#that the little tug Robin does on his gloves at the end

[saquesha13]

!!Tattoo artist Eddie!!

Steve never imagined himself as a tattoo kind of guy. But back in ‘85 after the mall fire, he ended up getting a small matching tattoo with Robin. Just a simple little ice cream cone on his inner wrist - Robin’s idea really. Something about almost burning to death together in a fire really seemed fitting for matching permeant ink on their skin.

It opened Steve’s eyes, changed his perspective, widened his horizons if you will on the whole idea of a tattoo.

Even just a dumb ass ice cream cone that bystanders see on his wrist, that they probably assume means jack shit but in reality it means the whole world to Steve - is pretty fucking cool.

So, Steve hears about this really talented tattoo artist in Chicago and knew he wanted this guy to do his next piece.

The shop is smaller than Steve expected, smack dead in the center of the city and Steve arrived 30 minuets early to his appointment because he was pretty damn nervous.

This tattoo is not as… innocent as his matching ice cream cone with Robbie’s. It isn’t as meaningful either…

Well, okay, it still has meaning, but only to Steve. He isn’t the kind of guy to get a tattoo just because. Tattoos are expensive first of all, and he doesn’t want his entire body covered in ink. That just isn’t his style. But a peek of a tattoo here and there? Yeah, that’s not bad, that what El would call bitchin’.

“Steve? Eddie is ready for you.” The petite blonde at the front desk smiled, her warm bubbly aurora feeling so oddly displaced in a shop like this, so far from what Steve was expecting.

“Ah, okay, thanks uh…”

“Chrissy.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes before pushing back the black beaded curtain leading to the back room.

“Thank you, Chrissy.” Steve hoped this girl couldn’t see just now nervous he was as he ducked between the beads. He was just starting to let his eyes roam around the gothic decor of the room when the hottest fucking man Steve has ever seen walks in, taking thick chunky rings off his pale fingers and putting them in the pocket of his skin tight black jeans.

Once his rings are safely put away, he tugs the thick dark curls off of his shoulders and tied it up on his head in a knot, some strands poke out framing his face.

“Steve, right?” The sexy man speaks, apparently. His deep voice sounded like honey and pure bliss to Steve’s hears. A smile stretches across his lips making the dimples - of fucking course he has dimples - poke out on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Steve apparently broke at the sight of this man, because seriously who the hell does this guy think he is coming in looking like THAT?! His voice cracked when he tried to speak making his cheeks turn rosey shade of pink and he had to clear his throat before properly speaking.

“U-Uh, yeah, me is Steve. I-I mean, I am Steve.” He would smack his own forehead with his hand if Eddie wasn’t busy holding it, giving him a nice firm handshake. Steve’s face was burning.

Scratch smacking face, Steve wishes he could just bash his head in on the brick decorative wall in the corner. Put him out of his misery. He’s doing a mighty fine job at humiliating himself already.

“This your first time?” Eddie smirked, his voice somehow dropping lower than it was before.

“Huh?” Steve blinked, clearly confused, no lights on in his brain as his eyes darted between Eddie’s huge brown eyes to the tattoo peaking out under the v-neck of his black long sleeve shirt. God he wished he could see what that tattoo actually was, maybe lick it.

“Your first time getting a tattoo.” Eddie clarified, the smirk never leaving his face as he finally let go of Steve’s sweaty palm.

“Oh, no actually. I’ve had - “ Steve cleared his throat again, trying his dammed hardest to chill the fuck down. “Had got another tattoo before this one.”

“So, you’re not a virgin then?” Eddie winked as he slid on his rubber gloves, covering up the black inked tattoos on his broad hands that Steve suddenly wished he looked at before they were gone from his sight. Then he realized what Eddie just said and his head snapped up to the playful look on Eddie’s face.

Shit. Is Eddie actually flirting with him? Is this how Eddie speaks to all of his clients? Or has Steve finally lost his marbles?

“Nope, defiantly not a virgin.” Steve watched Eddie’s movements closely as he finalized setting up his supplies, grabbing the stencil of Steve’s tattoo. “Not a virgin with tattoos either.”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up to meet his own, something gleaming in his dark eyes that makes Steve’s levi’s suddenly feel a little too tight. The grin on Eddie’s face is down right sinful. “Well, Steve, as long as the sketch looks good to you and you are still good with the placement, we can get started.”

Steve leans over and looks down at Eddie’s sketch of what he had requested sitting in Eddie’s gloved hands. Just looking at the two words, at the way Eddie wrote the font knowing it was his work that will be forever on Steve’s body has Steve’s blush refusing to go away.

“Uh, cool. Okay. Yeah it looks good, really good.” Steve had to lean over Eddie’s shoulder to fully see the entire page, not that it was really necessary.

“Lay down on the bed, on your stomach.” Eddie gestured with his chin to the left, where the tattooing bed was. “Make sure you get those jeans off first,” Eddie huffed out a laugh as Steve was about to settle down on his belly, his face turning beat red in embarrassment feeling idiotic.

“You do want your ass tattooed still, right?” Eddie asked, his voice smug at the flustered look on Steve’s face.

“Well, yeah. Obviously. That is why I am here.” Steve scoffed, wondering why the hell he is blushing like a teenage girl in this sexy ass man’s presence. Usually Steve is the one making people blush, not the other way around.

“I don’t usually undress my clients… but I would for you.” Eddie nibbled on his bottom lip, making damn sure that Steve’s face stayed tomato red as Steve swore he saw Eddie look at him from head to toe.

He had to take a deep breath to get his damn body to cooperate downstairs before unbuttoning his jeans and tugging down his fly so he can scoot the denim and his grey briefs down over the curve of his ass leaving them just barley covering his junk in the front and staying on his legs.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything as he climbed on the bed on his stomach, not trusting his voice whatsoever as his eyes said more than enough, keeping them planted on Eddie’s.

“This good?” He rested his chin on his hands, his entire bare ass out in the open, wondering why the hell Jonathan Byers failed to mention how damn hot his favorite tattoo artist was.

Eddie for once seemed a little lost for words. He doesn’t stay in the room when his clients undress, it’s unprofessional. He never ever offers to take their clothes off for them either. But for some reason his feet stopped working the second Steve’s fingers went to unbutton his jeans.

“Absolutely perfect, pretty boy.” Eddie damn near purred, wondering how he lucked out, to be the one to tattoo this angels ass. Getting fucking payed to touch his ass. To tattoo the words Bite Me on his juicy round cheeks.

It isn’t Eddie’s first rodeo tattooing someone’s butt cheeks. He’s done almost every body part at this point in his tattooing career. But fuck, no client has ever affected him, not like this.

“Skins sensitive here.” Eddie licked his lips as he stepped close to the bed, wishing he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could really feel Steve as he ran his fingers over the exposed skin before putting the shaving cream along his ass, shaving the light colored peach fuzz right off his literal peach. “Need numbing cream, sweetheart?”

“No. Don’t need numbing cream. Wanna feel it.” Steve hummed, looking over his shoulder at Eddie. Steve’s red face has faded to pink, finally calming down a bit trying to sit still so he isn’t wiggling his ass in Eddie’s face - not that he thinks Eddie would really mind too much if he did.

Eddie muttered something under his breath, his hands stilling over his ass from where he was wiping the shaving cream away with surprisingly soft hands.

It’s funny, Steve came in set on only getting one tattoo. But as he laid here on the bed, the tattoo gun buzzing as the needles push against his ass, all he can think about is coming back, getting more ink on his body, all over his tan skin as an excuse to come back and see Eddie.

To come back and get Eddie’s hands on him.

But when his appointment was over - much sooner than Steve would have liked - turns out he didn’t need to come back here.

Because Eddie invited him to go home with him.

[familyvideostevie]

Hiiii--can you do a extra where bee girl and Steve go to an amusement park in November or something? Absolutely loved the fic

now that it's november i can do this one! hope you enjoy :) thank you for reading! this takes place immediately post-au. bee girl, steve, and their friends go to an amusement park 0.8k, fluff, a no good at waiting one-shot | au masterlist ___

The news that you'd be staying in Hawkins is met with sheer elation from everyone. Jonathan calls Nancy as soon as he hears and she plans a trip back almost immediately. Eddie and Robin make a list of about 50 things for you to do together before the end of the year from sledding to ice skating to skinny dipping. And the gaggle of teens who you've become so fond of is quick to claim you for some hangouts of your own.

And Steve? Well, Steve is just glad you're still here. And shows your -- with kisses and jokes and promises of dates to come. Though he's a little put out that the first actual plan you get to make since your big love confession at the last market is...taking the kids to an amusement park halfway across the state. He grumbles and moans at how you're going to have to take two cars, half of the group in Eddie's clunky van and half the BMW Steve never drives anymore.

But you know him well enough to know that he's excited. Steve Harrington, former popular boy-turned-farmhand is excited about an amusement park. he makes you love him more every day.

As soon as you pull into the parking lot, Eddie's van not far behind, your trio of Max, Lucas, and Dustin jump out and stretch their legs. El, Will, Mike, Robin, and Eddie haul themselves to the pavement. Everyone is practically bouncing with anticipation.

"Listen up," Steve says, hands on his hips. "If you're not back at the gates by 5 we're leaving you here. It's an hour and a half back to Hawkins, don't forget!"

"Whatever, mom," one of them says, you can't even tell who. It might be Robin. Without further ceremony they all dash for the gates, pocket money in hand for tickets.

You gently grab Steve's wrist to check his watch. 12 pm. "Plenty of time for them to tire themselves out," you tell him. He snorts.

"I don't think that's possible, actually." He interlaces your fingers. It's a cold day, almost too cold for this outing, but you made sure to bring gloves and a hat and convinced the kids to do the same. You hope that they sell hot drinks in the park.

"Come on guys," Robin calls. "I want to see Steve throw up after that rollercoaster."

Steve does not throw up after the inverted coaster but Eddie does. You spy Max and Lucas laughing in line for the bumper cars and El and Dustin tugging Mike for another ride on something that seems like it goes very fast. Robin buys the biggest bag of popcorn she can find and refuses to go on anything that twists more than once.

It's a wonderful day. Steve laughs more than you've heard him laugh since Halloween -- which is your fault, of course, but you don't linger on that -- and his hand stays in yours the whole time. Especially on the rides.

You ditch Eddie and Robin after a few hours as they go on the Ferris Wheel like children in favor of getting some of the hot cider you were hoping for.

"Are you having fun?" Steve asks you. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright from the adrenaline of the ride you just got off.

"Yes," you tell him. "Loads of fun." He wrinkles his nose and takes a sip of the cider you're sharing. It makes you think of your first kiss. He looks so happy, so content, that you have to kiss him again, right now. Just a quick peck on the cheek, suitable for a public place full of children and your own shyness at this growing love between you.

He pouts. "C'mon," he says. "That wasn't a real kiss."

"Oh, I think it was real enough, Steve," you scoff. You sling a leg over his knee where you're sitting on a bench and knock your shoulders together.

"Come here," he says, taking the cardboard cup from you gently. "Please? Honey?" He drags out the y of your nickname. You roll your eyes but lean in. His warm hand cups your cheek gently and he presses his lips to yours just like that night by the bonfire. Except this time it feels like a promise of more kisses to come, of the happiness and love he feels, of all the good days ahead of you.

"If we go on the Ferris wheel will you let me french you at the top?" he says once he pulls away. You burst out laughing and flick his ear before standing.

"Only one way to find out," you say as you fight a cheek-splitting grin. Steve grins back.

[liquid-luck-00]

Connections 9

Chapter 9

this is based on @thepeacetea daminette soulmate au

Masterlist *** First *** Previous *** Next

Warning ⚠️ Character death

~~~~~~~~~~

Mari always thought her soul bond was curious. She never heard or activated the bond on purpose. She doubted her soulmate did either, because of what Bruce had told her about the league of Assassins. But everything seemed just off. Apart from that one switch she never had contact again. The only thing she has to gleam of her soulmate are the abilities she learned through him. She settled into bed after biding her papa goodnight.

That might not be a bad thing. As soon as that thought crossed her mind was she pulled again, but this was different.

---

Time seemed frozen for Damian.

His mother came for him again. She brought an army and him, an older version a clone of himself. She brought his clone Heretic, who was pulling the sword from Damian's chest.

I lost, he thought as the sword fell from his hand.

Father, Batman, rushed towards him when two orbs of light circled above him, one red and one green.

The red light morphed into a girl with a high ponytail and a red mask covered her eyes, her eyes emanated a red light. She was dressed in a basic suit that resembled a cross of Nightwing and Red Robin's uniforms, just all red with black spots, gloves, and boots.

The green orb turned into a boy a short cloak covered his torso, the hood covered his head and face, two cat ears were part of the hood, his eyes were glowing green. A tail flicked around under the armor set around his waist.

The girl looked at him now in his father's arms.

"No!" she yelled everything fell silent to him as he watched about a dozen more orbs appeared each forming a figure in either red or green. All except the first two moved and quickly dispatched the clone, the army of assassins, and pushed mother back.

His vision faded to black.

He could no longer feel his father's arms under him.

---

Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin were now around Batman and the fallen Robin. The past holders of the miraculous formed a ring around them, linking hands. They moved them all to the Bat-cave.

"Come back little one." Hippolyta, if she remembers what Tikki told her, cupped her face as she faded away.

"Tikki," she whispered out.

"What's wrong?" the little goddess rubbed her eyes.

"I... We... Cave... Now." She managed. She transformed and swung through Gotham unnoticed until she reached the cave under the manor.

The past holders and her cat were still there. She dropped her transformation and ran to her extended family.

"Pixie how?" Jason had taken off his helmet and hugged her.

"You were there weren't you." Tim stated, so she nodded confirming his theory.

“He is neither alive nor dead he is in a plane between the two." A cat, Hei Mao, dressed in a long sleeved black gi, armor plates on his right upper arm and a cat mask on top of his head, eyes like the other cat apparitions were glowing green a black domino mask covered his eyes.

"How is that possible?" Bruce coaxed himself to whisper, cowl down and holding back tears.

"He is your bonded. You are tethering and maintaining his soul whole." A ladybug in knightly armor, red glowing eyes like all the other ladybugs spoke, Joan of Arc.

"My bonded," Marinette breathed under her breath.

"The magic which flows through your veins flows through him. He is your..." the only male ladybug, a red feathered headdress and red cape, red warrior paint covered his eyes and stained his hands, Micazoyolin, added only to be interrupted by Dick.

"Soul mate." Dick gasped from next to her.

"It is possible to revive him." a woman in a loose black dress and a Jaguar patterned cape with green under the cape. A black Jaguar headdress with long green feathers sat on her head green warrior paint on her face and hands, Ocelome, drawled looking between Damian's lifeless body and the green soul of her cat. "By using the waters of the Lazarus."

A gasp was heard from the bats and birds in the cave, Mari flinched further into her big brother Jay. Mari began to sag from exhaustion and the visages of the past holders began to flicker.

"Perhaps this conversation is best held elsewhere," Hippolyta broke the silence. "I, Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons, invite all of you to Themiscyra. Until we meet in the flesh my child."

Two by two each pair of ladybugs and their cats disappeared, all but the solitary cat, her cat, remained. Everything was still and silent within the cave. No one knowing how to proceed, so they stayed as they were.

None of them could tell you how long they stayed like that, but a new voice started.

"Bruce care to explain why my mother told me to bring all of you to Themiscyra." Wonder Woman appeared on the Bat-computer. "By Zeus. The apparition of the cat. Do you know what this means?" Bruce’s back was to the computer, Damian’s body still in his arms protected by his cape from Wonder Woman’s sight.

"Yes we do. Come by around noon everything should be sorted by then." Bruce brought himself to say, Tim ending the call after a nod from Wonder Woman.

"Come on pixie let's get you home before the sun rises." Jason put on his helmet. She nodded, transformed , and let Jason pick her up as they left the cave.

Jay-Jay stopped a few blocks away, she moved and clung on his back like a baby koala. As Red Hood swung and ran across the roof tops. He tucked in his little sister and left.

---

One moment he was dying in his father's arms. No he did die in his father's arms. But what was odd was the tug after a moment in the darkness.

The next he was standing in the Bat-cave next to his father and his body. The first girl in red was gone, but the others were here still. About 10 minutes later a red figure of a girl swings into the cave. If he could move or speak he would have. Or maybe not. The figure was engulfed in pink light and there stood Marinette Stone. She ran into a hug from Todd.

"Pixie how?"

"You were there weren't you." Drake stated, Marinette must have understood the statement as she nodded her head. It was silent until one of the green and black figures spoke.

"He is neither alive nor dead he is in a plane between the two." Hei Mao, the other voice in his mind supplied.

How am I not dead?!

He could still not move or speak so he stood and listened.

"How is that possible?" he heard his Father.

"He is your bonded. You are tethering and maintaining his soul whole." Joan of Arc, the voice again supplied.

"My bonded," Marinette, the voice supplied but now he placed it, the voice is Marinette.

"The magic which flows through your veins flows through him. He is your..." the only man in red, Micazoyolin, Marinette corrected his thought.

"Soul mate." Grayson shrieked.

"It is possible to revive him." Ocelome, she supplied and he took the intonation, without our analyzing now. "By using the waters of the Lazarus."

He heard his family suck in a breath and seem to become stone still, Marinette flinched further into Todd who was hugging and seemingly guarding her.

"Perhaps this conversation is best held elsewhere," Hippolyta broke the silence. "I, Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons, invite all of you to Themiscyra. Until we meet in the flesh my child."

Two by two each pair of ladybugs and their cats disappeared, all abut him. He still could not move, he could not speak either, but his mind raced.

I am dead.

Actually I am apparently not alive or dead.

My best friend is my soulmate.

My soulmate does not hate me.

She knows. She knows me. She knows my aggravating family.

She is stuck with us, with me.

Marinette is my best friend who happens to be my soulmate.

His thoughts would have continued had it not been for the voice coming from the Bat-computer.

"Bruce care to explain why my mother told me to bring all of you to Themyscira." Wonder Woman, "By Zeus. The apparition of the cat. Do you know what this means?"

"Yes we do. Come by around noon everything should be sorted by then."Father spoke his back to the screen shielding his body from vein.

"Come on pixie let's get you home before the sun rises." Todd finally spoke taking Marinette home.

Father finally stood, for a moment he looked at him and then his body before moving to place his body in a portable cyro-chamber in the Bat-plane.

Then the darkness returned.

---

The next morning she woke up with a resolve that everything would turn out fine.

Okay sure I just found out my best friend is my soulmate. the was killed by his clone, but he is in a state of limbo. Okay this was a lot but this is not the end of the story.

So as she, her papa, and Penny were having breakfast a knock sounded at the door.

"I'll get it." Penny excused herself. "Tim what a surprise come in." Tim was promptly sat at the table a mug of coffee and pancakes were placed in front of him.

"What brings you here so early mate?" Papa chuckled after watching Tim chug the coffee.

"Well, we were planning on a family trip for the week but..." he started. "B locked himself in his office and Damian won't budge, so" he looked at Jagged. "We were hoping that we could steal little bean for the week since both of them can't say no to her." he rushed barely stopping to breathe.

"Whatcha say little rock star," Papa turned to her smiling, "want to spend the week with your brothers?"

"Yes." She jumped up and hugged her dad and ran to her room to pack. Tim-Tam joined her a minute later as he asked Diana about the climate of the island.

"Why can't we go too, Lucky Penny?" Mari heard her papa ask.

'Sigh' "You've got a full schedule, why don't we plan something for the following week, your clear then." they heard Penny compromise.

"Rock 'n hear that little star," Papa poked his head in as they finished packing. "Maybe we'll steal one of Bruce's birds next week for our trip." He semi whispered the end.

Tim seemed surprised at the comment but schooled his features quickly, he picked up the suitcase and Mari pulled her papa out of the penthouse suite, gave him a hug as she went with Tim.

Less than an hour later she was sitting in the Bat-cave having loaded the bags in the Bat-plane, with the three eldest Wayne children and Bruce, waiting for Wonder Woman.

"Hey Mari can I ask something?" Tim sat down next to her.

"What is it Tim Tam?"

"What did Jagged mean when he said one of Bruce's birds?" Everyone was now watching the two and listening to the response that was to follow.

"Oh, um papa might have figured out that Uncle Bruce is Batman." She was now fiddling with her fingers in her lap. When no one answered she continued. "Remember a couple of months ago when the Sirens crashed Papa's concert. Well when Uncle Bruce and Jay Jay moved me and Papa away and into his dressing room, B didn't make his voice gruff and gravelly as Batman's usual voice. So papa thought maybe his voice isn't usually as gruff and the new voice is actually his real voice, and once papa hears a voice, he never forgets it. I promise I never told him and I never told him he was right but he is pretty sure and I don’t think he’ll even believe you if you tell him he’s wrong." Mari scrambled to say, ending it with a small sad smile looking up through her lashes at everyone.

"Father like Daughter," Bruce was the first to speak. "Everyone is getting a permanent voice modifier installed in their suits." This resulted in every one laughing. Effectively breaking the tension previously in the room.

"Smart idea B." Jason answered making Mari smile wider.

That was when Wonder Woman decided to arrive. Ending the conversation as they boarded the Bat-plane leaving for Themyscira.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist🐺🐾: @itsmeevie01 @miraculouspenta

Taglist🐞🦇: @thanks-captain-obvious @mandy989 @our-preciousss @readingismyoxygen @birdy912 @shifty-lesbian-retro-goblin @todaylillypads @laurcad123 @demonangel27 @be-happy-every-day-please @fandom-trapped-03 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @t1dwarrior-of-earth @saays-bitch @k-poplunardreams @animegirlweeb @weird-pale-blonde-person @myazael @toodaloo-kangaroo @moonlightstar64 @miraculous-simmer7 @wannajointhecrabcult @blackmagicforever @iamabrownfox @justcourttee @consumeconstantly @abrx2002 @livelifeauthorstyle @certifiedbidisaster @dreamykitty25 @ironspiderstark @fantasyislive @dast218 @susiej1118 @sassakitty @lilyreadbooks12 @dawnwave16 @mochegato @galla02006 @nathleigh @trippingovermyfeet @promiswords @rosep16 @officiallydarkgeek @inarachi02 @justafanwarrior @emimar7

[daringyounggrayson]

whumptober day 5: misunderstanding + broken nose (AO3)

Working as vigilantes, Dick and Bruce have made a lot of enemies. Most people they fight just want to get away, maybe get a few punches in just to be able to say they did, but some have a vendetta against them. For these people, it’s not that they want to carry out their plans without worrying about the Bat intervening, it’s that their plan has become causing him and anyone he works with to suffer.

And tonight, they’re dealing with those people.

They enter a warehouse, and drug-filled darts immediately rain down around them. Dick flings himself into a back handspring to dodge them, then shoots himself into the rafters, trying to get out of sight. Bruce stays on the ground and looks around for their attackers, but the darts are coming from all over—booby traps, possibly operated by remote. Luckily, Bruce’s thick armor means he can afford to be seen, can afford not to dodge every single dart.

Dick drops some smoke bombs to give them cover, then escapes through a window. He does a perimeter check around the budling and spots their attacker. He crouches down and taps through the settings on his mask, using the camera to zoom in. He sees a tiny controller in the man’s hand—Dick was right, then, the darts are being released by remote.

Ensuring that no one else is around, Dick leaps out and takes the man down by surprise. He quickly gags him and ties his hands together before attaching him to a telephone pole. He picks up the remote, looking it over quickly before powering it down and taking it apart.

Bruce still hasn’t met up with him, so Dick radios him. “Batman?” he calls into the comm. “I took down the dart commander. What’s your status?”

No answer.

“Batman, what’s your location?”

No answer.

Dick pulls up Bruce’s location from the tracker in his suit and finds that he’s still in the warehouse. He doubles back and takes a peek through his escape window. Four armed men are circled around Batman, and one of them is poking him with some kind of metal pole. Bruce isn’t reacting at all—some of the darts must have made it through his suit, or maybe he’s hurt. Possibly both.

Either way, this isn’t good.

Dick crouches beneath the window, trying to think of a plan. He’s taken down four men at once before, but not while trying to defend an unconscious Batman. Plus, he doesn’t know what to expect. These guys could be metas, or they could be on some kind of venom. There’s a rumor going around that Bane’s been getting into retail.

Dick takes another peek: still no movement, but he needs to make a plan, and fast.

His priority is getting Bruce out of there. He sends Alfred an update, and Alfred informs him that Bruce’s vitals are fine, as if he were asleep. Once that’s done, Dick slips back in through the window and ducks behind a crate a few yards away from Bruce. He’s restrained now, but his captors are silent, waiting.

Dick freezes when he hears a truck pull up outside. One of the men moves to open the doors, and it slowly but surely makes its way in.

Heart hammering, Dick forces himself to stay still. Running in and trying to take them done now would be stupid. At this range, he’d be shot for sure, and besides, they have access to an easy getaway. He’ll have to let them take Batman.

oOo

After placing one of the darts in an evidence bag and calling the police to pick up the guy Dick tied to the telephone pole, he follows the truck on his bike. The secondary location ends up being an abandoned apartment complex about twenty miles south.

Dick quickly surveys the area and enters through a basement window. He sticks to the shadows as he follows the disembodied voices. So far there are only two men, and he takes them down with a couple of nerve pinches. He restrains them with zip-ties and moves on.

He takes a lucky turn down a hallway and finds the two more men guarding a room—that must be where they’re keeping Bruce.

Dick tosses a few more smoke pellets and charges at them, disarming them and taking them down in a matter of minutes. Once they’re tied up, he kicks the door down and runs to Bruce’s side.

“Alright, big guy, let’s get out of here,” Dick says as he works on freeing Bruce. He doesn’t look too bad; aside from the drugs, they’re probably looking at some minor bruising.

Dick cuts the rope connecting Bruce’s hands, and the second his arm is free, Bruce swings at Dick.

“Aah!” Dick yelps as the fist makes contact with his nose, cracking it instantly. He quickly presses his hand against his nose, and blood runs over his glove.

Bruce moves to take another swing at Dick, but this time Dick is ready, and he dodges it like it’s nothing.

“Batman, stop, it’s me,” he says in a firm, even voice. “It’s me.”

Bruce looks at him, really looks at him, but he doesn’t seem to recognize him. Not entirely. “Robin?” he asks with an unsure voice and a confused expression.

Dick forces a grin. “Who else would it be?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, just slumps over, unconscious.

oOo

It’s a struggle, but Dick manages to get Bruce out of the basement and into the Batmobile Alfred had directed to their location. From there, he puts his bike in the trunk and drives Bruce back to the Cave, where Alfred is waiting for them.

An hour later, they confirm that Bruce will live. The drugs in the darts were fairly harmless and were probably selected for their sedative properties. Bruce will probably feel a little hungover come morning, but it won’t be anything he hasn’t dealt with before.

Alfred sets Dick’s nose and forces an icepack on him, and then the two of them work together to get Bruce up to his bed, where Dick insists on watching him until he wakes up.

Come afternoon, Dick finds himself lounging at the foot of Bruce’s bed, snacking on some grapes and reading a random Hardy Boys book he found on Bruce’s bookshelf. He used to read them to Dick all the time when he was younger, and he still enjoys the series.

Bruce groans, and Dick shoots up, relief flooding him.

“It’s about time,” Dick says, flopping sideways to land by Bruce’s head. “You were asleep forever.” He’d been worried—more worried than he should have been, honestly. But it’s easy to catastrophize when the last time Bruce had been conscious he’d barely recognized Dick. Plus, the man had been asleep for nearly fourteen hours. It was disturbing.

“Dick?” Bruce is frowning at him, eyebrows pinched in confusion and maybe a headache.

Dick grins. “Who else would it be?”

Bruce pushes himself into a sitting position. “You’re hurt.”

Dick raises his hand to cover his nose, then drops it. “I’m okay.” He sits up. “How are you feeling? Should I get Alfred?”

Bruce ignores him, cups Dick’s face. “I hurt you.”

Dick shrugs, pushes Bruce’s hand away. “You probably thought I was one of the kidnappers,” he explains. “And who can blame you? You were drugged. It’s not your fault.”

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, rubs at his temples. Dick hops off the bed and grabs the Tylenol, passing it to Bruce along with a water bottle. Bruce accepts them with a grunt.

Dick sits down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to get Alfred?” Dick asks again.

Bruce grunts. No.

Dick bites his lip, trying to decide if he should listen to Bruce or not.

“Don’t do that,” Bruce says, tugging on Dick’s sleeve until he complies.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dick asks.

“I’m fine, Dick.”

It’s stupid. Dick knows Bruce is fine; this is probably the best shape either of them have ever been in post-kidnapping. But Bruce had been taken, and it had been Dick’s fault. Dick had left his side, and in those minutes he’d been gone, Bruce could’ve been killed. It would’ve been his fault.

“Does it hurt?”

“Huh?” Dick snaps his head around to look at Bruce.

“Your nose.”

“Oh. Not too bad. Can’t breathe out of it though, so that’s kind of annoying.” Dick doesn’t understand why Bruce feels so guilty. At least he can blame it on the drugs. Dick has nothing—he’d just abandoned his partner and didn’t even try to stop the kidnappers as they loaded him into that truck. “But if you want to be sorry about something, you should apologize for making me lug your heavy ass up a whole flight of stairs. My arms still feel like jelly—I could barely hold up my book.”

Dick grins to show Bruce that he’s joking, merely exaggerating at Bruce’s expense.

“I’m sorry that you’re not stronger. I’ll adjust your training regimen accordingly.”

“Hey!” Dick throws a pillow at him, and Bruce chuckles when it hits him in the face. Dick lies back down with an exaggerated huff. Then, in a quiet voice, Dick says, “Sorry I let them take you.”

“You did everything right, chum. You should be proud of yourself for handling things as well as you did.”

“You don’t know what happened,” Dick says, a touch of anger in his voice. “You weren’t even conscious.”

“No, but you got us home safely. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, well. I guess so.”

He knows Bruce has a point, but he still feels like he could’ve done more. Bruce probably feels the same.

Dick decides to shelve the conversation, for both of their sakes. They can deal with their guilt complexes another day.

He reaches for his book, asks, “Do you remember when you used to read me the Hardy Boys?”

“Of course.”

“Good, because I don’t want to start over.” Dick clears his throat and starts reading.

[purple-goo-writes]

Young and Beautiful Part 2

Taglist: @clumsy-owl-4178 @myazael @woe-is-me0 @midnightmode @t1dwarrior-of-earth @stainedglassm

@catthhay @dorkus-minimus @maskedpainter @waffleyunsure @marinettepotterandplagg @demonicbusiness @mystery-5-5

@justafanwarrior

I've seen the world, lit it up As my stage now Channeling angels in a new age now Hot summer days, rock and roll The way you play for me at your show And all the ways, I got to know Your pretty face and electric soul

Will you still love me When I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me When I've got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will, I know you will I know that you will Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful?

He didn’t see her again until three years later after he took in his first ward, Richard Grayson. 

He didn’t know how she knew that he needed her support or how she was aware of his new ward, soon to be adopted son. All Bruce was aware of was of the fact that his shoulders finally released the tension he had not been aware that he was carrying when he came up from the Batcave after Dick’s first patrol and felt her familiar and welcoming calm aura. Even Richard noticed the distinct change in his guardian’s demeanor once they exited the Cave and entered the manor. And though the young Robin didn’t necessarily feel the new aura of calm permeating the Manor, he certainly does relax the moment he steps out of the Cave and feels the tension he had carried since his parent’s murder leave his own body.

It felt as if he was finally coming home and not just coming back to the house he inhabited with his guardian and the butler. 

Bruce could only watch in awe as Marinette breaks through all of Dick’s walls and within a week he walks in on Marinette holding a crying 12 year old boy as he finally griefs for his parents. Not long after that Marinette joins them on patrol as PopinJay using the fixed Peacock Miraculous.

Her suit looked like an odd mix of leather and spandex, a deep dark blue with black accents with some dark green detailing here and there; black gloves with blue fingers, black boots with blue heels and a dark blue domino mask with green detailing that mimicked feathers. Attached to her waist was a partial skirt that mimicked peafowl tail feathers with an ombre effect- starting black before fading to dark blue then green at the tips. Her hair was put up in an elegant bun pinned in place by two golden peafowl quils and held in a holster around her waist were two steel fans tipped in gold that when spread resembled two beautiful yet deadly fans of peacock feathers.

“Why the Peacock?” Batman enquired with a raised eyebrow while Robin squealed happily as the preteen danced around PopinJay taking in her suit.

The masked woman snickered softly, her lips tugging into a small smirk, “I figured it would match well with your theme.”

Bruce should not have been surprised about how flawlessly she joins into their routine and patrols. Marinette had always been able to adapt to any situation easily after all. It was something that the Guardian was still trying to teach him how to do.

She would pop in randomly over the years that followed, always seeming to know when Bruce and Dick needed her the most. She was a part of their small family after all and Bruce’s oldest friend. It was why he did not protest when Marinette whisked Dick away to the Temple to train after he and Bruce have a fight again when Robin talks about heading out on his own and becoming his own hero, outside of the Young Justice. After all he was turning 18 soon and was outgrowing the Robin mantle.

“Just because he is growing up, doesn’t mean he no longer needs his father, Bruce.” Were Marinette’s parting words before she left with Dick for Tibet.

When they returned a year later, it was to a relieved, if sheepish, Bruce who had just returned from patrol with a very angry preteen in tow dressed in a new Robin suit. Instead of feeling threatened, Dick grinned, causing Bruce to sigh in relief, “So does this mean I have a little brother now?”

“How did you end up adopting this one, ma nuit noire?”

“He stole the wheels off the BatMobile.”

“Only you, Bruce, only you.”

A month later, Dick became Nightwing after a conversation with Superman when the young man asked the super if his culture ever had vigilantes after Dick moved to Bludhaven. With the alien’s permission, he took up the mantle of Nightwing and officially passed on the Robin mantle down to his younger brother, Jason. Bludhaven gained a vigilante and Jason gained a new confidence with his older brother’s approval, not that the angry teen would admit it.

PopinJay made return to Gotham to help train the new Robin. Bruce was surprised, though he shouldn’t have been, at how fast Jason took to Marinette. The former street kid would even slip and call her Ma now and then, especially when the peacock heroine was being extra motherly. That Bruce wasn’t surprised about as Dick would, and still did, call Marinette Mama Bird. He tried not to dwell on how much his heart warmed at the thought of Marinette as the boys’ mother figure. Especially not when he was currently dancing around Catwoman and their odd relationship or his thing with Talia Al Ghul, who he knew disliked PopinJay greatly. Though his relationship with Talia ended when she drug him.

It was after a routine patrol when PopinJay came sauntering back into the Batcave carrying a confused, if exited, little nine-year-old boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes dressed only in his pajamas and holding a camera. The dark blue haired woman was smiling motherly down at the little scamp in her arms as Tim babbled excitedly about meeting one of his favorite heroes and how he couldn’t believe that MDC was PopinJay.

“PopinJay, what is the meaning of this?” Bruce growled in confusion as he turned from the BatComputer to address his partner, who simply giggled at his attempt to intimidate her. 

“Bruce, come meet your biggest fan.”

 “PopinJay!” 

“Oh, don’t be a stick in the mud. He already figured out our identities from Dick’s quadruple somersault.”

“He what? But, how?” This had Bruce intrigued as he stalked close to the woman, who was practically the mother of his sons, taking in the sight of little Tim, “He is the Drake heir...what is he doing out so late?” The fact that he was still in his pajamas without shoes on brought the father in Bruce to the forefront went without saying. 

Jason watched all this with a sigh and grumbled, “I’ll go tell Alfred to get a room ready for him.” Looks like he would be sharing his Ma with another brother...He best tell Dick about Tim, Jason just knew their parents (Marinette was their Mom no matter how oblivious Bruce was to his feelings) would be adopting the boy.

And wouldn’t you know he was right, somehow not even three months later Tim was now Tim Drake-Wayne due to his parents being found neglectful in a hush-hush trail. Dick was ecstatic about having another little brother to dote on and even Jason was happy to have a little brother, having grown fond of Tim during all the times the youngest Drake stayed at the Manor or BatCave when his parents went out of town on one of their frequent business trips. 

If Bruce wasn’t already thankful for Marinette’s presence in his life, he would have been after Jason ran off to track down his birth mother after finding out that Catherine was not his mom. He understood that Jason simply had questions he thought only his birth mom could answer, but it still broke Bruce’s heart that his middle son thought he would not help him find the woman. If it wasn’t for the multiple trackers he had placed on Jason, he would not have known that the young Robin was in Ethiopia of all places. Batman wouldn’t make it in time to save Robin, but he knew one person who could. 

It was the only time his composure had came so close to breaking as he called Marinette and begged her to save their son. Batman arrived just as the building went up in flames and would have broken down if not for PopinJay informing over the comm that she had Jason and that they were at the Cave. Unfortunately, Jason was in critical condition and had slipped into a coma by the time Bruce made it back to the Manor. After a long talk, it was decided that Marinette would take him to the Temple to heal and recover. Tim would be taking over as Robin in his absence, though the 12 year old wished it was under different circumstances.

Marinette kept Bruce updated on his status using the communicator he had given her. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he cried when she called him and informed him that Jason had woken up. Jason and Bruce had a long discussion when he was fully coherent, thankfully Jason understood why Bruce gave Tim the mantle and even asked him to inform Tim that he had his blessing to be Robin. This talk was also the first time one of his sons’ called him Dad.

“Dad, I don’t think I can be Robin anymore, anyway...I think it’s time I branched out.”

“Will you be using a Miraculous?”

“No, Ma asked, even said I would be a good fit for the Eagle, but I turned her down. I want to make my own way without fancy powers.”

“You know we will support any decision you make.”

It was two years after that that Jason fully recovered and returned to Gotham as the vigilante, Red Hood. Thankfully, Marinette talked him out of that outrageous helmet and helped him design his new costume, his suit he wore had a red hood attached to it and he wore a red metal face mask with a black domino mask. He still managed to keep the leather jacket though. Even if Bruce frowned at his use of guns, at least the rounds were mainly tranquilizers, the Bat was proud of his son.

Tim made an amazing Robin and detective. Though Bruce was suspicious when Marinette would disappear with Tim to train him in secret or take him to the Temple. But, it was Tim’s choice and if he choose to join the Order, Bruce would support him. Marinette loved their sons equally, but Bruce knew she was closer to Tim.

He was thankful for Marinette being there for him when Barbara joined the team as Batgirl. Even more thankful for when Stephanie joined and then Cassandra was adopted. He was not sure how to handle daughters and the girls having a positive female role model relieved him greatly. Even if he did get a few grey hairs now and then from some of their more interesting purchases.

Talia dropped Damian on Bruce when Tim was 16 and had just become co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises, after both his older brothers refused the position. (Dick was now a Cop in Bludhaven and Jason had taken over Security for the WE.) Bruce was still reeling from the shock of finding out he had a blood son and Talia just dumping the ten year old on him without so much of a by-your-leave. Bruce had finally put his past with Talia and Selina behind him and finally moved on when this happened. He was unsure how to process this new situation. Though after stopping Damian from killing/attacking Tim once again, he knew what he had to do.

He called Marinette.

Bruce isn’t sure what she did or said to his youngest son. But after whisking Damian away for a few months at the Temple, the child that came back was changed. Still the same arrogant cold ex-assassin, but he had started to open up to his family and follow his father’s code of honor. Though, things were still shaky between him and Tim, the older boys were all amused when Damian bluntly asked them why Father hadn’t proposed to Marinette, or Mère as he called her in French, yet.

“Because Dad is really, really oblivious to his own feelings.”

“He’s a fucking idiot.” 

“Jaybird!” 

“What? You know it’s true!” 

“Little ears, Jay!”

Damian turned to his only intelligent sibling, and most dangerous outside of Cain, "Drake, I presume you have plans ready to set in motion?"

There was a reason he considered Drake his highest threat to his position as blood son. Ra's had stated time and time again that he wished to induct Tim into the fold, one way or another. Many times his grandfather had stated this when he found Damian's own performance lacking, making comments on how the young Detective would have done things. Drake had plans within plans, a mind like a steel trap mixed with a twisted maze and a tenacity most assassin's would envy. It was why Damian grudgingly respected the teen, even if he would rather bit his tongue off then admit it.

Tim gave his youngest sibling a rather maniacal grin, some of his Red Robin persona (A mantle he took up recently) shining through, "Oh do I."

Unfortunately, their plans to trick their parental figures into realizing their feelings would have to wait.

Because Darkseid came and Bruce was gone...

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 35

First

Previous

Next

~~~

She let Robin turn in the criminal for two different reasons. The main one was the fact that her suit was falling apart by the second and the only reason it hadn’t disappeared already was she was pouring her own energy into maintaining it. The other reason was that the sight of the man made her feel sick; she couldn’t look at him without remembering exactly what she’d done, how he’d looked, and how it made her feel in the moment.

She clenched her fists tightly, letting her nails dig into her gloves as she ducked into an alley.

She brought her hand to her ear.

“Me and Robin are leaving patrols for the night,” she said. Her voice was much harsher than she’d intended. Maybe that was why no one argued.

“Robin and I,” corrected Nightwing.

She took a deep breath, ready to curse him out despite the apparent rule against cursing, but Robin cut her off before she could say anything: “Not the time, Nightwing.”

“Definitely not. I’m behind the building, come find me.”

“What happ --,” began Red Hood, but she turned off her comm.

She let her costume drop.

Tikki fell from her earrings and Marinette had to dive across concrete to catch her. Her elbows and knees were scratched and bleeding, but she couldn’t care as she examined the kwami.

Tikki wasn’t moving.

She felt tears well in the corners of her eyes and she forced them back. Robin would be there soon. She didn’t have the right to cry when he had just --.

A hand rested on her shoulder and she looked up to see him.

She sniffled and gently set Tikki in her bag. She pushed herself to her feet and took him by the arm, dragging him through the streets.

It was a bad idea to go out like this. No one knew who Marinette Dupain-Cheng was, but from the amount of people snapping pictures of her she would be pretty well-known by the end of the week. She found she couldn’t care less.

“What’re we doing?” He asked quietly.

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” she muttered, her grip tightening on his arm.

He didn’t respond, just allowed her to pull him along.

She got to her apartment and practically tossed him inside, slamming the door behind them.

Plagg was sitting on the bed and she rolled her eyes at his disapproving look. The kwami opened his mouth but she beat him to it: “Don’t. Not right now. Just get the ring.”

Robin eyed the god and Marinette, as if he wasn’t yet sure which one he was supposed to be more wary of. She didn’t know if she wanted to take that as a compliment or an insult.

The kwami dropped the ring in her hand and it pulsed with power. A blinding green light emanated from the tiny ring, and both humans had to shield their eyes a little.

She forced it into Robin’s hand before it could mess with her. Having both the ladybug and cat miraculi on hand at the same time was known to corrupt event the most pleasant and mentally stable people. She already had committed a murder. Who knows what she would do.

He frowned as he toyed with the ring. As they watched, the white plastic ring morphed into what looked to be industrial steel.

Marinette smiled tensely. “Congrats, ‘Robin’, you’re now the owner of the cat miraculous.”

Robin tipped his head to the side as he considered it, then shook his head slightly. “I don’t want it.”

“Too bad,” she said. Oh, there was that harsh tone again.

He winced.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What you did was absolutely stupid and reckless and, unfortunately, that seems to be the main two necessities for getting the cat miraculous.”

Robin raised his eyebrows and set the ring down. “Marinette, I know --.”

“Don’t ‘Marinette’ me! You were dead!”

“And why do you care? I thought you hated me!”

She groaned. “So did I, really. But apparently not! I never react like that! Apparently I care about you, who knew?”

He frowned. “React like what?”

Right. He hadn’t been alive to see what she’d done. She swallowed thickly. “It doesn’t matter.”

He looked like he was going to protest, but she didn’t let him get a word in.

“What does matter is that you’re doing stupid things that are getting you dangerously hurt -- for no real reason, mind you -- and if you’re going to do that then I may as well make sure you’re protected.”

“It’s fine, your yoyo brings everything back to status quo at the end anyways --.”

“Not anymore it doesn’t!”

His eyes widened.

“I need an active cat to maintain balance, and since I’ve been using Tikki for a month now without one, I’m pretty weak. I wasn’t even sure if I could...” She sighed. “I didn’t know if I could do it this time, and now...”

She pulled Tikki from her bag and let him see the kwami, who was still completely immobile.

Plagg darted to the other kwami and took him from Marinette’s grip, sending his guardian a glare as he carried her to the fridge to try and force Tikki to eat.

“But you shouldn’t have been relying on my ability to fix it anyways. It only fixes physical damages, but mental and emotional ones can’t just be taken away.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, I figured that one out for myself, thanks.”

She winced. Not at what he’d said, but at how he’d said it. The slight tremble of his voice, the way his eyes finally looked away from hers for the first time that night, the clenching of his fists. She walked over and, hesitantly, wrapped him in a hug.

He tensed up. “Um...?”

“Just let me have this, please,” she mumbled.

Robin nodded slightly and rested his arms around her.

She concentrated on her breathing. She had a lot of experience dodging negative emotions from her years of fighting Hawkmoth in Paris, she knew strategies to keep them in check. Usually this meant that all she had to do was distract herself. This would be fine.

Or, at least, it would have been if she hadn’t felt Robin bury his face in her hair.

A sob built in her throat as she tugged him closer. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to push her tears back. He was the one in trouble, he was the one who needed help, he...

Was crying.

Her own tears forced themselves to be known. She pressed her face into his chest, bunching up his costume in her hands.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that; leaning into each other, sobbing over their shared experience, holding onto each other like their lives depended on it. But, eventually, she ran out of tears. Eventually, she felt him relax into her and begin to sleep.

Marinette gently detached herself and set him in her bed. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and went to drink some water. After a bit of considering it, she walked over and set some stuff out on the nightstand and wrote a note.

She sat down at the bedside, leaning against it and closing her eyes.

~

She opened her eyes to shifting behind her and looked over blearily.

Damian was crying silently, his hands covering his mouth to stifle the noise.

She hesitated, unsure if he’d want her help. Still, she reached up and rested her hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze.

He stiffened slightly, then relaxed a bit. They sat there in silence for a while. Him crying, her staring off as she tried her hardest to push the events of the previous night from her mind.

“Marinette?” He whispered. “Are you awake?”

“No,” she mumbled sarcastically.

He gave a laugh, broken and sad as it was. “Right... I’m going to head home.”

“You sure? You don’t want me here to help?”

He rested his hand over hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “I have a dog. Besides, this is your bed.”

She didn’t bother to argue. She knew he was scrambling for an excuse to leave, and she wasn’t going to keep him. You can’t force someone to open up to others, it’ll only make them clam up more. So, she pushed herself to her feet and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Okay. Give them a pet for me.”

He gave her a small smile before heading out.

~

Damian smiled awkwardly at her, waving.

The bags under his eyes were extremely prominent and she frowned at the sight of them. Marinette was used to getting only a few hours, but Damian (for the most part) seemed to find time to sleep.

“How’re you feeling?”

“A little better,” he murmured. “And you?”

She winced at the lie on her lips and forced her mouth closed before she could dismiss the question like she wanted to. He seemed to understand anyways.

He reached over and gave her arm a small squeeze.

She looked away. “Does your family...?”

“No, they don’t know. And they won’t. Ever.”

Marinette didn’t know whether this was a good thing. Despite how much she hated it, she knew they should be leaning on others after what had happened the previous night. Still, the idea of telling someone what she’d seen, what she’d done, so soon was enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

She nodded to say she understood and changed the subject: “So, did Plagg explain everything to you?”

"Yep.”

“And?”

He seemed hesitant. “I think I’ll try it. It’s coming time for a new Robin, anyways.”

She nodded and reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring. She’d wrapped it in layer after layer of fabric to make sure she wasn’t tempted, but now it was going to be hard to get it out.

After a bit of digging, Marinette handed over the ring.

He slipped it on his finger.

“Plagg, claws out.”

With a bright flash of light he stood in front of her. She raised an eyebrow at the costume, which was exactly the same as his normal Robin one but this time in black.

“Creative.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, giving her shoulder a shove.

She grinned. “Right, I’m explaining everything to you myself, because Chat Noir had no clue first day even when Plagg tried to help.”

She was going to get lectured about that when Plagg got out, but until then she smiled and tapped the wall of the building.

“This is an abandoned warehouse. I checked to make sure there wasn’t any kids or Rogues, it’s completely empty. Cataclysm it.”

He looked at her like she was insane.

She sighed. “Listen, you’re too powerful right now, especially for a newbie.” She motioned to his costume. “I couldn’t get details in my outfit for about a year, and yet yours is pretty much fully-formed.”

“I’m powerful, so what?”

“It’s not good. If you used cataclysm on something small who knows what would happen. I’d prefer to stop that disaster before it happened.”

He frowned slightly. “But, if that’s the case, shouldn’t we be teaching me to control my powers?”

“We can when you’ve gotten most of the extra stuff out. Right now we’re avoiding a disaster. Sound good?”

He hesitated, his eyes finding their way to the building. “Who does this belong to?”

“It’s completely abandoned, said to be haunted because a guy died there. Legal fees made it shut down, and the people who owned it have been trying to sell it since. If you really care we can reimburse them however much they offered, but really it’s whatever.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re acting different.”

“Shocker!”

He winced and looked away.

“Sorry. I’m trying, it’s just...” She clenched her fists. “Yesterday was a lot. Doesn’t mean I can take it out on people. Especially not you.”

He nodded softly and raised a hand. “Cataclysm.”

She stepped away from the building to make sure she’d be fine and he pressed his hand to it.

It was gone in seconds. There was no gradual rusting, no time for it to spread. It simply collapsed into dust.

She looked at Damian and smiled faintly at the sight of his costume. It was fading rapidly, until it was back to the suit Cat Noir had used originally.

“Good. Now, we should get you used to your weapon...”

~~~

You know the last chapter was actually supposed to be just fluff of Marinette and Damian bonding but then I thought ‘naaah ive written too much fluff recently’

so like

my bad guys

~

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich @mythogaychic @severelyenchantedwonderland @sashakoi @smolplantmum @bluesimani @tropestropestropes @kitsunebell @keepingupwiththemalfoys @sassakitty @2confused-2doanything @too0bsessedformyowngood @all-mights-asscheeks @demonicbusiness @meg-an-ace @fantasiame @qualitypeacepainter @multplelifes

<3

[nbrook29]

but baby, it’s cold outside

So, I might have written a thing 🤭 Robbe’s photo related thing to be more specific.

Also on ao3!

----

“Wow, who knew making a fire could be so sexy?”

Robbe heaves a long-suffering sigh and looks at the sky above him in hopes it gives him strength to deal with the dork also known as his boyfriend.

“Don’t you sigh at me, Robin, you’d agree with me if you could see yourself right now.”

The tone of his voice is enough to let Robbe know Sander is currently in his teasing mood and lives to rile him up.

He looks very pleased with himself when Robbe turns his head to give him an eyeroll, even more so when he notices the smile tugging at the corners of Robbe’s mouth. At the eyebrow wiggle he then receives Robbe stops fighting the smile altogether and laughs quietly at Sander’s antics, his chapped from cold lips cracking a little.

“Will you help me or you’re just gonna stand there looking pretty, huh?” he lights another match but it’s immediately blown out by the wind and he lets out a small whine in frustration.

“But you’re doing so good on your own! I can cheer for you though?” Sander’s offer sounds almost genuine but the blossoming smirk acts like a tattletale and yes, Sander is definitely in the mood.

And Robbe can’t even be mad that he’s a little shit because he’s a sucker for him and that smile and they both know it. So he just shakes his head in feigned resignation, giggling when Sander actually does start cheering for him, whooping and clapping his hands, and just being embarrassing in general.

It’s getting noticeably colder with the temperature dropping significantly since they left Sander’s house over an hour ago. There has been a warning of a blizzard coming to Antwerp this evening but it feels like it may come sooner than anticipated.

They went for a long walk in the afternoon to get a bit of fresh air and to enjoy the dearly missed for years snow after being cooped up in their respective bedrooms for days and days on end, cramming for finals (Robbe) and finishing up projects (Sander). The sound of fresh snow crunching under their shoes felt like freedom at last, both of them instantly turning into 8 year olds, threatening each other with snowballs and making snow angels, soaking half of their clothes in the process.

For the artist inside of Sander, the winter wonderland-like scenery was like a wet dream, his fingers clicking away on his vintage camera every two minutes or so, making their walk extra slow. Robbe didn’t mind though, being long acquainted with Sander’s artistic habits and indulging him every time he turned his big eyes on him to request them getting off their track a bit to take a photo of yet another thing looking awesome covered in snow. And then after every picture taking his hands into his own to rub his freezing fingers in order to warm them up because Sander refused to wear gloves. Granted, they weren’t very practical for operating a camera but still. Robbe had a very personal relationship with these beautiful hands so it’s not like he could just let them freeze off. It was basically his duty. The sweet smile Sander shot him every time he did it was an additional bonus.

They grabbed a coffee from their favorite coffee shop at the corner of Sander’s street but the wonders that the warm liquid did to warm them up has been long gone by now. Robbe is pretty sure the sound that’s coming from his left side is actually Sander’s chattering teeth so he doubles his efforts and after a few attempts he finally manages to make fire pit lit up. His boyfriend lets out a loud whoop and then immediately comes closer, wrapping himself around Robbe’s small body from behind and holding his palms above the new source of warm.

“You know,” he starts as Robbe pokes at the fire a few times and throws a piece of wood in it and letting it burn before melting into Sander’s embrace and warming his own hands over the flames. “I already knew I’m dating a skater boy but I had no idea I’m also dating a scout boy.”

Robbe snorts. “Lucky you because otherwise you’d freeze to death. I’m expecting your gratitude anytime now.”

Hey, he can be a little shit too if he puts his mind to it.

“Well thank you, baby,” Sander purrs sweetly into his ear, placing a kiss on the spot on the side of his neck currently not covered with scarf causing a shiver go through Robbe’s body, only partially due to his cold as ice lips.

He tilts his head to the left and presses a lingering kiss to his mouth, his eyes closing and knees buckling a little within seconds when Sander licks into him, his hands landing on Robbe’s hips to steady himself. It’s slow and unhurried, a bit uncomfortable given the position they’re standing in but it’s not like either of them actually cares.

They do care though when the darkish grey clouds over them decide it’s high time for some snow so they’re forced to separate, Sander letting out a sorrowful sigh, burying his face in Robbe’s neck and circling his waist with his arms, refusing to let go.

“Come on, let’s go before it gets really bad,” he laughs quietly when Sander shakes his head petulantly, his fringe tickling Robbe’s cheek in the process.

“I don’t want to,” he groans but after a few minutes he lifts his head slowly, surrendering. But then he dips his head again under Robbe’s jaw as if to test something. “Hey, you smell nice. Is that a new aftershave?”

“Yeah, you like it?” Robbe asks expectantly.

Sander pretends to think for a second. “Wait, I think I need to check again,” he replies before burying his cold nose in the hinge of his jaw. Robbe lets out a high-pitched squeak at the sudden coldness and tries to squirm away, giggling as Sander instead of letting him go places little (cold) kisses along his jawline. Once he manages to kiss every square of it he backs out with a triumphant smile, barely dodging Robbe’s incoming elbow.

“After a closer inspection, yes, I do like it, I like it a lot.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Robbe tries to hide his smile, pleased with Sander’s reaction because he wants to actually keep his cool but he fails and Sander sees right through him, chuckling when he realizes the slight blush on Robbe’s cheeks has little to do with cold. Surprisingly, he decides to let it go and not tease him about it which Robbe is lowkey grateful for because it’s embarrassing how gone he is for him.

Before they leave the lakeside, they both take a picture with their phones of the now extinguished fire, or actually what’s left of it. Robbe is first to post it but Sander’s photo is better, obviously, his skills at tweaking it to look just right far more superior than Robbe’s. Once Sander’s done, he puts away his phone with a tongue-in-cheek smile and Robbe is already dreading what he’s going to find in the caption. He taps on the app icon and groans.

Fire made by my firebreather 🌬️🥶❄️☃️💙 #scoutboy

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Sander blows him a kiss, ignoring his scoffing as he entwines their fingers and pulling Robbe along to finally get them moving, the snow getting stronger the longer they stall.

Robbe forgets all about Sander’s embarrassing caption when he realizes they are still about 20 minutes away from his house and he’s almost soaked to his underwear. Sander’s in a better state than him, his leather jacket despite not giving much warmth keeping the snow from getting through, and so are his ankle reaching shoes.

They can’t exactly take a tram because the snow caused a huge gridlock, people honking at each other left and right with trams stuck in between. They try to run for a while but the pavement is too icy and it quickly turns out that one wrong move is going to cost them a broken bone. But Sander looks determined to get them to his house as quickly as possible once he notices Robbe’s soaked through clothes and his violently shivering body so they end up getting there in under 15 minutes.

Thankfully, his parents had left the heat in the house turned on before they went to the movies so once they cross the threshold they are bathed in a delightful warmth. They take off their shoes and jackets, but then Robbe lingers in the entry, aware of his dripping clothes and not wanting to make a mess at which Sander just rolls his eyes and drags him to the upstairs bathroom.

Robbe has troubles to keep his teeth from chattering and when he sees himself in the mirror, his lips are slowly turning a weird shade of blue so he peels off all the soaked layers while Sander turns the shower on, making sure the water is hot enough to stop Robbe from turning into a smurf. He has that deep wrinkle between his furrowed eyebrows and he’s acting like a man on a mission helping Robbe get off the soaked clothes and collecting a fresh share of his own for him to put later on.

“He-ey, calm down, I-I-I’m f-iiii-ne,” Robbe stutters out because when Sander gets all worried about him like this it’s best to squash that seed right away.

“Tell that to your lips,” he scoffs, worrying his own lip between his teeth. “Come on, get in.”

Robbe sighs and decides it’s probably best to just let him fret a little. He lets himself be maneuvered into the shower and then snorts at Sander’s unsure look on his face as he hovers near the shower door, clearly wanting to join in but not wanting to intrude.

“Ar-rre you seriii-oouus?” he asks, groaning in relief when the hot water hits his back. “What are you wai-iii-ting for, get in, you’re all wet too!”

That puts him in motion and Robbe laughs when he sees him shedding his clothes off in record speed, jumping on one leg when he tries to get off his wet skinny jeans, before joining him and pushing his face directly under the stream.

“Fuck, it feels so good.” Sander turns his head back and forth, letting the water wet his hair before he takes a good look at Robbe. “You’re feeling better?”

He delicately thumbs at his lower lip and the sweet gesture makes Robbe smile and give his finger a side kiss, then turning his head slightly to place another on the center of his palm.

“Yeah, I think circulation is back,” he jokes, wiggling his toes.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault, if I hadn’t been fooling around we would have gotten home before it got so bad-”

“Sander, shut up, it’s not your fault it snowed harder we anticipated,” Robbe looks at him with disbelief.

Of course Sander would blame himself.

“But-”

“No buts. Period.”

Sander doesn’t look convinced so to avoid any further doubts, Robbe stands on his tiptoes, looping his arms around his neck and shuts him up with a kiss. It definitely helps to warm him up faster.

“So like... no butts at all?”

Robbe blames it on the almost-hypothermia that it takes him a few seconds to get the joke.

“Oh my god you’re unbelieveable,” he laughs into his finally smiling mouth and deepens the kiss, Sander’s wandering hands effectively erasing any cold-related feeling from his mind.

[jinmukangwrites]

7? not sure your opinions on mama cat but, Catwoman just so happens to see a caged bird or two while she's out on the town.

Ficlets, I say, as I write 1k words...

Slight warnings for non-con drugging, kidnapping, and hostage situations. Also some CatBat

---

Selina knew something's up the moment she watches Red Hood stubbornly raise his hands in surrender without even initiating a fight. Gotham's felt tense all night, like it was holding it's breath before a pounce, which is why she was watching Hood in the first place. She could feel it in her bones, but this just gives proof.

Someone shouts, and Hood takes off his helmet, glaring at them behind his masked eyes before dropping the helmet to the ground.

The thugs snicker amongst themselves and approach Hood. Her curls her fingers around the lip of the fire escape she watches from to keep herself from jumping down and attacking all of them right then and there when they jab a needle into his neck, causing Hood to stumble slightly before his arms are grabbed and restrained behind his back... A cloth bag shoved above his head.

She gives chase after Hood is loaded into a car and driven off, and she eventually watches as they unload a barely conscious Red Hood from the car and into a warehouse. There's other cars parked along the side of the building, suggesting more thugs than just the ones she's seen earlier.

Once everyone has entered the building, Selina carefully makes her way inside from the windows.

When she makes it in, she sticks in the shadows, peering around the pillars until she finds something a whole lot more dangerous than a meer Red Hood abduction.

Four other chairs other than the one Red Hood is currently being tied into line the middle of the floor, each occupied by familiar faces.

From left to right—each in various states of consciousness and lucidity—sat Nightwing, Signal, Red Robin, Spoiler, and then Hood.

Dick, Duke, Tim, Steph and Jason.

A ping of worry settles in her gut. Where's the little one?

Hopefully with Bruce. He better be with Bruce.

Her hoped are dashed when Nightwing curls his fists in his restraints. He's the most awake out of all of them, which probably suggests he was first to be taken.

"Where's Robin?!" He demands, tugging on the duct tape and zip ties, twisting his head under the cloth bag still on his face. "You have all of us- where are you keeping him?!"

One of the kidnappers smirk and grabs a handful of Dick's hair through the cloth bag. "The brat'll be here when boss gets here."

Hostage. Damian is a hostage. A pawn to capture the rest of the family. His life held like a bone attached to a string. Defiance and uncooperative behavior perhaps resulting in death.

"When is he getting here," Nightwing snarls, tense like a cornered wild animal. The thug chuckles and tugs on Dick's skull, causing the kid to hiss.

"Two-Face is a busy man," he says, "he'll get here when he decides to."

"Robin better not be hurt or else-" Red Robin begins with slightly slurred words, but he's cut off from a punch to the stomach. One of the thugs yell that Two-Face apparently doesn't want too much chatter from their hostages.

Selina sinks back from the shadows and exits the building, resisting the urge to chew on the clawed ends of her gloves. Where's Bruce? Where's Cassandra? Barbara?

Her thoughts on the issue quickly exit her mind as twin headlight appear from a car that's half in mint condition, half a total wreck. Two face jumps out of the car, as does two more thugs. One of which has a restrained Robin in his grasp, thrown over his shoulder like a bag of flour. Damian's hissing and cursing beneath a gag. Dried blood paints the side of his head.

She waits until they get closer, using the time they walk to compose herself. She takes a deep breath, then walks out from the shadows to stop in front of Two-Face. His good eye widens in slight surprise, the other one stays blown and angry. The two thugs stop, and Robin stills.

"Hello Dent, hoarding all the vigilante's for yourself, I see," she greets, folding her arms across her chest.

Two-Face's human side grins. He flips a coin. It lands on heads. "No, just the birds. It's cute how, if you threaten one, the rest come along in no time. It's barely been a day."

He flips the coin again. Heads again.

"You're welcome to accompany."

Selina smirks, picks at her claws. "Sound's fun. Sure."

Two-Face grins wide enough for it to reach both sides of his face. He nods, and then flips his coin, and then describes the kinds of things he's going to do to each former Robin he's captured. Each more violent than the last, and by the time he's describing the kind of beating he's going to give Nightwing with another baseball bat, they're in front of the hostages.

The second the thug puts Damian down, Selina pounces, racking her claws across the face of the closest goon.

He goes down screaming. Shouts of alarm sound, but Selina is pissed off and already moving, taking down thug after thug. None of them saw this coming, and none of them think to use the hostages against her until most of them are already down.

One grabs Duke by the chin, lifting his jaw up with the barrel of a handgun. She tenses, but then the thug goes down with a baterang sticking out of his back.

It seems Batman, Orphan, and Batgirl have joined the fight.

The battle is pitiful after that, ending rather quickly with bodies strewn across the floor, hands and ankles restrained and all bleeding from scratches, cuts, and punctures.

Once Nightwing is released, he immediately frets about everyone, looking unsure on who to coddle first.

Selina lets Bruce handle the family as she turns towards the restrained Two-Face and puts her heeled boots down on the center of his back, pressing down so the tip of her heel must feel like a knife.

"Don't touch my kids again," she hisses.

She doesn't give Dent a chance to reply before she kicks him unconscious across the jaw. She takes a deep breath, knowing there's no way her… affiliation… with the bats will remain a secret now.

It's fine. That was worth it.

Se turns to find Bruce watching her with narrowed eyes and a loose posture. One that makes her want to grab him by the jaw and share something sweet and relieved and passionate. But then her air gets knocked out of her when Steph crashes into her chest, wrapping her arms around her in a strong embrace.

Selina sighs and slowly hugs her back, and let's herself relax with the too big family she didn't know she'd become so helplessly attached to surrounding her. Ah well. They're not so bad to be helplessly attached to.

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 5!

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2   Chapter 3.   Chapter 4

Summary: Jason gets a visitor. It doesn't go well.

Jason tumbled through his apartment window just as the sun was starting to rise. What he’d meant to be a quick recon mission had turned into an all-out battle royale and now his whole body ached for sleep and painkillers as he shed his clothes on his way to his bedroom, leaving a trail of muddy gear in his wake.

As soon as his legs hit his bed, he let himself fall forward across it. And even though the rest of his place was slowly flooding with light, his room was still mercifully dim and cool. He nudged the door closed with the tip of his toe, grateful once again for his blackout curtains as he blocked out the light from the hall, plunging the room further into the dark.

Jason didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he finally woke up it was with a jolt, a sudden snapping open of his eyes while the rest of him remained perfectly still.

Something was wrong.

He could sense it in the air, could feel it like a prickling along the back of his neck. Without making a sound, his hand located the gun in the top drawer of his nightstand, and he moved across the room to press himself into the wall by the door.

He listened.

If he hadn’t been who he was, he might not have heard it at all – the traffic outside was noisier than whoever had broken into his apartment. But he was who he was and he did hear it, gentle footsteps moving around his living room and kitchen.

He waited for the telltale sounds of theft – appliances being shuffled, drawers opening and shutting – but there was none of that. Only quiet movements, low murmuring. Finally the footsteps grew more pronounced as they headed down the hall and paused just outside his door.

The knob twisted carefully, slowly, and Jason cocked his gun. From where he was pressed into the corner, the opening door shielded him from view as the intruder stepped in and looked around, and before they could fully turn his way, Jason had a gun pressed into their back through the fabric of a black cape.

“Replacement,” Jason said by way of greeting, his adrenaline ebbing significantly but not altogether.

“So you are alive. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Red demanded, turning around to face him as Jason set the gun aside.

Before Jason could even answer, Red was talking to someone else, a finger to his ear. “No. He isn’t here. But I got Jason.”

Pause.

“I really don’t think–” Red Robin paused again, looking pained. “All right. No, I know. I know.” He returned his focus to Jason.

“Dick’s missing,” he explained. “It’s been three days.”

“He’s a big boy. Just because he missed family brunch once or twice doesn’t mean–”

Red Robin reached into his belt and tossed him a plastic bag. “Found it at the bottom of a storm drain. His car was abandoned, too.”

Inside the bag was Dick’s cell phone, caked in grime and smashed.

“Shit,” Jason breathed. Tossing the phone back, he slipped past Red and into the hall where his gear was still strewn haphazardly across the floor. “You trace his suit?”

“He’s not wearing it. And the comm system’s been on and off so we haven’t been able to make contact. By now he could be out of range or–” Red broke off whatever he was about to say. “Or something else.”

“Shit,” Jason said again, hopping into his pants. It was only when he was securing his belt that he noticed Red Robin fidgeting in the doorway. “You gotta piss or something?”

The younger boy stopped shifting. “Have you… heard from him?”

“Golden Boy? Yeah, we got cocktails on Tuesday.”

Red blinked at him.

“I’m kidding.” Jason tugged his gloves on and flexed his fingers a bit before finally sliding on his helmet. He was already straddling the windowsill, halfway out when he noticed Red Robin wasn’t following. “You coming or what?”

The younger boy looked physically ill now. Jason could practically hear his heart racing from across the room.

He waited.

“Where were you Halloween night?” Red asked.

Jason sighed. “Is this about that stupid party? Listen I’m sorry if I ruined your ‘theme’ or whatever but there was no way in hell I was ever gonna–”

“It’s not. It’s not about that.”

“Then why do you care where I was?”

The kid’s narrow shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. “We’ve got you on surveillance a few blocks from where the party was that night. Around the same time Dick left. What were you doing out there?”

Jason stared, his face paling behind the helmet as the realization hit him, churned in his stomach like something rotten.

He was a suspect.

Of course, he was a suspect.

“Look,” Red began as if sensing the change in the air. “I’m just– ever since that thing happened between you two–”

“What ‘thing?’” Jason asked, pulling his leg back inside and standing. He could see now that Red Robin hadn’t come here for backup. This was an interrogation. He tugged off his helmet and tossed it onto the couch.

“I have no idea because Dick wouldn’t say anything. But it’s obvious something happened. And I just… have a few questions.”

“Is this you asking or the bat?”

“Does it make a difference?”

Yes.

“Nope.” Jason shrugged off his jacket, grateful for the distraction as a thousand different emotions clashed and swirled through him. His face felt hot, and there was a piercing ache in the center of his chest; if he hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn he was bleeding under his armor.

If Dick’s comments had been the blade, surely this was the twisting of the knife.

“I was trick or treating with a kid from The Yards,” he explained at last.

Red looked supremely unimpressed. “I’m being serious, Jason.”

“So am I.”

Jason looked him dead in the eyes, and whatever Red saw in the older boy’s face must have been confirmation enough, because finally he sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I’m sorry,” Red offered miserably. “I told them it was stupid to even ask, but they thought–”

“I know what they–” Jason cut himself off before he started shouting. He sighed. “I know. Just go.”

Red looked like he was about to say something, then paused, his eyes flicking away. “Copy that,” he said, presumably to someone over the comm.

Jason stepped aside as the kid made his way to the window.

With a boot perched on the sill, Red Robin turned and said, “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

When Jason offered him nothing in return, Red Robin nodded as if understanding, and leapt into the night.

Jason shut the window.

____________

Red Robin cursed, peering into a grimy warehouse. Another dead end. How many freaking abandoned buildings could one city possibly have?

“He’s not here,” he said, flipping up from the window and onto the roof to scan the tops of the surrounding buildings. “Next location.”

“Okay,” Oracle said. “Just give me–”

“West Side Heights are a no-go,” Spoiler announced.

A moment later, Robin added, “The tenements on Ninth are empty, as well.”

“Huntington to Jefferson is clear.” Batman.

“Okay, okay just give me second!” Oracle shouted. Red flinched, his ear twinging as she added more calmly, “Let me think."

He could practically hear the gears in her mind working, could feel the tension crackling over the moments of silence that followed.

When Dick hadn’t come back to pick them up from the party, they hadn’t thought much of it. It wouldn’t have been wildly out of character for him to get caught up with something and lose track of time. And they’d been happy for the excuse to borrow a car to get home anyways.

Even in the days that followed, they’d all had different assumptions about what might have been going on with him. Maybe he was undercover somewhere. Maybe he’d gone radio silent for an especially challenging case. All of these things had happened before. Even so, Red Robin could see now that they – that he – should have been more alert.

Three days. It had taken him three days to notice that something was wrong.

He glanced eastward. A faint gold had begun to bleed into the clouds and dust the rooftops. Soon they’d have to stop, or at least switch to more inconspicuous means of searching. He tried not to think about all the statistics involving missing persons and the importance of the first few hours. How much time they had already lost.

Not lost. Wasted.

But now that they were actively looking, somehow it felt like things were still getting worse.

He groaned, bracing his hands on his knees as his anxiety and frustration mingled bitterly with fresh guilt. He’d expected the conversation with Jason to be awkward; he hadn’t expected it to be so… sad.

The look on Jason’s face…

“Oracle,” Batman said at last, a ripple of warning in his baritone that snapped Red Robin upright. Wallowing would have to wait.

Right now, he needed to focus.

“I know,” Oracle answered. “Red, you take the old abbey on Acreage. Spoiler, there’s an office building under construction on–”

“H-hello…?” a quavering voice interjected.

Red froze, his arm outstretched with his grapple. No one responded, and the silence that followed was so complete he almost thought his comm had shut off.

“Ora..cle?”

“Dick?” she nearly shouted. “Oh my– where are you? Are you okay?”

“I… don’t know.” Dick’s voice was hollow, almost distracted.

“Wait,” Dick said a little firmer. “Historical district. I don’t know wh–” Then he hacked and coughed, and there was the distinct sound of something splattering onto a floor.

Red Robin was already swinging through the air towards the historical district when Oracle asked, “Are you hurt?”

“I­–”

A nearby explosion sent a shockwave through the air, throwing off the arc of Red Robin’s swing and sending him careening into the side of a building. “Agh!”

He retracted the grapple, letting it pull him up the rest of the way until he was able to crawl over the lip of the roof and look around.

The bottom floor of an apartment building down the street was engulfed in flames. A moment later, another explosion went off several blocks away. And another after that, distant booms and plumes of fiery smoke billowing into the early morning sky.

“What’s going on?” Red Robin asked, sprinting towards the building closest to him. “Are you guys seeing this?”

[hartigays]

“I’m in love with you." "Shut up and kiss me."

1. “I’m in love with you.”

4. “Shut up and kiss me.”

steve comes in from the cold with a shiver, knocking his boots against the doorframe to shake loose any remaining snow.

there’s a thin trickle of snot dribbling from steve’s nose, and he wipes it off with a gloved hand, sniffling. he doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know that his nose is red and chapped after the hours he’d spent outside clearing the traps.

“we get anything good?” hopper asks. he’s squatting by the fireplace, tossing some logs and sticks into the flames.

steve brandishes the belt of rabbits and squirrels he’d collected, smiling. “we did pretty good, all things considered.”

joyce is the first to jump up, examining their kill with a gleeful smile. it’s been a few weeks since they’ve gotten this much in the traps, and they’re in dire need of protein. steve wants to strip a rabbit clean and roast it over the fire to feed el right then and there, her sunken-in eyes concerning him more than anything.

“good thing, too,” joyce says, sighing happily. “we need it. help me in the kitchen, will ya, hop?”

the two disappear into the kitchen, and steve makes his way into the living room, crouching down by the fire to warm his hands. the kids are gathered around under an assortment of blankets; el is curled into max’s side, and will his mimicking their position with mike. dustin and lucas are huddling for warmth as well, curled up under the same flannel blanket.

“we eat tonight?” el asks, fixing steve with inquisitive eyes.

steve nods, leaning over to ruffle her hair. “sure are, kid.”

it’s been over a year since the world went to shit, every corner of the earth crawling with the living dead. they still aren’t sure how it happened, but they’ve managed to adapt as best as they can as a group, under the circumstances.

steve has been thankful since day one that he’d been with the party when this shit went down, rather than home alone in his big, empty house.

joyce and hopper had been holding a family dinner when the world basically ended, so steve had been in the company of them, all the kids, nancy, and jonathan when the first of the flesh-eaters staggered its way onto the porch. el had taken care of it quickly, but it was the first of many.

after that, they’d stayed at the byers house for as long as they could, but it’d been a matter of time before they’d needed to go on the move in search of food. along the way they’d come across robin and heather, trapped in robin’s house with the rotting corpses of her parents.

it hadn’t been more than a few days after picking them up, everyone parked in their cars in a vacant lot trying to ride things out, that a herd had passed through. the group had fought with all their might, but they’d been hopelessly outnumbered.

that is, until one crazy motherfucker with enough firepower to rival a small army came blazing through, blowing the head off of anything that had once been dead and since came back to life.

and that motherfucker had been none other than billy hargrove.

billy had survived the first wave of flesh-eaters by letting them overrun his house, using neil as bait. steve hadn’t asked too many questions about why billy had been so comfortable using his father as a tasty snack for the living dead; he’d met neil once or twice, he didn’t need to ask.

and one good thing about neil was his tendency to stockpile weapons. which, in any other situation, might not look so good. but in these times, it was nothing short of a blessing.

an unfortunate casualty of billy’s neil-turned-zombie-snack plan had been susan. according to billy, he’d tried his hardest to get her to leave with him and max, but she’d refused to leave neil’s side. even after neil turned into a flesh-eating monster, trying to rip her head off, susan had declined to leave her home.

it was only a matter of time before she became dinner for a pea-brained flesh-eater. billy had to pull max away as she kicked and screamed, initially not wanting to accept her mother’s fate. but it was too late - the moment susan had gotten a chunk ripped out of her neck by the thing that had once been her husband, max stopped fighting.

it’d only been a few days later that they’d swung in and saved the party’s collective ass, staving off the now near-inevitable fate of every living creature on this planet. that fate being the inevitability of being torn apart by flesh-eating monsters, only to be reanimated as flesh-hungry monsters themselves.

now, the group is holed up in a dilapidated home that had once been a bed and breakfast of sorts, just trying to ride this shit out without losing their heads. and they haven’t lost anyone yet, by some miraculous stroke of luck.

that isn’t to say that they don’t worry every day that each hour might be their last. but they’re thankful for the small things.

steve acknowledges this now, as he appraises the group of kids before him. although they’re more like teenagers now, having grown up far too fast during all of the chaos.

el opens up the blanket she’s sharing with max, gesturing for steve to come get warm. he accepts her invitation gratefully, curling up under the blanket as another shiver runs through him.

“cold,” el says, her eyes meeting steve’s. she has a hand covering his icy fingers, her brows furrowed in concern. “too cold.”

“don’t worry, kid. i’ll warm him up.”

the voice comes from the hallway, and a moment later billy appears at the threshold, leaning against the doorframe with a toothy smile.

steve can’t help but roll his eyes, even though his stomach does a little flip-flop. el’s eyes flit between them, her brows coming even closer together in confusion.

“ugh,” nancy groans from the kitchen. steve sees her shoot billy a disapproving look. “keep it in the bedroom, hargrove. there are kids here.”

“hey, we’re like, old now. we know what sex is!” dustin protests.

steve chokes on his own spit, his cheeks heating up. “we are not having sex! i don’t even - that’s not even - i can’t believe - that’s just - it’s just. it’s wrong - we don’t even -”

billy gives steve a look, his brows raised, and it effectively cuts off steve’s rambling protests. because, okay, it’s not like billy is wrong, per se. steve has seen billy’s dick more than his own in recent weeks. but really, can anyone blame him? like, it’s the end of the world, for fucks’ sake. it’s not like he has many options to choose from.

and it doesn’t help that billy is, like, disgustingly hot, even after having not showered in months.

maybe steve is just weak. or maybe he’d thought about riding billy into the sunset more often than not before the world decided to go and practically spin off its axis. either way, he doesn’t hold himself solely responsible for having fallen into bed with billy the moment billy had used a cheap pickup line when steve had taken a few too many sips of toilet wine, and had stayed there ever since.

steve heaves himself up off the floor, scuffling over to billy to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. “quit it. they don’t need the details.”

“but i like the details,” billy protests, though it’s more to be annoying than to actually argue.

billy tugs steve in by the lapels of his coat, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. steve can’t help but smile into the kiss, his heart doing little somersaults in his chest.

“you did good with the traps,” steve tells him, bumping their noses together. “got enough to last us ‘bout a week.”

“told you they’d work,” billy says, sticking his tongue out. “and you said i was too much of a city boy. better pay up, princess.”

steve rolls his eyes, despite the fact that he’s pulling billy in closer. “i stand corrected. happy now?”

“ecstatic.”

billy leans in for another kiss, but steve steps back with a cheeky smile, backing into the kitchen despite billy’s disbelieving look.

steve helps joyce and hopper strip and clean their kill, stringing up most of it above the fire to form jerky in the smoke. the rest they cook up for their evening meal, finally having enough food for everyone to go to bed with a full stomach.

later, after a long evening spent laughing and eating around the fire, the group turns in for bed, sated and full. steve offers to take on cleanup duty for the evening, so he’s the last to make his way to his room, trudging up the stairs with an armful of blankets.

billy is already laying in bed, lounging in nothing but sweatpants, cocooned in their comforter. they’d originally shared a room with nancy and jonathan, but the two had switched to bunk with robin and heather once they realized billy didn’t care whether or not they were present when he wanted to get laid.

it’s not like steve really cared either - billy is tight and warm and all the things steve wants to bury himself into after a long day of trying to survive. and it can’t be said that billy isn’t a giver either - he has a dick and he knows how to use it. steve can attest to that fact. he’s experienced far too many days of not being able to walk straight to say anything less.

and billy’s appetites aren’t anything steve can complain about, because they now have a room to themselves. which is nice for reasons other than being able to pound each other into their mattress. they can stay up late whispering to each other, talking about the future and their dreams and how they feel.

turns out billy isn’t just busting it open for steve’s monster dick. he’s after steve’s heart, too, and steve is more than happy to give it to him. despite billy being an absolute tool in high school, he’s turned out to be a soft-hearted romantic in the midst of the apocalypse.

“you’ve gotta stop alluding to our sex life in front of the kids,” steve says as he crawls into bed, having changed into a warm set of flannel pajamas that he’d grabbed from a wal-mart on one of their many food runs.

billy just looks at him, his blue eyes big and innocent. “but how else will everyone know you’re mine?”

steve snorts, snacking billy’s bare shoulder. “i think you’ve made that abundantly clear. seriously, hop is gonna force us to sit down with him and have ‘the talk’ if you don’t cut it out.”

“sounds sexy,” billy says with a wink, and steve can’t help his cackle. “‘sides, they said it themselves. they’re not kids anymore.”

“it’s still weird,” steve groans. “and you act like they don’t hear us railing each other nine times out of ten. the walls here are like paper.”

“railing each other, huh? i don’t believe you. i think we need to test that out to see if that’s actually what we do.”

steve shoves billy with a groan that’s half a laugh. “oh my god, you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“only for you, sweetheart,” billy tells him, tongue poking out between his teeth.

“shut up and kiss me, asshole.”

billy normally would challenge steve given the insult, but not tonight. instead, he rolls over, tugging steve in and sealing their lips together with a contented sigh. steve isn’t sure if it’s because he’d been gone for hours clearing the traps, or if billy is just in a cuddly mood, but steve certainly isn’t complaining. he just kisses billy until both of their lips are swollen and bruised.

it’s when they break apart that billy fixes steve with a wide-eyed stare, his chest heaving a little. “i’m in love with you.”

steve’s heart feels like it stops in chest, and his mouth pops open in surprise. “wait, seriously?”

it’s not what steve means to say, but it’s not innaccurate. he is in disbelief, just a little. billy looks kind of self-conscious, his eyes drifting up towards the ceiling. he rolls onto his back, putting some distance between them.

steve reaches out and catches billy’s hand, threading their fingers together. “hey, i didn’t - that’s not what i meant. i mean, i love you too. i thought that was obvious.”

billy’s head snaps over to look at him, his eyes narrowed. “yeah? you’re not just saying that ‘cause i’m the only hot piece of ass left within a fifty-mile radius?”

“you were the only hot piece of ass within a fifty-mile radius before the world ended,” steve mutters, his thumb rubbing across the softness of billy’s skin. “i mean, seriously. i didn’t need the dead to rise up for me to know that.”

“oh,” billy says, and steve can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. “thought you were only in it ‘cause you didn’t have any options left. y’know, nancy having ditched you for stalker boy and robin liking pussy and all.”

steve shoots billy a disbelieving look, snorting softly. “billy, you literally had me getting hard for you in the showers after basketball practice. doesn’t bother me than you’re not a girl, if that’s what you’re worried about. i fucked tommy when i was fourteen.”

billy chokes out a surprised laugh, and it echoes around the room. “you’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“nope.”

“well, shit. thought you were straight as an arrow before all this,” billy says thoughtfully. “would’ve paid to see you fuck hagan. bet he cries when he cums.”

“nah, he giggles. which is somehow weirder,” steve laughs. “wonder if he’s dead.”

“dunno, saw him with perkins at the school when everyone was gathering there for that refugee camp they kept talking about. got overrun, last i heard,” billy says with a shrug. “maybe he made it out.”

“i hope so,” steve hums, then shrugs when billy gives him a pointed look. “he was my best friend once upon a time, you know. just ‘cause you’re jealous doesn’t mean i hope he’s dead.”

“yeah, yeah,” billy snorts, rolling his eyes. “can we fuck now? i need to get the image of you pounding hagan out of my mind.”

“why, that get you worked up?” steve teases, poking at billy’s cheek with his index finger.

billy just catches steve’s wrists in his hands and rolls him onto his back, straddling his hips and pinning him to the mattress. steve can’t help but giggle when billy leans down to kiss him, tangling his fingers in his curls when billy releases his wrists.

the world is a bleak place these days, but steve has carved out his own slice of happiness despite it. smiling into billy’s kisses, the warm weight of billy on top of him, grounding him, steve knows he’ll do whatever it takes to defend his little piece of paradise.

and maybe it’s not what steve envisioned for himself back when he was an idealistic teenager. but he’s not going to argue it. it’s not like they have much left to find joy in, after all.

steve will take whatever piece of it that he can get.

send me super sappy prompts!

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Fifteen; Anticipation.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- animal shapeshifting but thas about it really-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                       ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

The very next days seemed to crawl by. As if time itself was dragging through claggy thick treacle.

 Nothing moved quickly and Iris knows it’s because she’s anticipating the weeks-end more than any other event she’s ever awaited on in her life.

 More than Yuletide morning. More than her birthday. More than buying a new book or taking an early morning walk all to herself. More than a sunny frosted morning where everything seems to glimmer as if crafted from gold, or seeing wildflowers dot the woods with their colour in spring.

 She’s waiting on that much anticipated midnight with baited breath. Every second closer to it is both torture and sweet blessed relief.

 She fulfils her remaining days with a permanent smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

 Even her acetous mother remarks upon it. She tells her daughter the fine manner of her engagement must be bringing her joy. Iris bites her lip to keep from grinning.

 She clutched her romantic secret all that tighter to her chest. Moulded it like warm clay to clasp around her glad heart.

 Mother and Maratella insist on setting a date. And getting her whole ‘bouquet’ of daughters measured for their gowns.

 Posy and Flora for they are of course to be bridesmaids, and Iris, of course, for her bridal gown. They get up a merry party to Pembleton one fine clear morning.

 The snow and frost govern the landscape once more. Ebbing back in after the recent rain. The brown frost-hardened hills and trees and fields. Governed under the fierce cyclops of a mustard sun blazing in the effortless blue of the cobalt sky. It made Iris think of robins eggs, and the golden buttery buds of spring. When the bulbs and shoots blossom up through the earth with their sickly scent and colour.

 It is a fine clear day and it indicates that the end of the long bitter winter approaches. The cold is as ferocious as ever so Maratella insists upon them not catching a chill in the vile icy winds. Shes most kind as to stop to collect the Misses Ashton’s in the Hux’s second largest coach. They are all bid to the dressmakers in the high street. Along the medieval shamble of barrel window and oak timber shops.

 The news of her engagement spread far and wide. Before her boots have even touched the cobbles, stepping out the coach, their party is virtually mobbed by matrons and ladies of their acquaintance.

 Iris had in mind a silly image of them prowling at the pavements like baying wolves, chasing after the muddy churn of the carriage wheels; anything for to first seize that newest scrap of gossip.

 Posy and Flora ladle up all the attention. As does Mama. Proudly boasting - along with Maratella - of the suitability of such a fine match. Iris wants to roll her eyes as Flora greatly exaggerated the romantic manner of Hux’s proposition. She gabbled about a room full of red roses and how Iris wept tears of delight as he swept her into his arms.

 The ravenous eyes turn toward her. “May we see the ring, Miss Ashton?” Comes out of numerous smiling mouths like a chorus of cawing seagulls. Iris feels like they’ll rip her glove off themselves if she doesn’t.

 Unused to such attention, she blushes as she slips off her grey calfskin glove. Wrenching it off her hand. There is a troupe of awed gasps as they admire the diamond set in the gold band.

 Iris feels as if she’s sticking her hand into a dangerous animals maw. Like some exhibit at a zoo. Feeding her hand to the rabid starving tiger’s. There’s so much gasping and in taking of breath it’s a wonder they don’t suck her up. And take half the street with them.

 Luckily, Maratella fusses that they’ll be late if they don’t make haste. She then proudly utters that the ladies five, their happy little bridal party, are off to Madame Larousse’s dressmaking parlour for a wedding gown. And Mrs Ashton and Mrs Hux are to see to both having new hats to mark such a happy occasion.

 The flock of ravenous ladies ceases. Satisfied with their mauling of Iris and her news and her engagement ring. The party is able to proceed along the pavement unhindered.

 They slip into Madame Larousse’s. Greeted by the lanky, heavily perfumed proprietor herself. She was a tall, ungainly woman with poky shoulders and an always over-rouged complexion. And will always, without fail, exaggerate a mildly French accent to gild her words. For she believes that all the best dressmakers and seamstresses were French.

 The tall stretch of Madame claps excitedly and demands to see Iris’ hand when she hears they are here to purchase ribbons and lace and all things fit for a bride. She is whisked away by a very efficient assistant. And stood on a pedestal for the next hour and half.

 Iris spends that time with swatches pinned to her. Flapped around her ears. Tucked under her collar. There’s so many back and forth decisions from her mother, it makes her quite dizzy. A tape drawn tight around her so many times to squeeze the stuffing out her. Eventually, they stumble to a conclusion. It was to be a saffron orange.

 Flora remarked it made her rather look like a carrot.

 Around her they lounge on the chaises provided, clutched around the mirror and the box she’s on, and they drink sweet tea. Brown sugar sprinkled and stirred into the earl grey.

 They all pose interjections and opinions and preferences on her. Iris just stands there like a tailors doll. Only half there.

 She’s caught sight of a swatch of ruby-wine velvet near her thigh and is stroking it fondly. Remembering Lord Rens exquisite bed coverlet. How it felt under her fingers, it took her ricocheting back to that moment. And it calmed her.

 That’s how she can stand all this grousing and prodding. It reminds her of her secret and she nearly faints off that box pedestal.

 They settle on a pallid frothy blue silk instead. To better bring out the excellence of her mud and twigs hair. Mama chooses the best silk madame has in stock. Says she will have to fetch more in from her supplier especially. From London.

 That causes much excitement for Flora and Posy. They’d never had a dress made from material fetched as far nor from a city as grand as London, before.

 Posy had selected a teasing slip of pink silk. Flora, for her more fiery hair, chose a delicate pastel pea green. Iris thinks they’ll look like a platter of French fancy cakes.

 Then a pang of something hits through her heart with all the intensity of an arrowhead studding there - she hopes Mama lets Posy and Flora keep their new gowns after she’s gone. She hopes very much. They are the stillest girls in existence but they do deserve nicer things than what they get.

 By Madame’s husky drawl of a smoky voice is she brought back into the room, the awful pink pink pink room. Stuffed with velvet chaises and bolster cushions and trimmed fringed oil lamps. Great big fat rosebuds sprout up the wallpaper and flourish across the fabric of the pillows on the settee.

 It’s as if the whole room is the summoning of the evil fairy in sleeping beauty. Who commanded swarms of brambles and thorns and swamping plants to take over. That was this room to the last pink thread - only it was instead summoned to contain every incarnation of pink roses as far as the eye could see.

 Her ears burn hot and pink as Madame talks of London. Relating the gossip back to someone in the village. Matter of fact, a certain Lord-

 “Apparantly, you know he sent that tall turbaned butler of his up to London just yesterday...” Madame hushes to them in her hazy terribly-affected French.

 “Sent him to Mayfair.” She grins crookedly as she measures from Iris’s hip to her hem. Barking orders at Suzy, her ever suffering assistant.

 Maratella seems most diverted. “Pray whatever for?” She leans forwards. Perching her half eaten violet macaroon on her saucer.

 “He sent him to Bond Street. You know there is an establishment there that supplies jewels to the palace. Apparantly he came back having purchased something.” Madame says.

 “Pray why would be send his butler all that way?” Flora asks.

 “Why, Miss Smith told me so this morning; she suspects Lord Ren has left his heart behind in Bavaria. He is soon to quit Hellford. She heard Clarence Pennington’s butler say that his housekeeper, Mrs Jones states that half his house is shut. And the staff vacated.” Maratella excites them all. Flora and Posy are mortified at such news.

 “The house is emptying. And Lord Ren shall soon be gone.” She adds.

 Mrs Ashton smiles gladly. “He is journeying back home to his castle I wager...” She delights. The spitting smug nature of her tone was clear. Good riddance.

 “Who must he be besotted with I wonder?” Posy asks indelicately.

 Iris tries not to be twice as smug. Thinking that she is that very woman.

 He goes back to his castle and I will gladly go with him, she thinks.

 The giddiness and joy roils in her stomach like golden champagne. Fizzes through her veins and she has to hide a smile. Biting her cheek hard.

 “Well. if he is shortly to leave our shores. I’m willing to bet he’ll break a fair few maidens hearts in this county and the next over. Such a striking gentleman. The young ladies will certainly feel his loss most keenly.” Maratella comments in sadness for all the female admirers he’d amassed. They’d all be heart sore now he’s going away.

 “You’re blushing Iris.” Flora sing-songs at her. Pointing it out. “Thoughts of your intended sweetheart?” She ribs her sister.

 “You are a colossal pest. Flora.” Iris smiles at her. Matter of fact. Her little bug of a sister is quite right. She is thinking about the man she’ll marry.

 Only another agonising hour whilst Mama and Maratella select their hats for the occasion. But Iris can atleast sit down and drink some much too sweet earl grey tea. Doesn’t have to stand on that wretched box for another hour.

 Eventually their purchases were rung up and settled. Flora and Posy love Iris very much because she buys them two new ribbons each and some velvet buttons for their bonnets. They’re singing her praises as they quit the shop. Trilling like a pair of canaries about their gowns. Iris was glad to spend some of her pin money on them before she leaves for good.

 She’s fully appraised of the weight of her actions. And the serious consequence of them. It would be ruinous for her mother and father. It would be a disaster for her sisters. But atleast she was of age and she could marry. Whatever else others might say of her - she fully believes Lord Ren’s intentions are honourable.

 They can’t scandalise her for marrying Kylo. Just censure her for running away from Hux and jilting him. She’s certain he’ll recover amicably enough. He doesn’t love her. And his mother is suitably well connected. She could snap her fingers and summon another willing bride. She’s only sorry it can’t be her.

 She’s despondent to remark upon the pain she’ll be causing hers and Hux’s family. But in time, they will recover. Posy would do well and Flora will follow in her footsteps. Mother will see to it they catch fine husbands when the time is right. Their mother is most skilled in that area.

 The party journeys along Pembleton street. Maratella stops by the haberdashers to seek after some ribbons. Mama is in the milliners seeking after a new pair of occasion gloves. Posy and Flora amble slowly along the street with their sister. Watching the carriages and coaches trundle by. Various riders on horseback too.

 A loud nickering snort behind her makes her turn. She can hardly hide the smile that quickly grows across her face when she catches sight of a lone rider on a huge stocky black stallion. Both man and his mount are furiously muscled beasts.

 His Lordly attire is its usual. All black. Save for his white shirt and red cravat. The great overcoat frames his wide shoulders and his bulky chest. His boots gleam in the meagre sun. His grin tips up when he catches sight of her.

 He looks terribly smug and Iris’s heart feels like it’s trying to ram out the cage of her ribs. This handsome lordly man who stole it away, sets it pounding freely and rampant in her chest.

 She tries not to arouse the suspicion of her sisters. They were much too curious and meddling for their own good. She wants to protect her secret and she thinks she’s a proficient enough liar to accomplish it.

 They burst into fits of giggles on seeing him. He rides Erland closer to where they are stood and dismounts. His strong boots thud into the frosty mud. His wool coat laps and swathes his body. He tethered himself to Erland. Massive gloved hand gripping the reins. The creature didn’t seem to have any care for wandering off. He just wished to see Iris - Kylo empathises with the horse. He rather feels the exact same.

 Iris, Posy and Flora all curtsey to him. He bids them all a greeting. She bows her neck and when she looks up. His eyes fondly fix on her. Warm in the sun. The contrast of him is astonishing. Milky creamy complexion, bordered by the onyx shadow of his hair and eyes. Utter opposites in the juxtaposition.

 “Miss Ashton. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you are still well recovered. You look very radiant this morning.” He comments. Walking Erland just that tiny step closer.

 The obstinate animal his stallion is, reaches his nose out and snorts into her hand. Nudges her glove for pats and scritches of affection behind his ears. She doesn’t care that she’ll get horse hair on her. She strokes him.

 “You are most kind. Your lordship. I am very well.” She smiles slightly. The pretty kiss of rose on her cheeks.

 “I need not tell you Erland is pleased to make your acquaintance once more.” He remarks starkly. Hint of irony not lost on her. Erland almost nudges her to fall over with his big strong head. She laughs.

 “Your ears must’ve been burning. Lord Ren. For we were just discussing you...” Posy flirts. Batting her lashes at the man.

 Hands crossed in front of her. Like she was a genteel little doe. Iris glares narrowed silver dagger eyes at her sister to stop displaying herself so readily. As ever, the little vexation pays no attention. Not when there was a hot blooded male around.

 Kylo tilts his head. Intrigued. “Is that so, Miss Posy?” He asks.

 “We we’re discussing how heart sore all the young ladies hereabouts will be when you quit Hampshire...” Flora tells him.

 Kylo takes her confession in his stride. “It’s true. And I am sorry more than I can exclaim to be leaving such carnage and desolation in my wake. But sadly I do return to Bavaria shortly.”

 That handsome expression barely betrays a thing. The cold wind flounces and ruffles that wild hair. A tuft of it drifts in his face and tangled in his dark eyeline.

 Iris decides in that moment he truly might be an angel sculpted by gods own hand; or a demon designed by the devil himself. She isn’t sure which of those creatures is all the more tempting.

 One thing she’s certain of; He’d win that draw of most handsome, every time.

 She quivers when those eyes gaze at her. Peels her right out her clothes and down to her goose pimpled skin. Then Posy has to go and open her foolhardy mouth some more...

 “We were just helping Iris shop for her bridal gown.” She preens. “And our bridesmaids dresses.” She comments. Speaking as if she wants Kylo to snatch her up and steal her away to Bavaria. Stuff her in his pocket and run off with her.

 “I had heard rumour of your engagement...” He lies. Iris is biting the inside of her lip and smiling genially to hide how wide her excitement wishes to make her smile grow.

 “Show Lord Ren your engagement ring, Iris!” Flora bounces excitedly. Iris glares. Reminding her of the inappropriate nature of her words.

 “Flora. Lord Ren is not interested in such matters. And I’m afraid we’ve already impressed upon too much of his time...” She insists.

 Kylo holds out his hand to her. Steps closer so she has to crane her head back just to keep sight of his eyes. “I am certainly interested. And I might add, most eager to see the bauble that decorates such a fine, pretty hand.” He teases.

 She decides he was designed by the devil. And lucifer gave him a silver tongue to boot-

 Iris slips off her grey glove and gently lays her palm in his.

 The way his fingers curl around hers is criminal. She tips her eyes up to his as he shifts closer and admires her ring. A soft smile tugs at his mouth. The gold winks at him in the sun. It’s a pretty delicate morsel. He can’t deny. But plain. Much too plain. Entirely humble as decoration went.

 -it’s certainly nothing to the one he’d had Jomar go all the way to London to fetch for her from Bentley & Skinner on Bond Street.

 “It is a fine ring. Miss Ashton. Sergeant Hux is the most fortunate man in England to have you as his intended bride. I’m quite envious of his fortuity.” He says. Bowing to lay a kiss on the back of her palm.

 His eyes electrify her. He winks at her and she flushes with heat. Blood pressing up in her face.

 “I’m sorry to hear of your leaving England. Lord Ren. Such a shame Hellford Park should be quitted before the summer.” She tells him.

 Her palm leaving his. Sliding away from the touch of his hand would have made her wretched were it not for the heat in his bronzed eyes. Made a warmer melting shade by the shimmer of the buttery sun. And their shared secret lifts her heart.

 “It is a great shame. But I’m eager to return to Ranlor. I’ve missed my homeland a great deal.”

 “The rumour in circulation is that you have a certain lady in mind to return home too.” Posy dares most outlandishly. Iris chides her for her brash rudeness.

 “Posy!” Iris calls out.

 Kylo seems amused by it. “That would he telling. Miss Posy. Not to mention betraying the confidence of the most honourable lady in question.” He smirks at her sister.

 Who giggles and blushes like it’s no ones business. His vampiric charms seeping out of his every pore, truly intoxicating to them, Iris can see it’s influence.

 “Is she a great beauty? I imagine she is most elegant indeed and very superior and titled in rank and manner. And of great fortune...” Posy digs for more details. Kylo will reveal none.

 “Pray. Don’t be impertinent twice-over.” Iris corrects. Posy pulls a vexed face. Shoves her tongue out at her sister.

 Kylo’s chuckling. They were entertaining little chits. Relentless. But he admires something about that sparky quality. Iris had the same sense about her - only more sensible and humble.

 “She is the singularly, most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld in all my years.” He promises. “And I cannot wait to have her hand in marriage. She will make me a very blessed and lucky man.” He declares.

 “How romantic.” Posy declares in a sigh. Flora dreamily agrees. They’re both veritably Moony eyed. Gazing up at him in wonder as a consequence. A silly girls kryptonite. A handsome and dark romantic man. A Byronic figure to set all the foolish girls swooning at the knees.

 Kylo’s eyes sweep across to Iris at a passing glance. He smiles. And it almost undoes her.

 “We must be on our way. We’ve availed ourselves of too much of your time. Lord Ren.” Iris says in parting. Trying to herd her vapid sisters away before they flirt anymore.

 “We must go. For we are bid to the Hux’s tonight for a celebratory engagement supper.” Posy curtsies boasting as she’s bobbing away.

 “Give the Sergeant and his family my warmest regards.” Kylo insists. Knowing what a barb that would be to Hux’s temper.

 Iris turns and meets his eyes. Giving him a polite bowed head in parting. When Posy and Flora are otherwise looking elsewhere. She turns back and gives him such a look of longing and delight it makes him grin at her as she walks off down the cobbled pavement.

 “Very good to see you again. Your Lordship. Have a pleasant rest of your day.” She insists.

 Cajoling her sisters along the path and away before they get any notions. Erland snorts at her as she moved away. She smiles and gladly rubs the flat bone of his nose before she goes. Lord Ren stays standing until she does move away.

 Kylo pats his neck, and hauls himself up on his strong stallions back once again. Booted feet in the stirrups. He adjusts on the saddle. Scanning the tumbled windows of the high street proprietors.

 In the milliners, he sees a face like sour lemons and thunder glaring out at him. Mrs Ashton’s stony face peering outwards through the glass. Having seen his exchange with all her daughters.

 He coaxes Erland into a slow walk. A little nudge in his side. He gives the foul Caroline Ashton his most winning enigmatic smile. And nods civilly in greeting at her as he rides off.

 He sees it makes her lips purse in irritation.

 Iris can’t resist glancing back at him. She knows those eyes watch her all the way down the street. She can feel them. Two pinpricks of heat, like candles, burning into her shoulder-blades.

 It makes her too giddy for words.

 They soon catch up with the rest of their party and are whisked away in the Hux carriage. Soaring across the dirty English roads. Mud churning in their wake as cold air and sunshine bounces off the roof.

 Mama asks them what Lord Ren. Iris told them he was just politely passing the time of day. She seems satisfied with the answer. Iris fights not to squirm into shivers of desire at the merest intimation and memory of him.

 Posy and Flora sing-song his romantic praises all the way home. Mother soon shuts them up with a cross cold stare.

 The afternoon seems to fly her by. No sooner than she’s home and she’s readying herself for the dinner they’ll take at the Hux’s residence. Cavenham House.

 The not so modest estate in the border of the next county. A gorgeous house if she’s being perfectly honest. Terracotta red bricked exterior, of modern Georgian design. Huge arched white windows. Rococo interior. All gilded with cherubs frolicking on the murky painted ceilings and baroque trim on every door. Rolling scrolls. Frescoes and pastel colours. Gilding, moulding and trompe l’oeils giving the illusion of motion and drama. Raining down from every ceiling.

 A handsomely kept garden was also what it was resolutely famous for. Though it would not be pictured to its best quality in this dead winter. Spring will liven it soon. The hardy bright bulbs will crop up through the frost. But for now it remains speckled in snow with only the evergreens surviving.

 Iris can see it all as they pull up the long stretch of the torch lit drive. In the coach Maratella was kind enough to send to collect them all.

 Once again she was wedged beside Posy and Flora, and their shrill gossiping. Mother and Father opposite. Noiseless and as disagreeing as ever. Silence blazed between them as somber as a churchyard. They were about as animated with each other as two gravestones.

 Iris dressed in her navy silk gown with 3/4 sleeves and a sheer white chemisette swirled with stitched white flowers, decorating her shoulders and neck. Meg cleverly weaves that teal ribbon into her hair coiffure again. She finishes the look with pearl droplet earrings and white satin gloves up to her elbows.

 They are welcomed inside by stony faced servants in the blue Cavenham livery. Taken into the drawing room to meet their hosts. Maratella had invited some local flavour along also. Everyone’s merry and mingling. Posy offers to play a Handel piece on the Pianoforte before dinner is announced. She does so rather well. Thunks the opening notes in shocking volume but she picks up from that point onwards.

 Iris is admiring the scenery from the drawing room window. Even in the dark she can see how lovely the gardens are. It doesn’t dissolve the fact that this house would still be a prison to her. There weren’t bars on the window and she won’t exactly be stitching mailbags - but it will still be her cage.

 A handsome cage, she won’t deny. But a cage nonetheless as she mothers the children and lives for planning fine parties to boast of her and her husbands excellence. And slowly becomes a woman of high rank and no substance.

 Hux moves to stand by her side, hands folded behind his back. A tall lean column of red, black and white in his ceremonial dress. Medals shining. Hair groomed. Perfectly respectable. Infuriatingly loveless, as always.

 “You shall like the gardens in summer. I should think.” He remarks.

 “They are most handsome.” She comments. “A fine prospect indeed.” She agrees.

 They perfectly form the vision of lovers conversing by candlelight. She can hear Mama and Mrs. Hux cooing proudly behind them. It’s infuriating. Iris can’t spend the rest of her life in a manner such as this; being prodded and manoeuvred and gossiped over like a chess piece on a board.

 “I care little for being out of doors. Save for riding with my regiment.” He impresses.

 Iris nods. “I am perhaps overfond of walking. I take an excursion each day if I can.” She tells him.

 He sniffs. And coldly watches the view before them. “Well. You shall have to make allowances and sacrifices when we are wed. I can’t have you scampering around the countryside when you are with my heir.” He insists.

 Iris’s mouth turns dry. She makes little response to his words. He turns away to speak to someone else but she catches his arm to stop him.

 “Please I just want to say-“ she starts.

 She looks up into his face. The bright copper of his hair and the steel of his eyes. The surety of his rigid auburn brow. She doesn’t dislike him. He’s not an unpleasant man. Just, misguided.

 She says what she’s thinking now before she loses the chance. No doubt he’ll think very badly of her when all is done.

 “I think well of you. You know. You are a gallant man. Not lacking in honour or credibility. I admire that about you. Hux.” She says. Even if I can’t marry you for it.

 He nods. Accepting her words. Then their granite faced butler coughs dryly and announces dinner to the room.

 Maratella lets the engaged couple be seated next to each other at dinner. Wanting to encourage the tepid affection brewing between them. Iris doesn’t know what the woman expects from them. They weren’t matched for love but it’s as if that’s what she’s hoping to see blossom.

Maratella is hoping for romance to pass betwixt them.

 It could and never will be that. Iris thinks.

 Iris remarks inwardly to herself as she sips down her soup a la reine. Served alongside several large golden Bouchée à la reine’s. 

 The next course is of stewed beef and venison steaks, and a whole champagne poached salmon with slithers of white and black truffles decorating the cooked fish acting as scales.

 More seafood came served in the form of fried then boiled sole, heaped in a terrine and a whole platter of pickled crab. A haricott of vegetables and mashed turnips. There was enough food spread on this very grand table, to keep them dining for a fortnight. Mrs Hux organised a feast intended to show off.

 She gets everyone to toast to the newlyweds. The gentleman stand to raise their glasses and the ladies stay seated.

 The pudding banquet is brought out and quite rightly enough, as she suspected, the whole table is flouncing in ruched fancy french sugar concoctions.

 Silken French pies. Syllabubs of lemon and rose and brandy. Ice’s of all flavours. Custard tarts smothered with fat ripe fruit drowning steeped in syrup. Sugar plums and cinnamon and mace laced apple tartlets with baked custard. Iris indulged in some of the tarts and the fruits.

 Posy and Flora fall upon creams and dainty fancies like hungry wolves. And eat until they are stuffed.

 The ladies retire to the parlour for music and snifters of sweet ruby port wine. Iris indulges in a glass as her sisters and various other young accomplished ladies take to the pianoforte to sing and show off. Posy drags a reluctant Iris up to sing whilst she plays. She grumbles but bends to her sisters will.

 She gives a shortly sweet chorus of ‘Let no man steal your thyme’ for it was the only song she could sing comfortably well.

 She never much liked performing for amusement. Some girls were a glutton for it. Iris is no such a one. She stands with one hand on the pianoforte and the other folded behind her hip. She sings her choruses and smiles meekly at the small scattering of applause offered for her when she is done.

 She heads back to her spot on the settee. Maratella is remarking to her mother how divine it will be to have a songbird in the house once again. Iris sits back in her seat and spends the rest of her evening in silence. Though she wants to say a great deal.

 The evening slips past well enough. Night spills past her relatively quick. Another day gone. Another day closer to her happiness. She’s almost too giddy to contain it.

 Then the time comes to bid goodnight to their hosts;

 Iris watches as Hux fondly kisses her hand. Seeing her off out the rich gilded foyer out into the black black night. Sky so dark it’s a whole void studded with freckling stars. Cold shudders at the shivering trees.

 She wants to say something impactful and veiled. To speak of her regard for him. She cannot think how best to do so. She swallows down her thick tongue. Remains a coward.

 She can only hope in time, after the wake of her scandal settles. That Hux will find someone better suited than her. Maybe even find someone that he can love? She prays deeply for that little happy happenstance.

 She is not so unfeeling as to wish a joyless life on the man who just wasn’t correct for her.

 Her teeth grits with all the things unsaid. “I hope you’ll be happy.” She smiles lightly. He thinks her to be referring to the engagement that stands between them.

 “I’m sure.” He comments. “Goodnight.” Is his curt response.

 It doesn’t incense her. Tonight it vexed her. Caused a tiny crease between her brows. It seemed such fickle words to part on. But she leaves them be-

 Let’s those words spirit up into the quiet undisturb of the night. The heavens can have those words. Iris wishes it could have been more. But how appropriate is it that even his parting words are found wanting.

 She gets into the coach after curtseying a polite goodbye to Brendol and Maratella. She says something sweet to Iris about her singing. Iris cringes a smile. She won’t be thinking such good things about her shortly. She imagines she’ll curse her name for all of hell and heaven to hear. She’ll wake the sleeping dead cursing the day Iris was born.

 Iris thanks her. For her hospitality. For her kindness. Under all her airs and graves, she’s a fairly nice woman and she should find a more amicable daughter-in-law to crow over.

 She slots herself into the coach beside her sisters. Listens to the door slam shut. The rattle and crunch of it shifts on the gravel. Rumbled away up the long elegant curve of the drive.

 Iris twists to look back. She isn’t sure why she wanted too. But they weren’t a dismal family. And she’s sorry for the pain and offence she’ll cause to them all.

 She watches Hux’s stiffly-posed, regimented figure. Shadowed against the night. The scarlet of his blood coat. The ice white of his breeches stained blue, glowing in the night. The stars glimmer off his shining boots and off the pierce of his pale eyes. She wishes him well. She truly does.

 They trundle on home. Full of food and as usual with Posy and Flora spouting gossip on and on endlessly. Mother chiming in. Father and Iris retain their silence. Eyes cross firing in a glance when they all agree on something cruel and senseless.

 Westwell’s windows emerge gold out the dark. Surrounded by the bustling trees. All of the landscape is merely dark moulded shapes. Looming and shifting in the shadows. The moon casts washy film of silver to try and spill over the cover of smeared clouds.

 They are just to the drive when a small dark shape flits overhead. Iris looks upwards, and sees the definable shape of a bird landing on her windowsill. She smiles giddily.

 She exits the coach quick. Bidding them goodnight and rushing off up to her room. Her skirts picked up in her hands. Mama remarks how odd it is. Posy shrugs and supposes she’s got a secret missive to read from Hux.

 Iris absolutely flies for her door. Twists the handle and launches herself in the room. Shutting the door firmly after herself. Pressing it with both hands flat to the wood.

 The warmth of the fire hits her. She doesn’t even pay mind to the tiny crack of her open window. Or her swaying curtains that shift on the breeze.

 She can only focus on the huge frame of a dashing vampire stood fireside. One elbow resting on the mantel as he gazes into the flames.

 His big frame swallows up the whole room and strangled out all the air. The ochre of the blazing flames captured his skin. Turned that milky-cream of his complexion into pale fire.

 She smiles and he does too. “Thank goodness it’s you. I was worried I’d scare seven shades out of your maid.” He drawls softly so his voice doesn’t carry. Smirk curling at the corners.

 She crosses the distance. Her feet eat up the floorboards quick. She avails herself of an embrace. Throws herself into his arms.

 The cloak of his fire warmed clothing envelopes her as his arms do. He smells like the damp snap of frosty woodland and the acid tang of woodsmoke. The night air of wild outdoors clings to every inch and fibre of his clothes. Swirls about him like a clouding tempest.

 He chuckles as she gets herself in his hold. The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her skin and sinking to her bones. Her cheek mashed to his sternum. His arms close around her. Stroking her body through the rasping silk of her dress.

 One big warmed hand clasps the back of her neck as the other holds the back of her waist. His nose nudges into the crush of her muddy hair. Her scent teases him just as much as his had, to her. Lavender and sage. The plain spice and calm floral scent.

 “I could feel the happiness pouring off you as you alighted the stairs.” He smiles. She steps back and gazed up at him.

 “How pretty you look tonight. Dove. You’re exquisite in silk.” He remarks when she steps away. Hand toying with the loose tawny curl at her ear. The sapphire dark of her dress suits her very well. Throws her complexion into brilliance. Does something to make the tones of her hair look rich.

 She always looks ravishing to him.

 She blushes. “I missed you all day. Isn’t that mad?” She asks.

 “If missing is madness, then I’m out of my sane mind whenever you’re not in my sight.” He promises gently.

 Big hands cupping her hot silken neck as he leans down to plant a firm, slanting kiss to her lips. His mouth is cold and he tastes of frosty air and wine.

 Kissing him is like kissing someone who just stepped inside, taking shelter from a bitter cold wind.

 She’s beginning to wonder if there is some clever addiction woven into his lips. One kiss never seems to be enough. She holds his wrists as he grabs her. Makes her feel small in his arms. She’s lost in his hold. It’s powerfully thrilling.

 He breaks the kiss and his thumbs stroke at her cheeks. Her eyes glitter keenly at him. He spies the ring on her finger. The one that doesn’t belong there. It makes him smile.

 “I’d like to surmise you snuck in here just to steal a kiss. But I suspect a different motive altogether?” She asks.

 He broke into a grin that creases his eyes and bares his teeth in a smile. She was no thoughtless woman; his darling Iris.

 She’s always thinking. Always fretting. Always mulling over things in her head.

 That was one of the first things that that came to his notice about her. She tended to be introspective about all manner of things in comparison to her acetous mother who spewed vile words. And her daft sisters who spouted out their every dangerously silly thought.

 He kisses her for that clever remark- slow and paced and soft. Languid like melting warm honey. Lips curling to hers.

 “I do have some news. But kissing you will always my first priority.” He husks against her rosy lips. Her warm cheeks blaze from under his icy fingers.

 “The date is set. We must leave tomorrow eve.” He tells her with a smirk.

 Her stomach completely soars in giddiness. She doesn’t have to hide her grin here.

 “It feels as if I’ve been waiting at eternity to hear those blessed words.” She cries in happiness.

 “Slip away to me after everyone’s gone to bed.” He instructs. She agrees.

 “Mother has been pleased with my conduct of late. She’ll have let her guard down over tonight. I’ll leave once everyone is abed. Even the maids.” She tells him.

 Stroking her fingers down the finery of his waistcoat where they’re still stood close to each other. The material was so soft. The softest grain of velvet she’s ever felt.

 “You don’t have to bring too much. I can buy you everything you may ever need.” He leers. Cupping her cheek. Feeling the smooth of her skin. Right up her jaw.

 His eyes carve flinty paths down her neck as he strokes his fingers there. Her pulse quickens. He can feel and hear her blood slushing hot through her veins.

 She shrugs. “I cherish very few possessions. Posy and Flora can have the rest.” She insists. Her hand coming up to stroke over his thick crook of elbow with the hand that’s touching her neck.

 He drags the edge of the chemisette down and strokes along the flat of her collarbone. His eyes turn into a palette of bittersweet autumn. Orange and gold swirled with flecks of russet brown.

 “Is it difficult?” She asks suddenly.

 “Restraining from the need to...” Her face fixed on his. Words trailing away. Air bursting with heat and lust. His eyes snap from her neck to her face. Her cheeks bloom rose petal red. Blood red and hot.

 “To feed?” He asks her. She swallows and nods.

 His other hand catches the back of her hips reels her right in close. She gasps. Air around them thick and full of snapping sparking static. Her hands press to his cavernous chest.

 “I have got several hundred years of restraint up my sleeve.” He crooks a smirk.

 His eyes flicker to watch her jugular pulse. The thrum of her little timpani heart makes his mouth wet. He knows she’d taste like salt and sickly Turkish roses and warm bronze coins.

 He presses the chemisette aside again and nudges his nose against her pulse point. Right at the epicentre of his life’s greatest desire. He hums a kiss against her neck and she almost faints-

 “You shake all those very hard learnt lessons right down to their very foundations.” He promises.

 “Iris my love, you are the hardest thing, I’ve ever had to resist.” He tells.

 Swooping upwards to kiss at her cheek. Sighing in need against her hot warm skin. If he indulges the temptation of tasting her blood. He doesn’t even want to fathom what the raw animal in him will do to her. Such debauchery he’d surely scandalise her innocence to tipping point.

 He will have her on their wedding night and not a second before.

 Though the rogue in him does think how goddamn glorious it would be to have her on that bed of hers right now, torn out of that gown. Screeching his name for the whole house to hear. And they can listen to her rapture and whimper, and beg and writhe under the man who really does love her.

 Bite her neck as he pumps deep into her slick heat. Gather up every groan as she opens those sweet pink thighs for him and claws at his back. He’d kiss her neck until she yanks her fingers into his hair and tugs. Opens that sweet songbird mouth and calls for him in her bliss, with that ambrosial voice.

 He holds the backs of her hips and strokes the silk there with arcing curves of his thumbs. Drawing shapes on that stiff silk.

 “I must tell you-“ She starts. “I never was much good at resisting you either. Even after knowing what you are. It shocked me I won’t deny. But it somehow in its twisted way, it made all the sense in the world. It didn’t alter me for my knowledge of it. It didn’t even begin to change the severity my feelings for you.” She tells him. Reaching up and stroking along the handsome plain jaw.

 Wholly, un-confinably, remarkably handsome.

 “My love-“ He begins warmly. “If I had to, I would throw you over my shoulder to carry you up the aisle to marry me. Even if I had to tear you from your bed and steal you away in the dark of night to be mine. I would have done it. Because this, what we share, it cannot and will never be undone. Can never be ignored.” He promises her.

 “Vampires love more deeply than any mortal longing. What I feel for you, it is not fickle. It will never fade. Never wane. We love each other and that will last for as long as we exist on this earth. I thought I had better edify you with these clear facts about my nature, before we are to be bound in matrimony.” He pledges to her. Declaring his undying devotion to her.

 Iris rather wants to swoon into his chest - if she had ever been inclined to be a swooning sort of woman. Instead she just beams. A smile so glad it touches the frosty barren place his dead heart inhabited.

 “These last few hours will be such a torture.” She comments seriously. But giddy. So giddy it felt like her sides would split open. And molten happy gold would pour out.

 His eyes turn promiscuous. As does his domineering smile.

 “I can safely offer you nothing but pleasure once the torture is done.” He filthily promises.

 She blushes. He wants to lift her up and devour her in a kiss again. Taste those saccharine sweet lips in an animalistic kiss. He savours holding her instead.

 Tomorrow he can let the animal roam free over his delicate dove. Tonight is the last night it must be caged.

 “Not long to wait now. The last of my household servants left today. I sent Jomar and Jones off to London to make passage to France. Erland and Kana remain to take us to Scotland with one driver, and the coach.” He tells.

 She liked that he’s bringing Erland to their elopement. It’s quite fitting when the creature loves her almost as much as he does.

 “Then it’s just us. Riding into the wild of the Highland. Roaming over the Scottish moors, and glens and lochs, as a Lord and his Lady.” He paints a vivid picture for her.

 She sighs a smile. “Us, has never sounded so splendid.” And she beams brighter than the sun.

 He clutches her close for another kiss before he slips away.

 The appointed hour loometh. And Iris won’t sleep a wink for thinking of his sharp smile or those savage eyes.

 She eventually dreams. And thinks of kissing his soft plush lips once more. Like kissing pink rose petals.

 The next time she will, they’ll be well on their way to being man and wife.

                                                    ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains or Fate Ch. 6

Isle of Towers, Glass, and Stone

     The answers might lie within.  

   Great. Now the problem is, how does he find those answers at all? How does he go ‘within’ when most of the time he’s going ‘outside’ of his body. Projecting his soul was one thing. He’d done it a dozen times, if not more. Going inside of it? Or his mind? Or whatever within the cryptic asshole of a mage had suggested, was a totally different matter.

   “Fucking everyone’s so damn cryptic all the time,” Ichigo scowled, pacing around the house. The cat was still there, watching him with her tail twitching back and forth.

 Ichigo still doesn’t know who she’s working for.

   There’s about three mage families in the country that are prominent. Tohsaka’s work with gems, the Matou are mostly fallen, and he doesn’t know anything about the other one. Ichigo should probably be more concerned, but he’s got bigger things to worry about right now.

   Mainly, figuring out how to find his answers on the inside.

   Inside.

   Ichigo kept walking in circles, trying to figure it out. Over and over, he walked around and around. In a spiral.

   Finally he sat hard on the floor and leaned back.

   Jeanne would pray. But she was guided by a god, and an Agent of Counterforce (or some approximation of it).  Sanzang followed the voice of buddha/her future self. And Ichigo…

   Ichigo has an ever cryptic sage telling him to look inside himself for answers, like something out of a bad movie. Hell, his life at this point might as well be just that. Who else gets into these kinds of situations constantly?

   Just him, that’s who.

   Ichigo tilts his head back. He’s spent time outside his body. How will he get inside it?

   “A backwards… Rayshift?”

   Is that even possible? It’s the best idea he has. Ichigo closes his eyes and thinks of Rashifting. The first time it had happened, he had been on the verge of death. Mash had been all but a corpse at his side. Fire had licked across them and CHALDEAS had glowed bloody above their heads. It had vanished, the red turned blue and bright and the fire clearing for a few brief seconds between Chaldea and Fuyuki.

   Ichigo breathes, focusing on that.

   On the blue, the soft light and the feeling of being weightless. On the knowledge that someone, even if it wasn’t Roman anymore, was out there looking after the integrity of his soul. He breathed in, tasting the air, tasting no ash.

   Ichigo breathed out.

   He thought of the feeling of Rukia’s gloved hand pushing him out with a rough pop. He thought of the feeling of Kon, sliding into his limbs and chest and head until he was squeezed with no room and no place to go but out.  

   Ichigo felt the swirl of the shift, the gravity, the whirlpool of energy.

   The swirl to the halo of the past. Out, out, out.

   Ichigo breathed in and pulled the whirlpool with him. He inverted the spiral of blue and white and light and gravity and twisted it not out of himself but      in    .  

   It was the feeling of falling. It was the feeling of flying. It was a pull that he didn’t quite understand, the tug of his instinct dragging him out of danger.

   It was the feeling of cement under his feet. It was the feeling of glass against his cheek.

   It was a pale blue sky, with smokey puffs of rain clouds floating high above him.

   *

   “The fact that you are not more afraid of this man really only leads credibility to my idea that you are insane . He’s at least ten times stronger than all of your companions.”

   Ichigo glances sideways, and Kyo. He leans against the wall, watching Karna with something like respect, or maybe admiration in his gaze. Ichigo can understand. Even from as far away as they are, he can feel the heat radiating off of the son of the sun god. It blooms against his skin, but doesn’t scorch him. Not yet, in any case.

   It feels strange. This Karna is not the Karna that Ichigo had met and fought against and within his dream of Trifas. They were the same, at their core, but this one didn’t know him. This one wasn’t his friend. This one hadn’t fought a vampire and a near endless supply of false Servants with him.

   Instead, this one was here to stop him from going to Edison. To stop him from forcibly beating sense into the insane american presi-king.

   It would have been intimidating, but even now Ichigo can tell that Karna doesn’t actually want to kill them.

   Like all of those heroes born in the Age of Gods, Karna is insanely powerful. Before him Ichigo is little more than an ant to be stepped on. This Hero of Charity is a legend in every sense, and his reputation is earned. The spikes on his collar speak of danger and death. The spear in his hands pulses with the power and radiates heat like pavement on a summer day.

   Karna is the child of a god, and they are, in the end, little more than human.

   Kyo isn’t. He’s strong, Ichigo knows that too. He’s at least as strong as some Servants, and Ichigo is certain he’s stronger than he’s letting them think he is. Not only is he strong, he’s smart, and good as playing at being harmless. Even if Ichigo is the only one who can see him regularly, he won’t drop the fake smile on his lips.

   How annoying.

   “You should withdraw at once!” Nightingale calls to their foe. Ichigo has no intention of letting him stay an enemy, but for now he can’t do anything. They have to beat him first, and then beat Edison over the head.

   “Perhaps you’re right. I am infected by an illness called ‘loyalty’. Figuring that out so fast, is it because you’re a nurse?” his head cocks just so.

   Nightingale huffs. “No. You’re just easy to understand.”

   Ichigo watches Karna deflate, looking upset. “Oh no, we ruined his mystery,” Ichgo couldn’t help teasing.

   Mash looked equally put off. “He seems somewhat depressed…”

   “Thank you for pointing that out. But no matter. He asked for my help first, and that is all I need to know. The king of inventions knelt before a worthless man like me and asked my help. Besides,” A smile, as warm as his magic, spread across Karna’s face. “He reminds me of a friend. And I am only human, don’t forget.”

   “‘Only      human’    says the demigod,” Ichigo mutters to Kyo, who snorts elegantly. “We should get this over with.”

   “You can’t hope to win,” Kyo argues, but he’s clearly getting used to ichigo’s stubborn nature.

   “Fucking watch us.”

   Ichigo draws up, prepared to fight-

   And Karna turns and walks back down the hallway, called away by Edison.

   “Huh. So it’s going to be a trap?” Ichigo muses.

   “ ‘ow can is be a trap, if ya know i’s gonna happen?” Cu asks, propping his elbow on Ichigo’s shoulder and leaning on his master. Ichigo scowls at him and shoves him off, but it’s more playful than anything else.

   “If it is a trap, it’s wiser for you not to spring it,” Kyo ads.

   “Okay, fine. You’re invisible. Go in there and see what we’re up against.” Ichigo points towards the high door to the throne room, at the end of the hall. Kyo just gives him a look.

   “Do I look like a servant?” Kyo arches a brow at him regally, and Ichigo shoots him a baleful glare. “Fine. But I expect you to do something for me, in return.”

   “Oh joy,” Ichigo rolls his eyes as Kyo walks through the walls, towards the presi-kings throne room. Now he owed a dead man a debt. Just once in his life couldn't one of these people be cooperative? He’d kill to have Chad here with him, even if it was just as emotional support in all this madness.

   “Poor master,” Mash mourns. “You look rather mad when you stand there talking at thin air.”

   “Hmm?” Medusa cocks her head. “I don’t know, the longer I’m attached to him, the more I think I see faint shadows about where he’s talking at. But that could be my imagination…:

   “It could make sense,” Ichigo admitted, “I have poison resistance thanks to Mash. Maybe you guys get to see dead people.”

   “Master,” she says slowly, “      We     are dead people.”

   Ichigo scowls. “Don’t be a smart ass.”

   “It’s better than a dumb ass.”

   He jumps when Kyo’s voice comes from behind him, smooth and full of amusement. Ichigo turns to scowl at him, but the man is unphased.

   “It does seem like it will be a straightforward confrontation. My, you must all be terrible at assassinations.”

   Ichigo smacks his arm when Robin winces, missing the fact that Robin must have been able to hear the jibe at his failure. With a frown at Kyo, he leads the way to battle.

   * *

   He’s laying on a building. Sideways on a building, if he wants to be picky about it.

   Ichigo sits up, slowly, looking down at the streets. It’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen. But still weird. Below him looks like a small Karakura town, and outwards are other skyscrapers, and towers of stone and glass. He can recognize turrets of castles that crash haphazardly into pillars of a familiar roman theatre. A flag with a fleur de lis floats in the distance, small atop a dusty building of the Old West. Between some wind long mountain roads that hitch into the metal and stone unnaturally. He can’t see the street, it’s flooded with water and dark shapes move beneath the surface.

   Ichigo stands, slowly, trying to focus on staying attached to the building he’s on. He doesn’t dare jump. He might die.

   He might actually be dead for all he knows. Did he just accidentally kill himself? This doesn’t look like any afterlife he’s ever heard of…

   It was certainly not Kur. Ichigo hopes he hasn’t died. He has promises he needs to keep, and dying would be a conflict of interests right now.

   All around him are remnants of places he’s known, of his home and the lands he’s seen. The sky scrapers reach high into the sky, like the fingers of some great giant trying to grasp the clouds themselves.

   Ichigo turns his face to the sky. There’s no sun, and far off in the horizon storm clouds brew in dark, angry shades of grey.

   “Okay. This is not great,” he says at last. “Where am I?”

   Something ruffles the back of his neck, like wind only the air is still and he spins around on his heel, until he sees something dark and flicking behind him. A person. A man, in a black coak that billows around his ankles. It’s edged in red.

   “Hey, old man!” Ichigo spins to face him fully. “Who are you?”

   “Who am I? I am _____”

   Ichigo stares. He couldn’t hear him. He heard every word but his name. Why? What cut it off? There’s no wind, no sound, nothing that would do that.

   Even though the strangers face is largely impassive, Ichigo can still see the slightest slanting of his eyes. His disappointment.

   “I see. How sad, even now you can’t hear my voice. You, who knows me better than anyone else.”

   “What are you talking about?” Ichigo crosses his arms over his chest as the man walks down the pole he’d been standing on and onto the side of the building in front of Ichigo. The distance between them feels like a chasm. “I’ve never met you before.”

   Snow flutters around them, small flakes that stick to nothing. It’s just a playful flurry, flickering cold across his skin before it disappears again.

   “You’ve known me all your life, even if you don’t know it. And I have known you. I know why you’re here. You’re looking to become another Shinigami, aren’t you?”

   Ichigo pauses, but nods in the end. Who is this man? How does he know this? He does feel familiar. More familiar than Chad. More familiar than Mash, even. Why…?

   “The old man in the hat said it’s possible, but I have to die. And I can’t do that. I have a promise to keep, so I have to stay alive and save Rukia before I fulfill it. And to do that, I need power I don’t have. Rukia lent me hers, but that’s gone now. There’s no one else anymore.”

   No Rukia. No Mash. No Medusa, or Cu. No Romani.

   Just him.

   “I have no one else to rely on. I have to stand on my own two feet. I have to fight with my own two hands.”

   “That’s not true.”

   The man walks towards him slow, his heels clicking on the glass of the building.

   “Rukia’s power may be gone, but Urahara Kisuke was no wrong when he declared that you have your own Shinigami powers. And you do not fight alone, Ichigo. I fight with you. I always have.”

   There’s a vicious vow somewhere in his level voice. A yearning that Ichigo almost misses.

   “I don’t understand. Who are you?” Ichigo shakes his head, trying to make sense of everything that’s happening.

   The man looks at him, and opens his mouth to repeat his name.

   “I am _____”

   * * *

   They’re the only ones awake.

   Ichigo is used to late nights. Sleep is hard to come by these days, and he usually only gets it when he’s too tired to even think, or when Mash’s solid shield lays beside him. The others are doing better than he is. They’re heroes and legends and myths. They have stronger hearts than he does.

   Ichigo walks quietly, not so far from the camp that he’ll get himself killed, but far enough that his movements won’t disturb his friends. Medusa is on watch at the perimeter, and she tosses him a somewhat concerned look, but doesn’t try to interrupt him when he sits beside Kyo.

   He’s got questions. About a million of them about the afterlife, but he doesn’t really have time for all of them at one time.

   And one top of questions about the afterlife, he has just as many about Kyo himself. He’s a mystery. He’s not a heroic spirit. And really, he has no reason to be following Ichigo around besides the fact that Ichigo has forcefully dragged him along.

   Not that Kyo couldn’t get away if he wanted to. Ichigo is no fool. Everyone here could kill him with a napkin.

   Kyo doesn’t acknowledge him when he sits beside him. Instead he keeps his eyes on the sky. On the stars haloed by the light in the sky. Even with it, there’s a thousand stars in the sky that Ichigo would never be able to see in Karakura. There’s too much light, even in a small city to be able to see this many stars.

   The whole milky way stretched across the sky, a painted band of blue and white and pink towards the edge of the horizon.

   “Is it the same?” he finds himself asking. Kyo makes a sound of question in the back of his throat, so he elaborates. “The sky. Is it the same where you’ve come from?”

   “Seireitei,” Kyo says the words slowly. “The stars are the same, but that’s about it.”

   “How do you mean? Isn’t it supposed to be a paradise? Like, Heaven? Elysium? Tian? Valhallah?”

   “Are you going to keep listing off afterlifes until I give you a real answer?” Kyo cocks his head, looking somewhat amused.

   Ichigo shoots him a crooked grin. “I absolutely will.”

   “My, you’re a pest.”

   “And you’re rude. Fields of Yula, asphodel, f      olkvangr-    ”

   Kyo claps his hand over ichigo’s mouth to finally shut him up, and Ichigo scowls at him without heat and with smugness.

   “Soul Society isn’t exactly like those stories,” Kyo’s smile is somehow soft and bitter and sad at once. Ichigo doesn’t know what to make of it.

   “So it’s no paradise,” Ichigo surmises.

   Kyo’s brow pinches and his mouth twists. “No. Not quite.”

   “Is there some rule saying that you’re not allowed to tell me?”

   “No,” Kyo says slowly,” But it is, ill advised. We are taught to tell the souls to pass on that they will find a good place in the next world. A paradise. So they don’t fight us going into a world not so unlike their own. “

   “Wow you make death sound inviting,” Ichigo says dryly. He manages to startle a laugh out of Kyo before he sobers again, looking to the stars.

   “The closer to the seireitei you get, the better the quality of life. In the first few districts people generally want for nothing, and are elbow to elbow with nobility and their retainers, if they aren’t one of those things already. Most nobles live in Seireitei itself, safe in their walls. But further away…”

   “Further away you find the poor, the downtrodden. Poverty is prevalent. Rukongai is separated into districts. Past the fifty ninth districts, most people can’t even afford sandals.It’s violent and bloody out there, and the people who have the most power are the ones least likely to help.”  

   Kyo’s hands curl and his mouth twists.

   Ichigo leans back on his hands. “You should get tips from Robin for overthrowing governments.”

   “I couldn’t do that,” Kyo shakes his head, but there’s a light in his eyes that makes Ichigo think that the idea has already crossed his mind at least once. “This is actually my first trip to the human world. I was supposed to arrive in Kyoto, but something went wrong, and now I’m here.”

   “It’s probably because Kyoto no longer exists,” Ichigo figures, solemnly, “The only land that exists at this time is here. The United States. Everywhere else has been completely obliterated.”

   They had to reverse that. They had to stop this war.

   * * * *

 They’re caught between a rock and a hard place. Literally.

   Ichigo and his Servants, minus Scathach who’s gone ahead of them, are cornered by monsters only Ichigo and Kyo can see and touch.

   Kyo is strong. Incredibly strong. He’s already cut down more of the swarm that Ichigo would have ever imagined, and blasted even more with fierce spells of blue and red energy. Yellow chains, and dark crescents. But they just keep coming, and now there’s even stronger ones ripping their way through the sky. They’re smaller and more distinct than the first wave, and as powerful as fifty of them combined.

   Even Kyo is struggling against the dozens of them that rip through the sky.

   Then it happens.

   One of them targets Ichigo and Kyo appears in front of him, striking it down. A second comes screaming in from the side and tears into Kyo’s sword arm.

   Blood splatters against Ichigo's cheek.

   “Kyo!” Ichigo lunges for him, but Kyo puts up his good hand, stopping him.

   “Stay where you are! You’ll only get in the way if you can’t fight. Damn, why are they all here at once?” Kyo grits his teeth and lifts his left arm, shooting off more spells, but without his sword, he’s struggling more to keep up.

   Ichigo burns with the feeling of being helpless. He can’t stay there and do nothing.

   So he does the only thing he can do.

   He shoots forwards, to Kyo’s back, and claps his hand on Kyo’s shoulder. He pours all the spirit energy he possible can into Kyo’s body, until he’s glow with it, blue and white. Kyo looks back at him, stunned.

   “Don’t just stand there!” Ichigo barks. “Hit them!”

   Kyo nods, once, looking dazed, and lifts his arm at the monsters closing in on them.

   “      Ye lord! Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! On the wall of blue flame, inscribe a twin lotus. In the abyss of conflagration, wait at the far heavens.”  

   Blue swirls in front of him, a ball of raw power that flashes and lashes out at the edges, dragging burn scars into the ground and drawing blood off of Kyo’s arms.

   “      Hado seventy three! Soren Sokatsui!”  

   It tears away from Kyo and Ichigo in a devastating force, ripping through the ground and shredding all the monsters in front of them into nothing more than burnt husks.

   Ichigo has time enough to register Kyo looking at him with a new light in his eyes before he falls to the ground, the world going black.

   * * * * *

 “I see.”

   The disappointment is back in the man’s face, and it makes Ichigo’s skin crawl. He doesn’t know why. This is a perfect stranger, he shouldn’t care so much what he thinks about him. But he does. It feels gross, a bur under his skin that he just can’t shake.

   “You still cannot hear me. Very well then. Perhaps you will hear my voice once you have unlocked your Shinigami powers.”

   “Uh huh. I don’t suppose you have a key for that, do you old man?” Ichigo asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The man cocks his head ever so slightly. His hair waves in time with his coat and he taps the window beneath him with the toe of his shoe.

   “This world exists inside of you. Inside of your mind. Inside of your very soul. Somewhere in here, somewhere in all these windows and bricks and everything else you’ve ever made a home for in here, you will find what you seak. You will find your shinigami powers somewhere here. Somewhere within.”

   “Just like that man said…”

   Ichigo is glad for the opportunity, but he doesn’t want to be the one to tell Merlin he was right. The Mage of Flowers will be even more smug than he already is, and Ichigo does not need that at all.

   “Fine. I just have to find it then.”

   He had no idea how he would do that. If this was inside of him, what would happen if he broke something? What would a shattered window do to he himself? He could only speculate, and he didn’t like any of the things he thought of. So he’d have to go by it delicately.

   Was that possible? The only way into the buildings would be through doors that are now thoroughly covered in water.

   Needle in a haystack much?

   Ichigo runs his fingers through his hair and tilts his head, closing his eyes in thought.

   If he was shinigami powers, where would he hide?

   Nowhere in the brackets of mountains. Nor in the theatre, or the tall castle towers. Nowhere that he was a Mage.

   That ruled out a lot.

   This guy said he’d always been with him. Did that mean he was a shinigami this whole time? Why hadn’t they come to him earlier? During the wars? In Kur?

   On the banks of the Karakura river.

   Ichigo shook his head and opened his eyes again. The old man was staring at him. Waiting. Watching. It was a little creepy. Ichigo’s hair brushed his shoulders when he turned his head to the side, looking down at the water.

   Somehow, he had to find his Shinigami powers.

   It had to be somewhere in these blue buildings. Maybe…

   Ichigo knelt down, knocking at the window under his feet curiously. It was totally solid. There didn’t seem to be so much as a hinge to open it. But inside, there, something white fluttered around.

   “...fuck it.”

   Ichigo punched his hand through the glass, ignoring the way the shards bit into his arm, and grabbed it. When he pulled his hand back he found a ribbon in his grasp.

   White ribbons. Like the ones Uryu had shown him before.

       That's it!  

   Ichigo jumped back, as high up as he could. He landed on the air, the way he had as a shinigami. This was it. This was how he could find it. He scoured the building, the windows, looking for anything that wasn’t blue and white. Anything. It had to be somewhere.

       C’mon. Red, red, red-  

   Ichigo drops back onto the building, understanding dawning. He makes his way over to the strange man and reaches out, grasping the straight sword he’d been standing on before. He pulls, and in his hand comes away a red ribbon that wraps around his wrist. As he pulls the sword from its sheath it flashes with pale blue light, until he’s holding a massive sword almost as long as his body.  

   Ichigo grins sharply at the old man, a name blossoming on his lips. They speak as one, voices merging.

   “Zangetsu.”

   Ichigo swings the sword to the side. It feels effortlessly light despite how large it is. It isn’t the foreign feeling of Rukia's power. This is his, and his alone.

   When he looks down, he’s wearing Shinigami clothes again. If Kyo could see him now.

   “Congratulations, Ichigo. You are, again, a Shinigami.” His voice is low and even. Ichigo glances at his eyes, half hidden by sunglasses.

   “Thanks. Although to be honest…. I was kind of hoping I’d be a Quincy, like my mother.”

   He doesn’t miss the startled jerk of Zangetsu’s head.

* * * * * *

[philliamwrites]

i could make you need me all the time (pt.1)

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Akechi

Tags: #justice rank 8 spoilers, #slight angst, #persona 5 royal spoilers, #new semester spoilers

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Akechi is counting numbered days, preparing himself for the end. Akira being himself doesn't help.

Note: Part 2 | Inspired by “Make it Holy” by The Staves.

i could make you need me all the time

    Here is the thing: Akechi did not expect to get such a kick out of seeing the leader of the Phantom Thieves kneel in front of him with his nose bleeding and a purple bruise blossoming on his cheek.

    The fight was brutal and mean. Loki has knocked a couple of times against a door Akechi refused to open even though Akira’s insufferable, mocking smile tested his patience over and over again. He’s out of breath, the fabric of his white jacket glued to his sweaty back and the dull pain in his shoulder throbs more and more. Copper fills his mouth; he wants to spit out the blood and swallows it instead. He feels sick.

    “I really wish you weren’t such a disappointment to me,” Akechi snarls, surprised by how harsh and cold his voice is. Something flashes in Akira’s eyes as his head snaps up. Hurt is a pretty big, meaningful word, so instead Akechi settles for defiance and moves on, looking away quickly. Entangling gazes with Akira is confusing at best, dizzying at worst. He thought after spending so much time near him, sometimes on or under him, he’d be immune to Akira’s presence and any conflicting emotions following him like a noose around his neck. He hates being wrong.

    Akira’s answer is an audible exhale. He sways a little as he raises to his feet and even though Akechi can’t remember what he did exactly, he’s holding one side and leans into the other, saying, “Seeing how this isn’t how you usually fight in the Metaverse, I call it cheating.”

    Closing the distance between them, Akechi makes a sound that comes close to a laugh. He quickly covers it behind a cough. “Says the one with access to infinite Personas.” He joins Akira’s side and ducks under his arm to steady him. His body is like a furnace, radiating heat that sips right through Akechi’s clothes. He dips his fingers into Akira’s side, earning a soundless gasp he knows a little too well for comfort.

    “You’re pretty strong with just one Persona.” Akira’s head hangs like a puppet’s lifeless body, its strings cut off. It makes his hair fall forward, thick locks obscuring his eyes. Akechi smells blood and sweat, and underneath that coffee and the lily washing powder he’s come to known as Akira’s natural scent. He turns his head away. “You don’t need anyone else than Robin Hood.”

    Akechi simply smiles and digs his fingers deeper into Akira’s side where he’s sure a bruise stands against pale skin. Akira bites his lower lip. Loki’s scarlet grin flashes before his eyes, the pressure on his chest from a golden hoof that glints like the wicked edge of a knife. If Akira notices him stumble, it’s surely because of his extra weight and the overgrown railway, nothing else.

    “You’re right, I don’t need more Personas. I can eradicate my enemies with just one.”

    Loki snickers like a child that’s in on a secret with an adult, feeling rightfully included in shady business. Akechi ignores him, too occupied following the way back to the platform without tripping on bones.

    Akira snorts. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

    “We just saw how that will end, no?”

    Akira glares at him and Akechi wonders if he’s aware it’s the same look he wears every time he’s about to climb on his lap and leave dark hickeys all over his shoulders and neck. He thinks about how easy it is to lean down and silence that pretty mouth for good. He also thinks how easy everything would be if he’d wrap both hands around Akira’s neck and end it here and now, saving him time.

    A vicious tug, a hard wall against his back and Akechi finds himself in the very same position as last evening. He tries to smile, but the adrenaline is still pounding in his blood and it comes out crooked and wrong. Akira is already on his knees, fumbling with the zipper of Akechi’s white pants.

    “Someone is a sore loser,” he points out indulgently, one hand pressed against the black wall behind him, the other running through Akira’s soft hair, forming a loose fist.

    They return to Kichijouji twenty minutes later, Akechi’s cheeks flushed and Akira’s hair sticking to all sides, but no one pays them attention save for a boy staring at Akira in awe like he’s just had a revelation—or rather an awakening. Akechi steps in his sight of line, a wide smile plastered on his face, but it feels all wrong as if someone stuck the donkey’s tail right on its eye.

    “Well, should you demand a revanche, you’ll find me in Shibuya from now on,” he says and busies himself with studying his watch, pretending he has plans after this—show him that he’s nothing more than another business meeting between many others, just a scribble on a page that’s taken up by dozens other scribbles. Unimportant. Replaceable. Just the side character to an insignificant short story.

    Akira, however, doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, kicking up some dust, his hands deep in his pockets as he shuffles around Akechi like a lonely puppy seeking comfort. He tolerates it for about twenty seconds. “Is there anything else?”

    Movements halting, Akira stands still as a stone, his body tense with anticipation for something Akechi can’t name. It’s subtle but he sees his shoulders straightening out, his head hovering above Akechi’s—a phantom inch separating their heights.

    “You tell me,” he says, adjusting his glasses. Akechi stares at the tip of his nose, remembering how it pressed against his cheek this morning. It looks sharp, just like the bridge, but he knows how soft Akira’s skin is. Those facts are irrelevant and useless, but they keep him awake at night just like the screaming and pleading voices of his ghosts, never shutting up. When they finally go silent, it’s always Akira’s voice he thinks of shortly before falling in deep, dreamless slumber. Right now, it asks, “What’s this duel really about?”

    Akechi snaps back to attention, his control of his expression slipping just a little, but it’s enough to elicit a confused stare from Akira. “There really is no deep significance to it,” he says. “I’m simply interested in seeing all of your capabilities.” Capabilities, strengths, weaknesses. Anything that might give him an advantage.

    “You want to see who will win between us,” Akira translates, shrugging. “Which is a weird way to assert dominance, but okay.”

    Akechi wants to kiss him, right here, right now in front of all these faceless people. Instead he turns away, grip tight enough on his suitcase his hand cramps up. “If that’s all, I will hear from you later.”

    He doesn’t come far. Akira’s hand is hot, leaving where it touches Akechi’s bare strip of skin between glove and the end of his sleeve burning. He whirls around—too fast, too sudden; too many prying eyes on them already whispering about what this means—Akechi tears himself out of his grasp so fast, a joint pops in his back.

    Akira’s eyes widen, clear as windows. He takes a step away, arm dropping back to his side. Time halts, Akechi’s control of his expression completely gone. He has no idea what face he’s making; he can’t even read Akira’s. All he knows is if he doesn’t save this, he’ll give everything away; every minute spent being someone else was for nothing; his whole life wasted.

    Don’t give anything away, whispers Loki into his right ear. He’ll be dead by next week anyway.

    Trust him, pleads Robin Hood into his left ear. It does not have to end like that.

    In unison, they say, Be yourself.

    “Sorry, my bad.” Akira shoves his hands back inside his pockets quickly enough before Akechi can look at them. “Thought you had something there.”

    “I see,” he says to the Liar. “Thank you. And do take care of that.” He nods towards Akira's bruise. “We wouldn't want your friends to worry too much.”

    Akira nods, still too awkward, still too taken aback even though Akechi doesn’t really understand the reason. It’s frustrating, Akira is frustrating. Two more days, then everything will be over.

    “Good night,” Akechi says. Akira’s reply is drowned in people talking, people laughing.

    He wants this all to go away.

[let-it-raines]

Emma’s never cared about holidays or cliched traditions like kissing someone at midnight on New Year’s Eve. What she would like, however, is for her boyfriend to at least be in the same city so she could have the option. 

found on ao3 | here | ; word count: ~ 2,700 

-/-

“Twenty.” “That’s what you’re going with? An even twenty?”

“Aye.”

“When has it ever been an even number? That’s too neat.”

“I’m a neat man.”

“You’re a stupid man is what you are.”

“Now, Swan, you’re supposed to kill people with kindness, not insults.”

Emma huffs and grabs her beanie off of her desk and tugs it down over her ears, adjusting her bun so that it doesn’t tug at her head. “You don’t get to say that when you were an asshole to me last night.” “I was not an asshole.”

“You were.” 

“Love, you call me asshole more than you call me by my own name.”

“That’s because I’m a romantic.”

Killian chuckles, and Emma doesn’t fight the urge to roll of her eyes. Of course he would laugh at that. Of course. But she doesn’t blame him. She’s not a romantic. It’s not that she’s never tried or doesn’t want to be one – though some days she really doesn’t – but she doesn’t know how to do it. It’s not in her DNA, and her version of romantic is nothing more than eating the meal Killian wants and then cuddling on the couch or listening to him tell her some story she’s already heard at least two times. It never feels like enough, but he always tells her that it is.

He’s much better at things like planning date nights and picking out perfect gifts and romantic gestures, both grand and small, and her being good at those things is probably never going to be in the cards.

“So twenty calls asking you to come check out the illegal fireworks because people can’t seem to wait for the city-approved show over the harbor?”

“I’m going to go with thirty-three,” Emma finally says, grabbing her gloves and tugging them onto her hands. “It was twenty-nine last year.”

“Ah, yes, and people have become crazier this year then?”

“Exactly.”

There’s a moment of silence and then another, and Emma drops down into her desk chair, flopping on the leather. She should really go and meet David and get ready to do patrol, but she doesn’t want to, not yet.

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,” Killian says, his voice soft and quiet as it comes over her phone’s speaker. “Please be safe out there tonight.”

“Always, KJ,” she promises just like she does before every shift. “I love you, too. Happy New Year. I hope you have fun at Robin’s party while you guys stay inside to watch the ball drop when you’re twenty minutes away from Time’s Square.”

He breathes out through his nose with his laugh. “I’m sure I’ll be home and in bed before the clock strikes midnight. It’s too cold to be out like that.”

“That’s because you’re the oldest twenty-eight-year-old in the world.”

“No, it’s because I have to be up in the morning for my rounds. I’m starting in a new department, remember?”

“I know, I know.” “Emma,” David calls out, and she snaps her head up to look at David across the bullpen, “it’s time to go.”

“I’ll be right there,” she says to David before standing from her seat. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, love.”

“That your big, fancy New York boyfriend?”

“Shut it, Scarlet,” Emma mumbles, ignoring Will and his teasing smirk to walk toward David.

“So it was him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Tell him to bring some more of those bagels next time he comes to visit. That was a real thoughtful gesture.”

Emma huffs and keeps ignoring Will to walk toward David, pushing past him to go out the front doors of the station so she can start her patrol shift and get this night over with.

Happy New Year and all that.

-/-

“What number call is that?”

“Nine.”

“That’s pretty low for the night.”

“Yeah, well, it is only eight. We’ve still got hours to go and several people who don’t care to follow the fireworks law.”

David hums and turns the wheel of the SUV so they can get out of downtown Boston and move toward North End. Holidays are always the craziest nights of the years for them. It’s triple the regular crazy, especially with the amount of drunk drivers they pull over, but all in all, holidays are some of Emma’s favorite nights of the year, even if she has to work through them. And she’s worked pretty much every holiday for the past five years. She’s not married, doesn’t have kids, doesn’t have parents, and there’s no reason for her to not offer to take a shift so that someone who wants to spend time with their family can have the day off.

(She can take her days off on other days where stores are actually open and she can get delivery without feeling guilty that the delivery guy is working.)

Emma’s never had a reason to want to spend holidays with people or to want to have the day off, but then she met Killian last year at the Nolan’s fourth of July barbecue (which actually happened on the sixth, but whatever), and she wants to have a day off to spend time with him.

But that doesn’t work anyways. She’s in Boston, he’s in New York, and their schedules don’t match up for holidays. Random weekends and Emma using her vacation days in the middle of the week, sure, but holidays, not so much.

God, she misses him.

“Why are you staring out the window?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why are you staring out the window?” David repeats. “You’re looking all starry eyed and such.”

Emma snaps out of her thoughts and adjusts her position in her seat until she’s turning the sound of David’s podcast down. He’s listening to one on how to keep your rooftop garden intact, and of all of his podcasts, this is the one she’s least interested in.

“Nothing. I think I’m just tired. Can we stop for a coffee next time we pass a shop?”

“Sure. No problem.”

David doesn’t question her more or bother her for the rest of her shift. Either he knows she doesn’t want to talk about it or is so damn oblivious that he doesn’t realize there’s something she might want to talk about, but Emma isn’t going to complain, not when the shift keeps going by as quickly as humanly possible.

They make traffic stops and deal with phone calls about loud music and illegal fireworks (they’re at twenty-one now) and drink copious amounts of coffee as Emma keeps yawning.

(She also eats two giant bear claws, but she doesn’t really like falling into the stereotype of cops simply sitting around drinking coffee and eating donuts.)

At two minutes until midnight, the world quiets for a bit, everyone captivated by watching the ball drop on television or settling around the harbor for city-approved fireworks that knock your socks off with the view. Or maybe they’re all too busy drinking or finding someone to kiss. That’s what David is doing. The kiss part. Not the drinking on the job. That’d get him fired.

Mary Margaret meets them in the parking lot of a gas station, and she and David stand close together in the cold, flakes of snow falling down around them as they talk and laugh until fireworks go off at midnight so they can kiss like the cheesy, sentimental fools that they are.

The sentimental fools who are in love enough that Mary Margaret would come out in the cold just to kiss her husband at midnight when she could kiss him when he got home.

Emma’s cheeks heat with blush when she realizes that she’s watching them, and she quickly turns away and looks down at her phone to open up her texts. Killian hasn’t texted her back for an hour or so now, and she knows that he’s asleep. He’s always falling asleep early in order to wake up early, whether he has work or not, and it kind of drives her crazy.

“I like to watch the sun rise, love. It’s a beautiful beginning to my day every time, but not as beautiful as you.”

“I can’t tell if that was cheesy or romantic.”

“Both. Definitely both.”

He may not see it, but she texts him anyways.

Emma: Happy New Year! 😘

“Happy New Year, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, popping up next to Emma’s window and scaring the absolute shit out of her. “I brought you guys some grilled cheese sandwiches to keep you warm.”

“You’re an actual saint.”

“That’s the goal.”

Emma laughs, and it’s not a fake one despite the heavy pit in her stomach, and accepts the foil wrapped sandwiches from Mary Margaret. “Thank you, Marg. Now go home and be safe, okay?”

“The same to you guys. Enjoy the sandwiches.”

-/-

It’s a quarter until five when she walks in the front door of her apartment. The lights are dimmed, her black-out curtains pulled in preparation for the sun rising, and after a night that never seemed to end toward the last few hours of her shift, she’s finally home and ready to go to sleep.

She didn’t wear makeup today, so that means she can go to sleep without washing her face and brushing her teeth, right? (Emma knows that it’s gross, but she doesn’t care.

She’ll brush her teeth three times tomorrow.)

Toeing her shoes off and dropping her keys and her wallet onto the entryway table, Emma starts moving in her apartment only to hear the creaking of footsteps on the other side of her place.

Shit.

Quickly, she turns on her heels and moves to find something, anything to use as a weapon. Her police-issued gun is in her locker at the precinct and the one she keeps at home is in her bedside drawer. All she can see that would be of any use is a knife she left on the counter, so she grabs that and walks toward the sound, praying and hoping it was her imagination but knowing it wasn’t.

Then the lights in the hallway flicker on.

“Swan.”

And suddenly Killian is standing in front of her in nothing other than a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants, his hipbones showing and the little trail of hair she knows so well disappearing beneath the material. He blinks, and so does she. This can’t be real. It can’t. He should be in his shitty apartment in Queens with his obnoxious roommate, and he should be fast asleep so he can be up early for his first day in his new rotation for his residency.

He shouldn’t be here.

He can’t be here.

But he is.

After placing the knife down, Emma practically catapults herself forward until she’s running into him and slamming her lips into his. Her hands quickly move from his shoulders up into his hair, and while Killian still seems to still be in shock from her jumping on him.

He’s in her apartment when he’s not supposed to be. What did he expect? 

But then his mouth is warmly moving over hers, minty toothpaste she was going to avoid invading her senses, and his arm is wrapping over her entire back until his hand is in her hair, tugging her closer and pulling her body flush against his. Everything about him is warm, from his hips to his chest to his lips, and she doesn’t want to leave him. She can’t. It’s been five weeks since she last saw him, five weeks since she last got to feel the softness of his lips and the scratchy roughness of his beard, and she’s consumed by him.

All she wants is him, always.

(And he’s a damn good kisser, so that’s a definite plus.)

“How are you here?” she giggles out, pressing her lips into his cheek.

“I traded shifts around, worked a million graveyards and doubles and worked my ass off until I could get a few days off.”

“I mean,” she laughs, brushing her lips against his left cheek now while her hands trail down over his back, scratching into his skin. He smells so much like him and the body wash that he left a bottle of in her apartment. “What?”

“I lied about my schedule to surprise you. I – ”

She kisses him again. Her entire body is alight with happiness, all of the tiredness fading away and being replaced by the energy of a two-year-old on a sugar high, and she absolutely cannot believe this.

“I don’t care how. Just that you are.”

Killian chuckles and pulls back from the kiss to press his forehead against hers, his nose squishing into her cheek while his prosthetic rubs over her back. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a kiss at midnight. My plan couldn’t quite figure that out.”

“Please, they’re overrated. Five in the morning is much better.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. I love you, you know?”

“I do know, Swan. I’m absolutely in love with you too.” His lips move over hers, slow and thorough until a heat is curling deep in her belly and until her skin is covered in goosebumps. “Hey, how many calls did you get about illegal fireworks tonight?”

“Thirty-seven.” “Ah, so we were both wrong.” “Yeah, but I was a hell of a lot closer.”

Killian leans his head back with laughter, and Emma moves to nuzzle herself there, running her lips across his skin in hot, open-mouthed kisses. She might not feel tired, but she probably needs to go to sleep. Killian likely does too, but right now, she can’t think of anything other than stripping him out of his clothes and straddling his lap.

It’s exactly what she does, what they both do. Neither of them can stop laughing, joy and excitement still overflowing, but they do manage to strip each other out of their clothes until there’s a pile at her bedroom down. Killian’s lips leave warm marks against her jaw, her collarbone, her breasts, and her nails scratch down his back until they’re stumbling onto the bed and Emma is crawling over Killian.

He stretches her when he enters hers, and she sighs at the fullness of having him inside of her again. This isn’t a feeling that can be replicated, and seeing the look on Killian’s face – a mixture of pure bliss and desire for more – is priceless. Absolutely priceless.

She cannot believe he’s here.

That he did this to see her.

Stupid, wonderful man.

Emma controls the strokes at first, keeping the slow and deep so that Killian’s nails are digging into the her hip and his brows are pinched together in pleasure, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. It’s too slow, and as slow and careful as some of their reunions can be, what she needs now is fast and desperate, a quick coming together so that her heartbeat is elevated and her body is humming in pleasure.

Killian gives all of that to her more.

Afterwards, when the sweat is cooling on their skin and the night sky is fading away into the barest hints of sunlight outside, Emma kisses Killian’s chest over the small smattering of bird tattoos that reside there. He had them before they met, and Killian jokes about it being some kind of sign that he either had to fall in love with a woman with the last name of a bird or give up being a doctor to go off and study ornithology.

(The tattoos are for his mother, but he rarely likes to talk about that.)

“I’m sorry I didn’t come up with a grand romantic gesture for you,” Emma whispers while running her hands through the thick tufts of hair in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Killian whispers, pulling her closer in his arms before he tucks her hair behind her ear, “you’re all I need anyways.”

-/-

His placement for his fellowship the next year is in Boston, and both of them have off for New Year’s. It’s practically a miracle.

They’re both asleep before midnight.

It’s okay. Kisses at five in the morning are better.

They’re also far more frequent since they now live together.

(Finally.)

-/-

-/-

Happy New Year, everyone ❤️🎉

one-shot tag list: @shardminds​ @stahlop​ @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods​ @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says​ @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81​ @spartanguard​ @carpedzem​

[iggy-of-fans]

Part 6, here we are! Also, I hope nobody thinks I don't like Raven. She's literally my favorite TT ever. Hopefully I didn't lose too many of you to her turning. She does get a redemption, I promise! 

Now, we're going to have the conclusion and the epilogue and then I'm done this one. 

What is will always be

Damian had seen several of the magic users take to corners in the ballroom, and so when Jason returned fully costumed he took the Cat Miraculous and ran to the cave. He found Tim about to transform and stopped him. 

"Take this one and transform instead" he said, "the weapon is a staff anyways. Give me the fox. I have an easier time hiding the eears under my hood. And my costume is brighter. No one will look twice at orange thrown in."

"That is…. Brilliant…. No One would believe you switched to a baton, and I don't know if we can switch weapons… Not that a flute is all that… Useful." Timothy said, handing the fox tail to Damien. They transformed quickly and threw on their costumes, finishing just in time for the others to start making their way down. Timothy tried to make it look like he was hiding something much larger than the little black triangles that blended into his hair, while Robin made sure his hat stayed securely on.

"The situation we find ourselves in today…." 

When the JL saw that they had two missing teens Alfred decided to step in. He was out of practice, but he was sure he could help the teens. He looked to Oracle and begged the Miraculous box to open for him. It seemed his prayer was heard, at least somewhat, as the butterfly Miraculous fased up through the box. 

"Oracle, take this. I will need your help to save those kids" Alfred handed her the Miraculous. Noroo awoke and looked at the woman, sitting patiently in a wheelchair and he gasped. 

"oh my poor fairy! Who hurt you so?! I was hurt before too, do you want to help each other heal?" Noroo was quite young in comparison to the others in the inner circle and had very little experience out in the world. But he was eager to redeem himself in the eyes of the world. Barbara was shocked, but nodded. When the light faded, she sat in her chair with new purpose. A butterfly was born from her good intentions to help and landed on her hand. "Magic is so weird" she mumbled, before she thought of how to help the kids. She'd seen the fear in the shorter boys, but the taller one was determined to do the right thing. Him then. She powered up the butterfly, watching as Alfred concentrated hard as well. With a wave of his fan, the butterfly and feather took off to Metropolis. 

… "Here's the plan, everyone. I need Tim to create an illusion of Robin to get close to Adrien and Alya. Then-" 

"Sorry to interrupt Angel, but I don't fight with a staff" Robin stated, lifting his hood slightly to reveal the long fox ears. He dropped it and Guardian Angel looked shocked for a second. 

"You brilliant, brilliant man!" she called, "Okay, new plan. We need a comm from their end. Can anyone do an impression of someone? Like Bane or something?"

"That would be me!" Red Hood called through the comms, shooting another assassin between the eyes. 

"Perfect! Robin, use the mirage to create a ring under your left glove, make it real. You will have to be able to fake a cataclysm midway through, can you do that?" Robin just nodded his head, pulling the flute out from under his Cape and creating a perfect Bane replica. The battle still raging produced the perfect cover for them. 

" Now, make it look like he's dragging you, don't fight too hard, or your illusion will vanish. Superman, get the real Bane and at least break his comm. Take the nerve toxin from Red Robin. Someone get the Red Hood the enemy communicator. Wonder Woman, assist Superman. Supergirl and Superboy. Are you recovered enough to take the ground troops out? Perfect. Remember Robin, you'll have to make an illusion of the ladybug earrings too. Tikki knows to run and hide as soon as he's distracted." 

In Metropolis, Max had long since gone from scared to catatonic. Barely breathing and too terrified to speak. He'd been separated from Nino after their message was discovered. He was as good as dead. 

Nino on the other hand kept tugging at his binds. There is a way out. Ladybug and Marinette would've found one. By Wayzz he hated himself. Why the hell had he let Lila get in the way of years of friendship? How had he believed the utter crap that came out of her mouth? 

Luther had decided it wasn't worth the trouble to kill them since Adrien planned to just resurrect them with his wish, so he left them tied (and beaten and bloody) in a couple of offices on the top floor.. Nino glared at the door, anger coursing through him. 

"Justice, I am Fairy Oracle, from Gotham. I can help you and your friend escape from not only this maniac, but away from the ones you once called friends." 

"And I am Påfugl. I will lend you a companion to aide in your escape. If you accept our aide, unlike when you were Akumatized, you will remember and have ultimate control of your actions. What do you say?" 

"I accept" Nino whispered. Immediately a green light overtook him. He felt the new powers coursing through him, but looking down he didn't look like his outlandish Bubbler form, but rather a bit like the American heroes, with a simple green spandex suit. He flexed his muscles. He didn't look too different from usual, didn't feel too different. But the binding broke from his muscles like glass. He wondered what the power up was hidden in. He hadn't seen the butterfly… Shrugging he looked to the door. He knew roughly that Max was in another office to the right of his own door. He also knew he had a minimum of four guards to fight through. He looked around for the companion he was supposed to receive.

"Look outside" a voice whispered through his head. He looked and saw a falcon flying in the distance, "when you're ready, jump. We will catch you." 

Oh… Okay. He looked at the door and checked the slit to see if it was locked. Of course it was. Okay. Let's see how strong he really was. He yanked the door with all his might, pulling the door clear off the wall. Oops. The guards turned to look at this unknown and lifted their guns. Well, so much for stealth, Nino thought as he threw the door at the two guards. He saw the two that had take Max running down the hall from his right and he quickly picked the door back up and threw it at them too before taking off towards the rooms at the end of the hall. He broke three doors before he found Max, gaping at him like he had two heads. 

"Let's GO!" Nino yelled, breaking the rope on Max and jumping out the nearest window. 

"OH please dear God if I rot in jail, please just get us out of here" he whispered as he and Max fell fifteen stories and counting. Suddenly they abruptly stopped falling, claws closing in on their shirts as a giant falcon swooped over them and lifted off towards Gotham. Distantly Nino still heard the shouts from guards to shoot, but they were out of range. 

With Bane subdued with Neuro-inhibitors, the assassins placed into bullet proof glass boxes, Scarecrow on his way to Arkham, and a quick Miraculous Ladybug to fix the damage, the heroes were left with a passed out Adrien and a cuffed Alya. Commissioner Gordon wanted to have Adrien brought to the hospital for treatment and Alya to the police station for questioning. But the heroes wouldn't be left out. Batman insisted he and Wonder Woman head to the hospital with Adrien. Red Hood nodded and asked Supergirl to accompany himself with Alya. Nightwing nodded to the passed out Raven, being held in cuffs by Star fire. Robin took hold of Guardian Angel and offered her a ride home on his Robin Bike. She smiled and was about to nod when a bird cry was heard from above. Looking up, everyone saw a giant falcon landing with two boys in its claws. They recognized them immediately as Max Kantê and Nino Lahiffe. Commissioner Gordon took them into custody as well, to decide what to do with them after, giving the heroes not joining for the Interrogation a rest. Guardian Angel thanked Comissioner Gordon, and went with Robin back to the batcave. 

Once there, along with several other heroes who were recovering, Marinette tuned in to the screen where Red Hood and Supergirl were with Alya. 

"Miss Cesaire, I am curious about what led you to follow Mr Agreste to Gotham" a translator sat in the room, turning her head to Alya. 

"Lila Rossi is not a liar! I'm a journalist, I know this! She can't be a liar. That means Ladybug is and I just wanted her to admit Lila was telling the truth!" Alya screamed in frustration. The translator frowned as she spoke to Comissioner Gordon. 

"What does that have to do with this incident?" 

And so Red Hood gave the run down of Paris and what happened to Rossi, including her deportation and multiple lawsuits she was facing currently. The translator explained to Alya that the lawsuits were from both individuals who'd been lied about, including Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale, as well as the city of Paris on behalf of Ladybug. Alya paled with the words, shaking her head frantically. 

"Did you or did you not lead the planned attack on a former classmate on behalf of Lila Rossi?" Red Hood asked. But Alya was mute. She wasn't wrong. She wasn't wrong.

" Marinette was just jealous" Alya whispered. She wasn't wrong! "Marinette was just so jealous, she bullied Lila!" she finally screamed, "Ladybug could have fixed her!" 

"Has the girl mentioned, Marinette, ever shown bullying tendencies before? Been outwardly cruel or antagonistic when provoked or jealous?" Comissioner Gordon broke in. Alya froze. She thought about Kagami and Chloe and all the girls involved in Adrien's life and tried to come up with an example. She lowered her head and shook it no. 

" Has Ladybug ever been able to bring back a deceased that was killed outside of a magical attack by these Akuma?" 

"She cured Lila's tinnitus!" she exclaimed. 

"the same Lila that lied about being bullied, and has lawsuits against her from multiple sources? You believe this to be a credible source? Let me ask this, has she ever cured anyone else of chronic illness?" Gordon asked. Alya shook her head. 

"So you came here with the intention of what… Using Ladybug, aka, Guardian Angel, to bring back all those you and your partner killed?" Gordon looked skeptical. 

"you can wish for anything with the jewel of creation and destruction. Even for life to be breathed into the dead" Alya said clearly. 

"Is that a fact?" Gordon turned to Red Hood. He shook his head. 

"The consequences of making any wish can be destructive. A wish for peace might kill half the population, simply because less population means more resources. The law of Alchemy states that everything must remain in balance. To bring back a dear friend, you have to lose another dear friend first. To bring back 14 innocent people, 14 other innocent people would have to die. From my understanding, they planned on not only resurrecting the people they themselves killed, but also the classmate who committed suicide. On top of this, they also planned on creating a "perfect world" in conjunction, to make sure no conflict happened in their class specifically" Red Hood played the video on his phone of Nino explaining this before he was caught. Gordon frowned. He glared at Alya, who was pale. They couldn't bring them back. They couldn't bring any of them back and that meant Marinette was dead and she'd never be able to see or hug or apologize or…. Alya puked on the floor. The realization that even limitless power was in fact limited. Gordon nodded and told an officer to put her in a cell and call Paris. 

When Adrien awoke, he was cuffed to a hospital bed, his head was bandaged down past the right eye, and his torso was strapped to the bed with a warm blanket. In the room with him were Wonder Woman and Batman. He frowned. 

"Mr Agreste. Do you know where you are?" Wonder Woman asked. He tried to shake his head but he opened his mouth anyways. 

"Gotham City" his voice was scratchy and dry. 

"Do you know why we are here?" 

"I tried to get the Ladybug and Cat mirculouses."

"Why?" 

"Because Ladybug should've healed Marinette. My Princess should be here with me. Ladybug was jealous and let her die and sent Lila away and took my ring and my family from me! Everything was ruined because of her!" Adrien shouted. Batman looked at him. This was going to be a long day.

"Tell us what happened from your perspective?"

And Adrien did.

Okay, so.... Here's part six. Seven will be really short but I couldn't find a way to include it in this.

@bookreader20003

@mooshoon @artxyra @spicybelladonna @northernbluetongue @kuroko26 @mystery-5-5 @2sunchild2 @iwantswifttoblessmysoul @zelladane @ellerahs @thedarkwhiteangel @resignedcatservant @scribblinggraveyard @alexzandria-747 @nyctamaximoff @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @sapphiraazure2708 @tinybrie @dudet @thatrandomfandomsgirl @lunar-wolf-warrior @zazzlejazzle @zebrabaker @constancestruggle @unabashedbookworm @ginamarie1512 @mindfulmagics @bitterheart12224 @captainmac6 @blue-peach14 @enduskdragon @multishipper1needshalp @abrx2002

@throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen

[lemonietrinket]

Cinnamon Snow ||| Seonghwa x Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend hire out a cabin in the snowy woods for the winter holidays to spend some time relaxing away from the hustle of normal life.  Genre: Fluff Warning(s): Just a chaotic reader I guess Word Count: 2576 Theme Song: Home - JBJ95 AN: The first fic of the prompts made by @songi-writes. This is a mix between 1 & 2, because I found the prompts too late in the day of the 1st Dec. so oops. 

~~~

You awoke to a bright light, and a painful chill in the air. Groaning, your hands swept across the other half of the bed to find only the blankets, stone cold. Sitting up, you lazily opened your eyes as best you could, daylight gleaming between your eyelashes and causing you to whine.

“Seong… hwa? Seongie…?” you drawled, hands coming up to your rapidly cooling face. You palm met your near-icy nose and you hummed in dissatisfaction, grimacing as you prepared for the trek downstairs.

The bare pads of your feet met the wooden floorboards that may as well have been crafted out of solid snow, and you hissed at the iciness. Grumbling, you hauled the duvets over your hunched figure, before descending the stairs like a cryptid. With you head half-covered by a fringe of a quilt and your legs embroidered with the tassels of an ancient blanket, you stumbled waywardly towards the only sounds that could be heard, echoing densely from down the hallway.

When you passed the desktop (garnished with a lace cloth that really didn’t fit the rest of the cabin’s aesthetic) halfway down the corridor, your nose, frozen by the lack of heat, was filled with a sweet, heart-melting scent. The incense of Christmas.

Cinnamon.

Speeding up your gait, you waddled straight into the kitchen, barging the door open with a padded arm and giving your boyfriend the fright of his life.

“Oh! Good morning b—what in the name of...?”

“Morning!” you greeted briefly, breathing in the warmth and instantaneously forgetting your troubles. “What’re you...?”

“Baking,” Seonghwa replied, straightening his apron as he tilted himself so he could just about catch a glimpse of your face beneath the duvet, “cinnamon rolls—have you got all of the bed covers with you?”

You bowed your body in a ‘yes’.

He grimaced slightly, eyes reflecting a level of disdain that your more chaotic antics often warranted, but his lips were being toyed with by a smile, gently tugging his expression into disdainful and amused bafflement. “Well then, since you actively chose to bring them with you this time—”

“Yeah,” you interjected, “unlike last time where you threw me—!”

“I did not throw you—!”

“Bloody yote me, you did.”

“I?! No, it—! I would still argue that you didn’t even have to bring them then either but...” You scowled defiantly, not that he could really see with the hood of your duvet slouching right down and nearly to your nose, all while he continued, “...this time you can help me put them all back.”

You sighed, exaggerated and indignant, but he just chuckled. 

“Fine,” you groaned, faking impudence, before leaning a bit closer to the bowl.

“Do you want to help?” Your boyfriend’s smile was wide, sunny and heart-warming—just like the rest of him—and so you lifted your duvet tentatively to see more of it. His smile only faltered when your head turned back to the soon-to-be-food and you got a bit too close to where he was mixing. “Yah, be careful!”

“Seong, I’m not going to get the mixture on the blankets, you’re too careful for that!” you giggled, nonetheless pulling the blankets closer to your body.

“Well, if you’re sure.” He handed you a spoon. “If you want to help though, you’re going to need to lose the blankets.”

“And freeze to death? No thanks.”

He shook his head with a laugh, placing the spoon back in its holder. “Well, you’d better go get dressed then. The heating will warm the house up soon enough. I’ve also got something to show you, but it’s outside so…”

A spark of curiosity began to glimmer in your chest. “Oh? What is it?”

“A surprise,” he answered, a small, satisfied smirk on his features, “that you won’t get to find out unless you get dressed.”

You were interested to say the least.

With a bit of jostling, you managed to slip the duvet further down from your head just enough so you could chastely press your lips to his jaw, before waddling away, back up the stairs. “Thank you! I love you so much!”

“You have until these go in the oven!” he called after you, cheeks starting to hurt from how widely he was beaming.  He could still feel the pressure of your lips against his skin, and it set more shivers up his spine than the cold ever did. 

.

.

It wasn’t long before the mix had been made, rolled and placed in the encompassed heat of the oven.

Seonghwa pressed the buttons on the timer, eyebrows furrowed, before hanging up his mitts on their hook on the back of the door.

As he opened it again, he was confronted by you, suited up in a thousand layers.

Once again, you witnessed his beautiful dark eyes widen and gorgeously curved lips part to emit a barely audible cry of surprise.  It was satisfying to see the usually calm and collected man break face for a second. And it was just visually satisfying to see him anyway I mean, look at him.

He did wonder how you’d managed to sneak up so quietly, but looking at the thick fluffy festive socks you wore (over several other pairs), he didn’t find it much of a surprise.

“Aren’t you hot?” he enquired, humoured but slightly worried.

“Of course I am Seonghwa,” you tossed your head dramatically to the side, “you wouldn’t date me otherwise.”

He barely restrained himself from face-palming. “No, I mean—”

“So you don’t think I’m hot then?” you pursed your lips, trying to cover up your teasing smirk. “Ooooh, Hwa you’re in trouble...!”

His eyes widened even more as he guffawed. “That—! That’s not what I meant, you—!”

“I know, I know, relax,” you waved your gloved hand, “and no I’m not, because the heating still isn’t on.”

He frowned, puzzled, and stepped around your marshmallow-like pile of coats and into the corridor. Instantly, he was met with an iciness that the kitchen’s oven hadn’t managed to permeate. 

“Oh.”

The landlord had promised that the cabin’s heating was fine and fully serviced when you decided to rent it out that winter holiday.

You caught onto Seonghwa’s distaste. “Yeah, I know, they lied. The little—”

“Do you mind—”

“No I do not.”

“—lighting a fire?”

“Oh, sure.”

You headed off, along the dingy corridor and into one of the rooms on the left.

Seonghwa suddenly became rather afraid that said-room wasn’t the living room with the hearth.

“Lighting a fire in the fireplace, I mean!” he shouted after you. He turned his back to turn off the kitchen light, and prayed that the movement he saw out of the corner of his eyes was just his imagination, and not you heading out of a room and into another.

He exhaled. Even if you had some chaotic tendencies, and caused him no end of trouble, he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

.

.

Eventually, a fire was lit, and Seonghwa had put on a few more layers. 

After strapping up his coat—chic as per usual—he began to unlock the door, while you sat on the stairs, trying to do up your boots.

“Ready to go, little marshmallow?” he threw over his shoulder, not really looking at you, who currently was caught in a predicament.

And this was something in your favour, as it likely saved you no end of shame.

You, at that moment, were straining with your arms outstretched, desperately trying to reach your laces for long enough so you could tie them. You no doubt looked like an upturned beetle, trying to roll itself back onto its legs.

“Not really,” you huffed, falling back and catching a breath. You could just about reach it, but it was hard work, and it hurt a little bit.

You didn’t like the way Seonghwa’s eyes lit up at that moment.

It was that teasing glint, that mischievous glimmer.

“Aww, can my little marshmallow not quite reach her own little feet?” he cooed. 

You told him to shut up, but it only made it worse. 

“Awww, does she need some help from her lovely, handsome boyfriend to do her little laces?”

It was at that moment you vowed you would avenge your pride.

And you had the perfect plan. 

Through his teasing, your boyfriend did still do up your boots for you, even if you turned your head as he requested a kiss as a thank you.

Instead you slipped past him and beckoned him through the front door.

“You won’t give me a thank you kiss?” he said, pouting.

“Show me this surprise and I may reconsider.”

“Meanie.”

“Love you too babe!”  And you darted out of the doorway and into the cold.

With a sigh, and a laugh, he shook his head and followed after you, into the depths of the winter cold.

.

.

Seonghwa knew he probably should have been looking at the scenery around him, with its trees draped with cascades of white like wedding veils, the tiny robins flitting every now and again between the shallows and summits of the snowy drifts.

But he was instead staring at you, your own eyes entrained on the tiny snowflakes that melted in your gloved palm. Delicate and silent, their minuscule crystals faded into nothing, and you poked at the tiny dabs of water that they left behind, entranced.

This wasn’t what he wanted to show you, but if you were in awe at snowflakes, he knew you would find the next part absolutely astonishing.

“Seongie, are you staring at me again?” you asked, a mischievous tone to your voice.

“How could I not?” he responded.

You curled your lip at his answer, looking up and shaking your head. “Ew.”

“Ew?”

“Yeah, ew.”

“Me?

“Yeah, you.”

He put his hands on his hips, sending you a look that you had dubbed his Mum Stare. “Now listen here Y/N, you should remember that you are beautiful enough to distract your boyfriend from many things, and—”

“Including the path?”

“Yes, including the path, but luckily you haven’t quite distracted me from that just...” he took a glance at his surroundings for reassurance, only to find the fence he’d been following as guidance was nowhere to be found, “...yet.”

You stopped. “We’re lost aren’t we.”

He followed suite, but was laughing anxiously. “We’re not lost don’t worry! I know exactly where we are.”

“Where?”

“Well,” his eyes scoured the trees around him, desperate to pick up a sign, “we are... in a forest. Yes. I know that much.”

You arched your eyebrow. “Oh no.”

“Look, it’s fine, we’ll just retrace our steps and—”

Suddenly, you jerked up a hand and pointed over his shoulder. “Oh Seonghwa, look!”

He spun on his heel, and felt relief wash over him like the waters of a hot shower.  Through a gap in the trees, not too far away, an abnormally large sheet of azure climbed up into the obscurity of the treetops. At its feet, a pool of deeper blue, and, leading down the hill to it, a path that cut a rune in the snow.

“Oh, there it is.”

“Is that the...?” Your laugh puffed a cloud of silver that dissipated as you suddenly took off into a jog. “Come on, let’s go!”

He took off after you, trying to encourage you to be careful and watch your step but it was no use, you were already bounding down the steep hill, disappearing into the frosted bracken.

As you came up to the opening of the trees, your eyes glistened.

You came to the bank of a solid lake, reflecting shields of light from the sun hidden behind the clouds. And, at its furthest point, descending from the broken plateau above, was a huge waterfall, frozen in time by winter’s hands.

“Oh, Seonghwa…!” you whispered, feeling him make the final steps to reach your side. 

Gazing at the sheet of blue, even he was stunned.  It was taller than he’d expected, and seemed to trap the smallest glimmers of light in its frozen surface, a jagged cloth of illuminated night sky.

You leant your body into his, resting your head against his shoulder, admiring the spectacle through clouded breath.

“It’s so beautiful...”

“I thought you might like it,” he grinned, bringing an arm around your back to pull you in closer. 

“Like it?” you glanced up at him, “I love it! Thank you so much for bringing me here, I’m sorry it took me so long to get out of the house...”

“You know I don’t mind. And that I wouldn’t want you any less difficult.” He pressed a kiss to your exposed temple, before drawing the hem of your bobble hat to cover your bare skin.

You didn’t push off his fussing this time round however, and fulfilled your promise from earlier, standing on tiptoe as best you could in clunky boots and gave him a proper kiss.

“There,” you said, about to continue, but you found yourself at a loss for words. His blushed cheeks and nose, with his determined stare and delighted smile, all made him appear like a snow prince. His beauty had snatched your voice away.

“Y/N, you better not be staring at me again,” he mimicked, smirking at you.

“Oh shush! Just... go get a photo of the ice-fall, go on!” You ushered him away, closer to the lakeside.

He obeyed happily, drawing his phone from his inside pocket, and striding through the thicker snow with ease, off to get a better view.

Though he didn’t stride fast enough, and he’d taken the bait oh so nicely.

As soon as his back was turned, you scooped up a bundle of snow, as much as you could carry, and chased after him.

The only piece of warning he got was the sound of a flurry of footsteps passing through the snow. 

Within seconds, you’d thrown the snow in his hood, and pulled it over his head.

He shrieked, halting in his steps with hands flying to his head to brush off as much of the cold as he could manage.

You attempted to make your escape, turning in the snow and trying to make your way back up the hill.

Only that Seonghwa was much faster than you, and somehow was able to catch you.

Snaking his hands around you waist he pulled you back, but the momentum of your run and his tug collided and knocked the two of you into the snow in a chorus of laughter.

“Nice try, little marshmallow!” he cried, scooping some snow onto your face.

“Hey!”

He chuckled, swooping in to kiss you once again, but you caught his face with your hands. He tried to wriggle free but you held him still.

“There is no escape!” you declared, smushing his cheeks.

“Even if I ask really nicely?” He mumbled through his pursed lips.

You brushed your nose against his tauntingly. “Try it!”

“Pretty please?” He bat his eyelashes, pulling the best puppy-dog eyes he could.

You didn’t even hesitate.

Both your lips may have been cold, bitten by the air, and you may have been shivering in the cradle of the snow, but his kiss set your skin on fire no less.

This winter would never be the most peaceful of them all, not when you ran rampant. However, that was the best part of every season, to him, and he wouldn’t change you for the world.

~~~

AN: I struggled to end it but here we are! The following oneshots will likely not be this long, because I don’t quite have as much time :(( but I look orward to writing them nonetheless. Thanks for reading!

Masterlist

(edited 22/01/2020)