to be struck a second time, just in case it should reach his heart so painfully once more.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He felt that especially strongly as he watched Adrian go through his recent break-up. He felt for his fellow agent, he really did. Adrian was completely convinced Sam was the one, sold to the point of going ring shopping soon. But one brief mention of an engagement sent Sam running for the hills. He’d been moping around the office for a couple of weeks now and, as much as Marcus understood the pain, he was already really looking forward to Adrian’s rebound or some similar distraction. He was needing his friend’s signature fire back right about now, not to mention his focus. His work had gotten sloppy in this mourning period. He was constantly distracted. Marcus was dreading getting him on this case today, but maybe it was just the push he needed. He hoped. He stepped up to Adrian’s desk, watching the glazed over look in his eye.

“Hey, Adrian, do you mind getting a head start on this? I’d really like you to be our head man on--” he slid the file onto his desk, but was cut short by Adrian’s response. A response that had nothing to do with anything Marcus had just said.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he muttered, hands supporting his chin, elbows on his desk. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh that he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not gonna die alone,” he played along once again, rubbing his temple.

“Maybe I’ll go be a monk. They never have to worry about this shit.”

“An honorable profession.”

“Yeah.” Adrian blinked out of his dream-like state. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marcus nodded rigidly. “Sorry, Pike.” He opened the file, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’ll get on this.”

“You look exhausted,”

“I am,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“I’m making a break room run to get coffee, you want one?”

“Please.” Marcus nodded his understanding and made his way down the hall to the break room. He doubted a case and a coffee could get his friend back on track, but he could hope, right?

***

If you had to listen through one more of Wendy’s mood swings, you might just scream. You love the girl, you really do. She’s your friend and the best boss you could’ve asked for, but Lord Almighty, had she been in rare form. Some days she was perfectly fine, strutting around like she didn’t care that her asshole boyfriend Daniel gave her an ultimatum instead of a ring on their last anniversary. Other days would see her doing a complete 180, shutting herself in her office and weeping into suspect files. Your least favorite days, though, were days where the heartbreak made her angry, where thinking about Daniel saying “It’s me or your job” made her border-line vengeful. But, unfortunately for you and the rest of the team, he wasn’t around to take the beating.

You couldn’t say you entirely understood. The short catalog of even shorter flings that you boasted brought largely apathy rather than heartbreak. You couldn’t say you’d ever been in love like Wendy had been. You’d never felt anything quite that strong-- and thank goodness for that. It wasn’t something you particularly looked forward to, at least, not the way you’d seen it lately. It was an uncontrollable force, dangerous and all-consuming. You liked control, liked being in your right mind. If love was to take up it's unfortunate residence, you could only hope it was for someone worth losing your mind over. You hadn’t seen anyone of the sort so far. 

Unfortunately, it was already too late for Wendy Harrod. The already intimidating head of the Jewelry & Gem Theft Program in Texas was in rare form. You watched as an HR intern ran from her office in near tears. Poor Randy. Her sharp “come in” in response to your knock on her door made you wince.

“Harrod, I have the results of that house search you requested if you--”

“No, no! Absolutely not, I cannot handle this right now,” she was absolutely raging, leaving you grasping at straws for a response. 

“I-- Uh-- Of course. I’ll just leave it right here whenever--” you placed it gently on the end table by the door before being interrupted again.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned out before flopping into her desk chair, the red leather creaking as she let sit spin her around once, “I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” There was your Wendy.

“Just a little.”

“Sorry, sorry. Bring that here please.” 

“What can I do for you? As your friend, I mean. You--” you weighed your words carefully as you hand her the report, “You haven’t quite been yourself since…” you stopped that thought, “Well, lately.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I need,” she began to skim the report before looking back up with you with a tight lipped smile, “Maybe a coffee? For the more immediate problems anyway.” You laughed.

“Now that I can do. I’m headed there now. Break room coffee ok?”

“That’d be perfect.”

“The usual?”

“The usual.” She yelled after you as you walk down the hall, “You’re an angel!”

She wasn’t gonna be saying that when you came back without coffee. 

The sign on the coffee pot reading “out of coffee” was going to seriously ruin your reputation and Wendy’s sensitive mood. You ran through the options: you couldn’t leave to get her a Starbucks; there were some bottled iced coffees in the fridge, but Wendy hated them; you could wait for someone to make a run at lunch and pass on the order, but this was too urgent. Then it hit you. Everyone knew the sixth floor had the better coffee stock anyway. The art freaks loved their fancy stuff. You could always just waltz down a floor and snag two cups from their stash. 5 minutes in and out. No harm done, no questions asked. 

Or so you thought. 

The sixth floor break room was already occupied when you walked in, finding another agent also brewing a morning cup in a single cup coffee maker. 

They really did have everything here: multiple pots, another much fancier looking machine that looked like it might come to life and attack at any moment, recyclable coffee cups, every type of creamer. You name it.

You’d have to sneak over here more often.

You stepped up to the larger coffee pot, rinsing out the carafe before reaching for the container of grounds. Empty. 

They had everything here. Except coffee. 

Was the whole damn building in a coffee famine? You didn’t have time to check.

“No, no, no, no,” you panicked, frantically searching the cabinet for another container. In your peripheral you could see the other agent look at you like you’d grown two heads. You couldn’t be bothered with his judgement, but you met his eyes to ask, maybe a little too frantically. 

“Is that the last of it?” you questioned, eyeing the cup he was brewing.

“Well, yeah, sorry.” It was obvious he meant it, but apologies were not what you were needing right now.

“Shit.” 

“Withdrawals?” he laughed a little at your panicked state, but it wasn’t demeaning. He was genuinely amused, and maybe a little concerned, but it made you narrow your eyes at him all the same. You were not in the mood for the mocking, no matter how light-hearted it may be. No matter how much it was softened by the bright smile next to you.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my boss. My very upset boss who needs just one small ounce of joy in her life right now. The kind of joy that can only come from the fueling of her caffeine addiction, so if I could please just have that cup?” You blinked at him innocently, but his dark brown eyes widened as he shook his head

“What? No. I have a friend who needs this. If I don’t bring him this, he won’t be working for the rest of the day.”

“If I don’t bring my boss a cup of coffee in the next two minutes, I will probably not be working again. Ever. I will be dead. Do you want to be complicit in a murder, Agent--” you glanced at his badge, “Pike? Can you really live with that?”

“You’re awfully dramatic aren’t you?”

“I wish it was an exaggeration.” He inspected your badge then too.

“Jewelry and Gem Theft. Floor 7, right? What brings you down here to steal our coffee?” The argument was pointed, but his demeanor was anything but. He was smiling, enjoying this. A little too much, you seethed. You couldn’t stand around arguing all day.

“We’re out too.”

“Try another floor?”

“Time is of the essence here, Art Squad.” There was no room for addressing him politely now, he was riling you up on purpose. 

“If you didn’t stand here arguing with me you could’ve tried another floor by now, Jewels.”

He must think he’s so clever.

“Please. This is DEFCON 5.”

“You do know DEFCON 5 is the good one, right?”

“You know what I mean. Please.” He looked at you and then the newly brewed cup, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking through the problem.

“Tell you what. I am willing to split this if you are. Maybe it’s enough to fix both of them.” The crease between his eyebrows was deep as he studied your face, “I know Adrian is too out of it to notice he’s getting jipped, not sure about your boss.” You shrugged.

“Wendy will manage. It’s enough to keep her from throwing something at my head next time I walk in.” He dutifully split the coffee between two of the recyclable travel cups and handed one to you. You took it gratefully. 

“I hope this keeps you from… Dying? What’s up with that anyway?” You’re not sure what made this person that was essentially a stranger so interested in your life, but something about it feels nice.

“She had a really bad breakup: anniversary, thought it was going to be a proposal, instead it was him being a piss-baby. She’s a little all over the place right now. They’d been together for years and now there’s just… A hole. She doesn’t know how to deal with it.” Pike’s nod in response is emphatic, giving the cup in his hand a little wave.

“Same with him. Terrible breakup. He didn’t see it coming at all. She broke up with him on a voicemail… Then moved. ‘Course it just put him in this crazy funk, though. Doesn’t wanna work or do much of anything. No violence. Yet. But it’s sad to see.” You winced.

“That’s a rough one. Best of luck with him, Art Squad. Thank you. I owe you one. Seriously.”

“You definitely do, Jewels.” His smile is blindingly bright as he jokes. It makes you smile back.

“See you around.”

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