#the page of cups is me taking responsibility and starting my commission work !

[haechannabelle]

weekly tarot reading ! what do we think besties

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

I Don’t Lose.

Pairing - Tartaglia/Childe/Ajax x Reader

Warnings - VERY mild angst, so much so that I wasn’t even going to tag it at first.

Other Comments - I promise I am working on asks! I just kinda wanted to post this little drabble, since I was working on it before I went on hiatus! Anyway be prepared for my garabgo posts to come back up on your pages >:^))

      Childe’s work schedule was horrendous; and calling it a schedule is an overstatement if anything. Now (Y/n) knew that Childe’s time out for work was going to be long, but it seemed as though recently the guy just couldn’t catch a break. He’s been gone for about three months now, with the only contact being a couple of hastily written letters.

      (Y/n) and Childe were never officially dating each other, but they had gotten pretty close over the time that they’d known each other in Liyue. Though he’s not the only person the young traveler had gotten close to. (Y/n) was extremely sociable and charismatic, which is what drew Childe to them, but it also attracted a certain ex Geo Archon.

      Zhongli seemed to always be asking for (Y/n) to accompany him every where or vice versa, borderline addicted to their presence with him. He had grown used to it when they were trying to set up the Lantern Rite a couple months back. Childe was still in Liyue at that point in time so the Geo Archon knew to keep his distance, but now with the Harbinger out of the picture he didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

      Zhongli was aware of how Childe felt about (Y/n) even if Childe himself wasn’t fully aware of his feelings, and in addition to that he was also Childe’s friend too. So there was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him that it was wrong to try to steal (Y/n) while Childe was off on a mission. He couldn’t help but think though, that he would be a better match for the traveler. He wasn’t going to be gone in a different part of Teyvat for months at a time, and if they permitted him to he could even accompany them on THEIR travels; something Childe was unable to do.

      Everyday Zhongli made it his mission to get (Y/n) tea to help start of their day, and much to his ignorance the traveler had started to expect the small cup of professionally brewed tea at their doorstep with a soft smiling Zhongli gently holding it out to them, before being invited inside the small apartment in the middle of the busy harbor.

      And today was no different, at least not to Zhongli or (Y/n). The traveler smoothly opened their door, being greeted by the ex Archon before opening the door a little wider for him to walk in and set the cup down.

      On a completely different side of Teyvat, it was Childe’s last day in Inazuma for the mission he was sent on, yearning to see the young traveler who had captured his heart. He had sent out a letter to them about a week before to give it enough time to reach them, telling them that he was going to be Liyue for a while after this mission which he was excited for, before quickly jotting down the place he wanted to meet (Y/n) and the estimated time he would be getting there; 13:00 sharp.

      It was now 15:03 and (Y/n) and Zhongli had set out on a daily commission which he had offered to help them with. It was always fun when Zhongli came along with (Y/n) on their mission, as it got lonely traveling through this unknown place with no one but Paimon by their side; so the company and help was greatly appreciated.

      Childe on the other hand, was not having as great of a time, as he had waited around in the previously mentioned spot for about an hour before giving up and deciding to go straight to their apartment. There had to be a logical explanation as to why they never came, maybe they didn’t get the letter? Childe had a habit of letting himself into (Y/n)’s apartment and today was no exception. As he quickly picked the doors lock and let himself in, he once again was let down, as his expectations were not met and (Y/n) was no where to be found in their cramped apartment.

      He couldn’t help but search around their home, looking for the one thing that would have notified them of his arrival; half heartedly hoping that it wasn’t going to be their wanting them to have a good reason as to why they never came. But after a couple minutes of searching, he found the familiar envelope with his name written across the corner in fancy calligraphy. It was sat atop the small side table next to the young travelers bed; irritating Childe even more. Not only had (Y/n) not even bothered to open the envelope, but they went through the length of setting it next to their bed, giving them another chance to open it this morning.

      Meanwhile Zhongli and (Y/n) had just finished up the rest of the commissions they needed to get done, but (Y/n) couldn’t help but feel as though they were forgetting about something. Zhongli was in Heaven right now, he loves spending the entirety of his day with them, nothing brought him more joy than seeing the way (Y/n) would celebrate to themselves a little when finishing off a couple treasure hoarders, or an angry hoard of hillichurls. The day was coming to an end though, and it was starting to get dark so the idea of getting food then going home really resonated with the two.

      As usual once they got into the harbor again they went straight to Wanmin Restaurant, as much as they liked the other expensive restaurants that Liyue Harbor was full of, nothing could compare to to homestyle meals of Wanmin. As the pair was finishing up their meals, Zhongli had placed a large hand atop (Y/n)’s.

      “(Y/n) it has been a pleasure spending the day with you as always. I thoroughly enjoyed fighting the ruin guard with you, and I am disappointed that our day is coming to an end. I was wondering if you would let me accompany you again tomorrow?” Zhongli’s hand had began to gently hold (Y/n) and their face was dusted a light shade of rose. Zhongli sat their waiting for what felt like an eternity for their answer; he spent this time memorizing every detail on their face as to never forget it. 

      (Y/n) smiled shyly and nodded before giving Zhongli’s hand a subtle squeeze and finishing off their meal.  Zhongli could feel a sense of dread forming in his heart. He new Childe was back in Liyue, which he knew because he had spotted him staring at the back of (Y/n)’s back for the entirety of their meal; How the traveler didn’t notice this he would never know.

      (Y/n) noticed the small change in Zhongli’s demeanor and the way his eyes stayed fixated on something, causing (Y/n) to turn around and see what the ex Archon was staying at so intensely. When their eyes met with Childe’s cerulean ones, they gasped quickly getting up and rushing over to him. Zhongli sighed, before quickly footing the bill and going to follow (Y/n).

      “Childe I didn’t realize you were coming back today! When did you get here?” There was something odd in Childe’s eyes, as the way he was staring at Zhongli with such malice made (Y/n)’s blood chill a little.

      “Yeah, no wonder you didn’t know (Y/n). You disregarded my letter like trash. I got here a little after noon, and waited for you at Wangshu in for almost an hour.” Childe’s voice was serious and deep, something the traveler had rarely heard come from Childe. (Y/n) pulse was racing, the look in Childe’s eye was never a good thing. 

      “And you. I had a thought of you doing this but I brushed it off cause I never thought you would. Clearly I was wrong. But here’s something you don’t know Zhongli. I. Don’t. Lose. So your advances on (Y/n) aren’t going to do anything. I am willing to do anything to anyone who tried to take away my world, you are not an exception just because we’re friends.”

  ��   Zhongli rolled his eyes before chuckling to himself, only further infuriating Childe; and before anyone could stop him the Harbinger pushed Zhongli to the ground, quickly materializing his hydro blades and pointing them at the ex Archons throat, his amber eyes widening with shock.

      “Like I said Rex. I don’t lose. Don’t ever touch what’s mine again, no matter how long I’m out of Liyue for.” Childe’s arm wrapped tightly around (Y/n)’s should, roughly pulling them against his side; before walking off and leaving Zhongli on the ground. The walk back to (Y/n)’s was filled with tense silence. Once they had gotten back into their home, Childe unloaded everything.

      “Why (Y/n)? Why would you not even try to open my letter? Have you gotten tired of me? I know my work is crazy and hectic but you have to be mine. I’ll go crazy if I see you with anyone else.” 

      “I never got a letter from you Ajax! Zhongli had been bringing my mail to me so I only ever saw what he had given me. I need you to trust me! Doing that to Zhongli in the middle of the harbor was uncalled for and you know it.” Childe’s eyes were staring into (Y/n).

      “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to Zhongli later, but tonight it’s just gonna be you and me. I need to make up for all the time I’ve been gone. Who knows what Zhongli has done to you.” Childe’s signature smirk was back on his face, bringing (Y/n) an odd sense of comfort before nodding in agreement. (Y/n) giggled in response before lightly punching Childe’s arm.

      “So does this mean we’re official?” Childe barked out a laugh before pressing a soft kiss to (Y/n)’s lips.

      “What do you think?”

[madmansan]

28 Days

Fantasy au - Demon!San x F!Reader

Trigger Warnings

Mentions of death and blades.

Labyrinth - part 1

.

Aldbarrow. A village known for it's hunters, jewellers, bakers and smiths. But most famous of all, was the Labyrinth that lay just outside the village.

From the outside, all one could see was a large stone wall, that would tower above even the tallest man's head. However, lurking inside was the castle of the Demon King.

Guarding the castle were his loyal demon subjects, that skulked around the Labyrinth to feed on the souls of any human that dares to enter. Or so it was believed. You see, no one had ever entered the Labyrinth and returned. It was a mystery that people were terrified to discover. But not me.

You paused, the ink from your quill blotching on to the page. You bit your lip in frustration, grabbing a bit of cloth and gently dabbing up the small puddle. You placed the quill back into the ink pot, shuffled the parchments into a neat pile and placed them under the false bottom of one of the drawers in your desk.

You were planning on observing the Labyrinth, maybe even entering, so that you could write a book about it. It was a good idea at first but you soon realized that your parents would kill you if they found out.

'Your Auntie entered that Labyrinth and never came back! Don't even think for a second that I would let you anywhere near it. I don't care if it would help the village! You're. Not. Going.' Your Mother would always say. That's why you had to hide it.

Every night, once your parents had gone to sleep, you would sneak out and examine the wall. Running your fingers along the rocks, comparing plants that grew between the cracks to the ones in the village, you even scaled the wall once to try and see over but it was far too dark to see anything.

You heard the door creak open and turned around to see your little sister swinging from the door handle.

"Good morning, Roslyn." You smiled at her, closing the drawer.

She hummed in response, slowly plodding her way over, carelessly swinging her teddy bear back and forth. "Whatchya doin'?" She said, running one of her little fingers along your drawer.

"Why are you asking?" You replied, giving her a playful smirk.

She looked up at you with a hint of mischief in her eyes, "There's a question already on the table, y/n!" She's surprisingly cheeky for a six year old.

You threw your hands up in defence, "Alright, you got me. I'm starting to write my book about the Labyrinth. I plan on sneaking out tonight to see if I can find out anything about the demons inside." The little girl's eyes widened with excitement.

"Really!" She yelled, quickly cupping her mouth, as to not alert your mother and leaned in closer. "You're really gonna go? What if something bad happens? No, nothing bad will happen. I'm sure it will be great. Can I come?!"

You placed your hands on her shoulders trying to cool her excitement, "Nothing bad will happen because I would be cautious. I can't say that much for you." She sulked and you laughed, picking her up and spinning her around. "It'll be okay. I'll report back to you every detail of my observations." You placed a hard kiss on her cheek and watched as she wiped it off, squirming out of your grip. You giggled as you watched her run off down the stairs.

                                      ❁

You grabbed your bag, flinging it over your shoulder and heading out the front door. Roslyn came tumbling out behind you, chasing after her friends whilst still putting on her shoes. You sighed as she stumbled and you bent down to tie her laces properly before letting her run off again.

You had a burst of energy as you marched to the forge. You had commissioned a dagger from the village blacksmith, and one of your best friends, Mingi. If you wanted to enter the Labyrinth, you knew you would need something to defend yourself with.

You clutched the metal handle, swinging the wooden door open with a hearty 'Good morning!' You heard the joyful-sounding greetings of more than one voice down the hall and you could only assume, Mingi's jeweller friend Hongjoong had come round to visit.

You entered the small forge, Mingi hammered a glowing red metal rod against his anvil whilst Hongjoong sat in the corner gently fiddling with some wire and gems.

"Is it ready?" You asked, barely masking your excitement.

"Ah! The dagger!" Mingi exclaimed, placing the rod back in the hearth and removing his thick, tattered gloves. He walked to a desk behind Hongjoong's seat, who's eyes followed him before spinning back round to you.

"Why are you in need of a dagger?" He asked, a bright smile painting his face. You hadn't really spoken to him before, apart from the occasional 'good morning' when seeing him on the street or in Mingi's forge.

Before you could respond Mingi cut in. "She's being an idiot. As per usual." He walked up to you and you gave him a slap on his arm. He laughs at your weak attempt to hurt him and you huff, knowing that you couldn't win.

You turned your attention back to Hongjoong, who sat patiently, his smile not faultering at all. "I'm going to the Labyrinth!" You said, your pride filling the room as you pushed out your chest.

Hongjoong started to laugh but it soon faded when he realized you were being serious. "Wait, seriously?!" He yelled, his smile dropping to gape his mouth in shock.

"Don't worry, Hongjoong. I thought she was crazy when she first told me as well." Mingi laughed, handing you the blade like he was giving you some sort of award. You snatched it from his hands and stuck your tongue out at him.

"I've been studying it for a while. I want to write a book about it. It would most likely be less of a threat if we knew more about it." Hongjoong's eyes lit up, mouthing a small 'wow'. You proudly looked back to Mingi, who huffed at his friend taking your side. He still held out one of his hands, expecting his payment. You reached into your bag and pulled out a paper envelope that contained the money for his work.

He opened it, inspecting the amount inside. You sighed, "Come on, Mingi! You really think I would swindle you? He closed the envelope and looked back up at you.

"You can never be too sure." He said, eyeing you suspiciously, a playful grin appearing at the corner of his lips.

Suddenly, loud yells came from outside and all of you bolted to the door to see what was going on.

People were running wild, shouting out various things but one stood out to you the most. The yell of your little sister's name.

Panicked, you grabbed a person on the street and asked them what was going on.

"Y/n! Two of Roslyn's friends came running to us saying that her and Erina went missing whilst in they were playing in the woods."

Your heart sunk. A cold shiver ran up your spine and left you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You pushed through the crowd, desperately screaming out the names of the two missing girls, whilst Mingi and Hongjoong followed swiftly after.

The crowd went silent, curved around the base of the hill that lead up to the woods and - you felt your throat tighten at the thought. The Labyrinth.

You pushed your way through the people, with gentle apologies coming from the two boys tailing you. In front of everyone you saw Erina, Roslyn's friend and only one of the two missing girls.

You knelt down in front of her and made sure she was alright before you asked her what happened.

"Me and Roslyn went further into woods."

"How far?!" You quickly responded.

"To the Labyrinth."

"You went to the Labyrinth?!"

"She wanted to observe it to help you!" She exclaimed, starting to panic.

"Where is she?!" You asked. She didn't respond. "Erina!" You clutched on to her shoulders.

Her face dropped, "It's all my fault."

You froze for a moment, each breath you took being less controlled than the last. You started to run towards the woods, tears pouring down your cheeks, screaming out your little sister's name again and again.

Some of the large men in the village grabbed you and pulled you back as you fought against them. You shoved out of their grip for just a couple seconds before being grabbed again.

Eventually, your muscles weakened and you fell to the floor in defeat. A strong hand squeezed your shoulder and you looked over to see Mingi, who sat on his knees next to you.

"I know it hurts, y/n, but ... ' he trailed off, watching your tear stained face stare at him, lip quivering, "there's nothing you can do." You started to sob once more, falling into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug.

                                      ❁

You couldn't bring yourself to tell your mother, but it inevitably came to her attention.

You sat at your desk and stared at the ripped up pile of parchments that lay on the floor. She had asked to see them after finding out Roslyn's motive. She blamed you, screamed at you, ripped your work to shreds, she didn't care that you were hurting too.

You finally got out of your chair and started to pick up the pieces, when one of them caught your eye.

'It was a mystery'

The Labyrinth was a mystery. Nobody actually knew if Roslyn was dead. Your body burned with anger, fists clenching around the pieces of parchment before slamming them to the floor and striding towards your bed. You reached under, grabbing your bag and starting to pack some necessities.

The village thought she was dead, but you were going to find out for sure.

                                       ❁

After getting a couple hours sleep to see you through the day, you climbed out of you window and started to head in the direction of the mountain.

It wasn't a long walk to the Labyrinth, but your dedication to save Roslyn was so strong, you ended up there in under ten minutes.

You had been up there dozens of times before, but this time was the only time you felt absolutely terrified. The wall seemed ten times higher, ten times longer, but knowing Roslyn was there just the day before, you knew that you couldn't turn back.

You were entering that Labyrinth, and you didn't care if you weren't going to come back out.

You heard some twigs crack behind you, followed by a small rock landing at your feet.

You turned to see Hongjoong poking his head around one of the trees, "Oh, hi." You said, awkwardly. He cautiously looked around him before stepping out into the clearing, joining you by the Labyrinth wall. You bent down and picked up the rock he threw, "Was this really necessary? No one's around." He scratched the back of his neck and looked at the ground awkwardly. "Let me guess, Mingi sent you to convince me not to go in. Well, I'm not going to listen so-"

"Mingi didn't send me." He cut you off, bluntly.

You looked at him quizzically as he reached into his pocket. "I'm not here to stop you either. I just want you to have this." He held up a thin silver chain, with a small heart pendant in the middle. "I remember reading somewhere that demons are deadly allergic to silver. I can't be too sure if it's actually true, but it's best to be safe anyway. May I?" He moved his hands towards your neck and you leaned forward, nodding your head. Your heart warmed knowing that he was trying to help you and not drag you back to the village.

He clipped it around your neck and leaned back, running his fingers along the chain, admiring the small heart before his cheeks flushed bright red. "I-I didn't mean to make the pendant a heart! It was one I made a while back. It's the first one I pulled out when looking through my silver necklaces for one to give you." He trailed off still mumbling to himself.

You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Thank you, it's extremely kind of you to do this for me. May you find happiness, Hongjoong." You smiled at him and he quickly returned it. He awkwardly stepped away and waved you goodbye, wishing you luck.

Once his figure had vanished into the woods you turned your attention back to the wall. You had to go. No turning back.

.

To be continued

.

Author's note: Ahhhh the new story!! I've been really nervous to post this but here we are! This is only the first chapter and the others probably won't be out for a while, but it'll be nice to see what people think! Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you have a great morning/night, wherever you are in the world! ❤❤

[adzoic]

[Community Beware] @theeggoman Thread

It’s 8 in the morning, I’ve had like six cups of coffee and I’m ready to go. Today, we’re focusing on a user that’s been repeatedly called out for tracing and theft.

I want to start out by telling you not to send harassment or death threats to this user, as they’ve proven time and time again that they will use and run with it in order to garner sympathy and place the blame on other people.

That is not what I want. What I want is for @theeggoman​ to take full responsibility for what they’ve done and what they continue to do each time they are called out for a situation like this. Which is a lot, mind you.

Tumblr user @theeggoman​, formerly known by these names:

Fooperdoodle, PleaklyandJumba, Pleakly, jombasworld, mistskistrawberryblonde, Jumba, etc.

Has been called out for tracing, scamming, etc. on many an occasion. Their (and I’m using they pronouns because I’m unsure of which pronouns they use. A bitch can be respectful and still call you out.) most recent dive into tracing artwork being taken from the artist Grendel Menz on twitter.

Grendel posted on 12/28/2020 that his vent art was stolen for a Hannibal animatic using the the song Butch 4 Butch Simping by Rio Romeo. Grendel follows this tweet up with two more, confirming the identity of the art thief.

Big yikes, but wait! There’s more. A reply to Grendel’s original thread blows this shit wide open, revealing the fact that Tumblr User @theeggoman​ has, in fact, been at this for quite a long fuckin’ time. 

According to Kyosein on twitter, this shit has been going on since forever.

And it just. gets. worse.

Quoting Kyosein, the twitter thread states:

A follower found their comic, and then noticed similarity (pretty obvious) with some of my work. So they messaged me about it and here all it starting.

Once again, according to the twitter thread: After they had been caught, Theeggoman began to go into hiding. They changed their names multiple times on all of their accounts, hence the laundry list of alternative usernames at the beginning of this thread. 

All of the works they had claimed, with little acception, are traced and copied from different images. Example:

Now, while the thread mentions Theeggoman faking harassment and copying art styles ( I don’t see that sort of shit as the crime it’s made out to be. Seriously, we all take inspiration from somewhere), I don’t think that takes precedence over the art theft and scamming that’s going on here. While on the topic: Yes. Tracing and taking inspiration from someone’s art style is completely separate.

More importantly. Let’s talk about the issue of tracing for profit.

You heard me. On their previous patreon page (https://www.patreon.com/fooperdoodle, now defunct.) Theeggoman made commissions at $50 USD. In which, you pay $50.00 for a traced drawing. 

Additionally, Theeggoman made buttons! That just so happened to also be traced. Example:

The original, adorable illustration by Floofyfluff on twitter:

Versus, Theeggoman’s direct fucking rip-off of a button:

They also had a Youtube channel! A channel where they posted speedpaints. In a video (now either deleted or private, like all of them are) talking about their situation, the fucking “tumblr” layer was visible in the goddamn video. Seriously, Eggo. Do you think people are that stupid? 

Versus, the two works they traced from! Originally by @furpocalypse​:

Y’all need more proof of theft?

‘Cause I’ve got more proof of theft.

Not to mention that the 2019 cover of their Tapastic comic looks suspiciously similar to this tweet back in 2016.

Finally, we’ll get to the aforementioned scamming.

To quote Kyosein’s twitter thread:

They did open an donating money page, for their "goal" to go to an "art chool", showing traced drawing as examples.

And from an article found on Theeggoman in the twitter thread:

SHE GOT IN TO A SCHOLARSHIP PROGRAM WITH  STOLEN ART “She has been accepted to Columbia University, CAL Arts and Savannah School of Design and is weighing funding and options.” “She said she prefers a smaller company that cares about the artist.”

 Everything she did until now is using plagiarism, tracing, copying art. To enter school. Making money. Taking all the "rights" on the back of real artists. Promoting their stuff. Lying to their community. We're about to contact the reporter of this article.

And thus, Theeggoman absconds with all of the money they’ve scammed with a sweet little “lol k thx, byeeee” at the end of their donation page:

Here are the screenshots for the article quoted above, or you can really just go to Kyosein’s original twitter thread.

Alright, I think that’s all of this bullshit so far. Again, I’m not asking anyone to deplatform or send death threats to @theeggoman​. That’s not something people will learn from, and as we’ve seen time and time again, it only allows shitty people a platform to whimper about being cyberbullied on the internet. 

However. People should be made aware of what’s happening, what they’re paying for and who they’re supporting/giving their hard earned money to. And making money off of shit that isn’t yours? C’mon, Eggo. You’re an adult and you should know better.

I’ll end this by saying thank you. Thanks for sticking around and reading through the muck of shit with me. I hope you’ve come away from this a little more informed than you were before. 

And finally, to Eggo:

Shame on you.

[black-streak]

Hey I love your writing!! For a prompt how about a Timmari story where they keep meeting at a coffee shop and start dating. Then Mari gets a job at WE and finds out that Tim is a Wayne.

Oh! I love seeing your comments on my works! (and your username is 👌) this prompt was extremely fun and I ended up with a really cool premise imo considering it's only around 1000 words. If I didn't already have a long wip, I'd probably expand this a ton, so thank you so much for sending it in. Hope you enjoy!

~---~

Marinette never meant to become employed at Wayne Enterprises. Honestly, she's not sure anyone ever did, based on the stories her new coworkers shared with her upon her revealing that working there had been an accident.

They'd welcome her and ask how she came to find herself working in the office. From the moment she opened her mouth, nods of understanding and small knowing smiles came flooding her way.

So many saying they were down on their luck, taking odd jobs, even working for criminals when times were tough, just to put food on the table. Suddenly, like an angel of good omens, a business card passed by steady promising hands and a call later, they were working a stable job in a reputable company without fear of being laid off. 

That… Was not quite how she came to be here, but they never let her get past the, "Completely by accident, I'm still not sure what's happening," so apparently surprise jobs were common in Gotham.

They were, however, taken off guard and even applauded her upon finding out exactly where she was stationed. How did someone like her end up with this position? Good question. She wishes she knew.

Sighing softly, she took her time heading up towards the up most floors, on a mission from her new boss.

Waiting on the elevator, she reminisced on her time in this wretched city thus far, trying to figure out how she ended up here of all places. She moved from Paris out of sheer need for change, sick of the overly safe, villainless streets. How does one act as a hero when there is nothing to be heroic about? Add on the money Fu passed along to her in accordance with her gaining guardianship of the miracle box plus selling the massage parlor he no longer had need for and it left her… well enough. 

Setting up shop, she settled in quickly before reopening her commissions page and began working once more. It was around this time she met Tim, her now boyfriend.

The two had bumped into each other in the coffee shop down the way from her place, her newest haunt for sketching. Well rather, they bumped into each other numerous times on multiple days always at the same time and murmured soft, embarrassed apologies with light blushes and avoided eye contact. The usual barista began setting their coffee orders on a little table off to the side before their arrival instead of waiting for them to order and handing it off to them separately. Something about "shipping it" and needing the two to just "get on with it already".

This led to having regular conversations over their preferred beverages until eventually one had to leave, usually Tim. After three months of this dance, Cathryn, their barista, took the steering wheel once again and wrote a little message on his cup to just ask her out already. Three weeks in and she could not thank the barista enough. Her boyfriend was amazing. 

It was around the time she first visited that particular coffee shop that she picked up a new love for creating fabrics and materials to incorporate into clothing. She began to look further into organic chemistry, using the information to help formulate new fabrics that were more durable, yet light and flexible. They quickly became a feature amongst her commission prices, allowing the truly daring to strike out and debut her newest materials in her stead.

Finally reaching the office she needed, she spoke briefly to a nice woman named Tam, who promptly walked over to the CEO's door.

"Miss DC is here with files for review and sign off."

"Now?" A familiar voice spoke up.

"Considering she is behind me, I would presume so."

"Did she mention which department?"

"She didn't."

A soft sigh, "Let her in."

Tam gestured her in with an amused, "good luck," closing the door behind. 

"One moment please," he spoke, eyes glued to the screen in front of him. She stared in surprise for a moment, not entirely processing the situation. Finally she just shook her head and accepted her reality.

This might as well happen. Adult life was already so god damn weird.

"Take your time," she shrugged, taking a seat in the chair across from him.

His eyebrow scrunched up for a second in concentration only for him to snap to attention, surprise splashed across his features, "Marinette?"

"Morning Tim!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I suppose. Working. Guess this is a bit of a conflict of interest, huh?"

With a blink, he turned back to his computer and clicked through a few files, eyes scrolling the pages only to come to realization.

"R&D division. Direct assistant and secretary to Mr. Lucius Fox. Hired one week ago."

"Yup," she popped, completely unsure how else to react.

"I thought you were a fashion designer?"

"I am. Have my own business and everything. You're as confused as I am."

"Did you apply?"

"Nope."

"Then how- nevermind. I know how. Same way everyone ends up here. By surprise and random happenstance."

"Well yes, though I was under the impression I was being asked to create a suit for someone considering the email came through my site and not my personals."

His eyes seemed to twitch just barely. She got the distinct feeling he knew something she didn't. That was fine. He didn't even know her designer pseudonym yet. Speaking of them not knowing things about each other.

"I thought you said you were in the family business?"

"I am. Bruce Wayne is my adoptive father."

"Well okay then. On that note, Mr. Fox has requested your immediate attention on these files. He expects them to be returned to his office within the hour. The project will be underway in the meantime." She stated, falling back into work mode and dropping the stack onto the desk in front of him with great pleasure as his eyes glared at the paperwork.

"Not going to wait approval?" Tim asked.

"I've been assured that will be unnecessary. I may be new, but it's been made very clear to me. I only answer to Mr. Fox. You're more of a formality in this instance and will have no effect on my work."

He gaped at her before shaking it off with a laugh, "I assume Lucius himself told you as much."

"Pretty much."

"Of course he did."

"Still on for tonight?"

"If I get through the mess you just left me."

"You will. Only have an hour, remember?"

"I suppose we are then."

"Wonderful! We have so many new things to talk about," she stated, leaning in with a sly look before turning on her heel and sashaying out of the room, "See you later, Boss!" She called cheerfully on her way, cackling at his choked off response and violently red face.

Closing the door behind her, she met Tam's unimpressed, yet curious look, "What was that about?"

"Just found out my boyfriend works here!" She grinned, heading back to her own division to the sound of the Tam's gleeful laugh.

[blossomoranges]

love’s lost

this fic was commissioned by @pastel-hideout, based on her beautiful and heart-wrenching artwork, using Shingen and her character Damian! 

thank you to @mythiica and @tsundere-mitsuhide for being incredible people and for beta-ing this story.

if you like the story, feel free to take a look at my commission page!

tw: blood and details of respiratory illness

please enjoy!!

Shingen never been so glad to see the end of a war council. There had been a persistent tickle in the back of his throat all morning. Thank goodness Damian wasn’t in attendance - he’d hate to worry his boyfriend with any of this.

Yuki had shot him concerned glances whenever he reached for a cup of tea to soothe the itch or loosened his kimono to cope with his high temperature. He had tried to reassure the young man that there wasn’t anything amiss - Yuki only responded by furrowing his brows with some intensity and issuing a warning against Shingen’s tendency to hide his pain: “There had better not be.”

The Tiger of Kai had spent the entire walk to his quarters ruminating on how much he hated lying to his son. It had been slow-going, but the end was almost in sight. As his lungs began to protest and every exhale turned into a wheeze, Shingen tried his best to quicken his pace. He knew the warning signs for one of his coughing fits and there was no way he could afford to collapse out in the open. The burning sensation within his lungs only worsened with each staggering step, his leaden legs weighing him down until the length of the hallway felt like an odyssey. 

'Almost there’ became a mantra in his head as he struggled to keep himself upright. The wildfire was still clawing its way up to the back of his tongue, turning his desperate breaths into sputtering coughs. He grasped the sliding door to his safe haven with shaking hands, praying that he could make it through the threshold before his lungs decided to revolt in a fashion he couldn't hide.

 The room tilted on its axis just as Shingen shut the door and finally let himself drop to his knees. 

Spirits, he was sick of these coughing fits. They sapped his energy and it took all he had to stay conscious afterwards.

He barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. As he lifted his hand, trying to rub at his weary eyes, his wrist brushed past a growing streak of wetness on his chin. The source soon became apparent - warm blood was dripping in tiny rivulets from his mouth. The blood from war never bothered him, but this? He never realized how much blood one man could cough up.

He doesn't hesitate before wiping it all away with his sleeve.

However, Shingen couldn’t stay kneeling all day. Slowly but surely, he dragged his ailing body onto all fours and crawled along the tatami mats, one arm over the other, until he could lay himself over the surface of his desk. The wood was blessedly cool against his cheek - at least one of his aches was being soothed. 

After a few moments of rest, Shingen tried to press his hand against the desk in the hopes of levering himself upwards. Instead of feeling a wooden surface beneath his palm, his hand brushed against the hardcover of a leather-bound tome.

---

Some weeks ago, when Shingen was still well enough to leave the castle grounds, he and Damian headed out to the market together. His boyfriend had acquired yet another book to add to his growing collection, but instead of squirrelling it away on his bookshelf, he had pressed it into Shingen’s hands as soon as they returned to their quarters.

“What’s this, darling?”

He could have sworn that there was a tinge of pink to Damian’s cheeks, but he couldn’t be sure, as the man had turned to face the screen door beside them. 

“It’s a collection of sonnets. Poetry. I want you to have it.”

“Son-its,” he sounded out. “I’ve never heard of them. What subject matter do they deal with?”

“... Love. The sonnets in this book discuss love.” 

Ah. Now he was sure that his boyfriend was flustered, a beautiful blush blooming across his face.

“This is a wonderful gift. I’ll cherish every word, my angel.” 

Shingen set the book down on his desk with the utmost care, before sweeping Damian into his arms, delighted by the other man’s yelps of surprise. He pressed their foreheads together,  relishing every moment he could bask in his lover’s warmth.

---

The memory of Damian’s gift soothes his soul in a way no medicine could accomplish. This book was a tangible reminder of better days - ones where Shingen had hope that his body could last for a little while longer.

He never thought that he would find true love, the kind that made his heart burst with joy every time Shingen saw his loving smile and turned his thoughts into a jumbled mess whenever Damian drew close.

Despite trials, tribulations, and time itself trying to separate them, they had stayed together. 

It broke Shingen’s heart that it would soon come to a close.

Ever since meeting the man, he had indulged himself in endless daydreams of the life they would share and the home he wanted them to build. He would have crafted a bookcase for Damian’s collection of tomes and scrolls. There would be two finely-carved desks for the endless missives and letters they were both inundated with. Maybe he would have added a crib and some wooden toys if he could ever convince his lover of the many merits of children. He furrowed his brow, halting the thoughts before they became too much to bear - he wouldn’t live long enough to start any of those projects.  

Daydreams with no real substance shouldn’t cause him this much anguish. He should be happy! His homeland was under the Takeda clan’s protection and he had given his people a place to call Kai once more. Though Nobunaga’s head remained firmly attached to his body, his continued existence had enabled Shingen to kickstart a shaky truce between both sides of their endless war. No more blood would be spilt across his lands. A new head of the Takeda clan had been elected, the burden of leadership no longer falling on Shingen’s aching shoulders. That’s all he had ever wanted.

He had done his best to push people away, refusing to saddle others with the grief he knew would inevitably come to pass. His plan was to indulge only in shallow, fleeting relationships; everyone would be better off in the end, he’d reasoned. Unfortunately, the world had always done its best to derail Shingen Takeda’s plans. He had found himself saddled with a strange, patchwork family, nestled inside the imposing walls of Kasugayama. 

Kenshin had been guilt-stricken and wounded inside as long as Shingen had known him. Despite that, he was a brilliant commander and, honestly, a pretty good rival. He had faith that one day, Kenshin would pick up his shattered pieces and lacquer them with gold.

Yoshimoto would always have his head in the clouds, but he’d come into his own as a leader, integrating the remnants of the Imagawa clan into the Takeda. His cousin would survive.

Sasuke, forever staring up at the heavens, like their mysteries would be solved if he just looked long enough. If anyone could figure them out, it was him.

Yuki was his most trusted vassal and the inheritor of his legacy - there was no doubt in Shingen’s mind that he was the man for the job.  His son would carry on, with his head held high, as he always had. 

And of course, his dear Damian. His one true love, his sunshine, his lifeline. Others would have succumbed to despair if they were trapped in this period of ceaseless war, but he had blossomed into a loving partner and one hell of a treasurer.

They would be alright. The continued company of a dying man would only hold them back.

He had kept a smile plastered to his face throughout it all, never letting his mask fall, just to spare everyone from the horrible reality - that death would soon come calling for him. Day by wretched day, his breath grew shorter and his temperature soared, the end creeping closer. He had seen what the truth did to his other loved ones, as they began to grieve for a man who was still with them. 

Seeing Damian’s face fall, when he realized that Shingen was living on borrowed time… it would be the final nail in his coffin. 

But lying to his love like this wasn’t sustainable. His partner was a man who had been through his own hardships. It wasn’t fair to him - he deserved the truth.

He wished he had the strength to find his lover, but the coughing had returned with a vengeance, searing his lungs and robbing him of what little air he had managed to take in. Maybe it was making him dizzy, but Shingen could swear that he could feel the end - it was burning bright behind his eyelids, its very presence demanding he come closer.

All he could do was hope that Damian could forgive him for leaving like this. 

---

Damian had barely seen his boyfriend today. They’d both been so busy that the only time they had spent together lately was just before they collapsed into bed for the night.

Luckily, they were both free for the rest of the afternoon. All he wanted was for them to while away a few hours in each other’s arms, soaking in Shingen’s presence like a flower under a vast sky, talking about everything and nothing at all.

He had expected to see Shingen bent over the desk, working hard to secure his people’s future, or perhaps sitting out on the veranda and basking in the sunlight.

Instead, he is met with the sight of a pale man, drenched in sweat and wheezing with every breath. His horror only intensified as a fresh round of coughs wracked his love’s body. Shingen’s chin was already stained with dried streaks of blood, but fresh droplets spattered into his hand as he tried to stifle his cough.

The only thing Damian can think to do is scream, but the sound won’t leave his throat. It wouldn’t matter if he did. He stumbled in his hurry to get to Shingen, falling to his knees and grasping at the bloodstained fabric of his kimono.

“Why didn’t you say anything?! You selfish bastard, don’t leave me… you promised that you wouldn’t leave me!”

The man’s only response to his tirade was a gentle smile. Shingen inclined his head at some point past him, motioning to something. He whirled around, leaving his blonde locks in disarray as he desperately tried to see what Shingen wanted him to, blind panic drawing mere seconds out into what felt like years.

Finally, his gaze fell on the little book of sonnets displayed on the man’s desk. He’s struck by memories of traipsing through the market hand-in-hand, Shingen gathering him up in his arms and pressing sweet kisses to his lips. 

Damian’s eyes welled up with tears. He couldn’t lose the man he loved, not when they’d barely begun their life together. He is roused from his thoughts by Shingen’s trembling hand pressing against the back of his head, slowly bringing their foreheads together, for what seemed to be the final time.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Love; Lost (pt.5)

John Wick x Reader (A/- I really wanted to see it through to where they actually met their baby, so now we have this.)

1  2  3  4

Warnings- Kidnapping, mentions of childbirth, gun violence. 

Six Months Later After they’d gotten engaged, John had completed his last job just weeks later, and in celebration, he and Y/n had gone down to city hall and tied the knot. It had been an extremely small and intimate affair with just a couple witnesses. Though it didn’t take away from the romance; Y/n had worn a simple white knee length dress that showed off her barely there bump and John had donned a smart suit, sans tie. Afterwards, they’d gone to dinner at one of their favorite places. Six months later, they were still basking in newlywed bliss, all while preparing for their new addition. 

“John?” Y/n called, slowly descending the stairs to the basement, where John worked most days. Ever since he’d left the assassin life behind, he’d taken on book binding full time, though it was largely as a cover and something to keep him occupied; his former lifestyle had left them more than financially secure. Though, restoring classics by commission still brought in a fair amount too. “John!” Y/n called, louder that time, she’d been calling out to him since opening the basement door, journeying up and down stairs was becoming a task, especially considering Y/n hadn’t seen her own feet in nearly two and a half months by then.

“Yeah?” John finally replied, standing from his chair when Y/n was finally a few feet off. Seeming to just realize himself, his eyes widened and he dropped his tools, careful to not make a mess, “Y/n, babe, what are you doing down here? The ink-”

“Isn’t good for me and neither is the heat,” Y/n cut him off rolling her eyes. It was a lecture she’d gotten several times. Even if he was no longer the big, scary Baba Yaga, John was still the man that loved his wife and child, who they’d not too long ago found was going to be a little girl, to pieces; overprotective and sometimes, more concerned than called for. “You know,” she teased, “I wouldn’t have to come down here if you’d answer me when I call you from up there,” with one hand, Y/n pointed up the stairs, while the other laid absently on her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he frowned lightly, stepping closer to Y/n, planting a loving kiss to her forehead. One of his large hands rested next to Y/n’s on her bump, smiling lightly when he felt their daughter kick, “I was just so focused on work, and you know the walls down here are thicker. You could have texted me though.”

Y/n huffed, rolling her eyes again, “Texted you from upstairs? Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

Chuckling, John brushed some stray hair away from Y/n’s face, surveying her outfit for the first time; a cute, navy blue maternity dress that ended at her knees with little bow at the breast line and capped sleeves, paired what had recently become her favorite pair of shoes- and the only pair she could put on without his help. Not that John ever complained about doing it. He’d do anything for his two favorite girls. “You’re going somewhere?” He furrowed his brows; he didn’t want to say it, but the thought of her going out alone that late into the pregnancy worried him.

“Yeah,” Y/n shook her head absently, trying to remember if she’d mentioned it or not, “I have to pick up that custom blanket we ordered. And I also need to get some cleaning fluid for my camera. I’m sorry,” she pouted, “I must have forgotten to mention that.”

“It’s okay,” John smiled faintly, “But maybe you could take it easy and I’ll get that stuff for you?”

“What?” Y/n scoffed, dismissing him, “No, it won’t take too long, I’ll be back before lunch. And I’m already dressed.”

John sighed, rubbing his hands up and down Y/n’s arms, “Yeah, but don’t you want to get some rest?”

“I’ve gotten a lot of rest over the past week,” frowning, Y/n sighed heavily, “John, it's just a few hours, okay, let's not make a thing of it.”

“I’m not trying to make a thing of it,” it's not like he’d actively set out to upset her, “I just-”

“Want me to be safe and healthy,” Y/n made a sound in her throat that sounded much like an exasperated groan, “I know. But I’m going into the city for a couple hours. I doubt something bad is gonna happen. Look,” she bargained, “If you want, I can text you the entire time. You’ll know where I am, and that I’m okay.”

Something in the back of his head told John that he should plead with her to stay home, but he knew her and he knew that Y/n wouldn’t let it go without a fight. Besides, he was probably being paranoid anyway. “Fine,but not while you’re driving,” John nodded stiffly, kissing Y/n again, “I’m sorry, I was squeezing too tight, I just want you two to be okay.”

“I know,” Y/n cupped his cheek, “But we’re fine, and I promise, if we’re not, you’ll be the first to know.”

Letting his eyes slip closed, John bent to press his forehead to her, “Good. I’ll see you later?”

“Well obviously,” Y/n giggled, “I love you,” she kissed him one final time.

“I love you too,” when John pulled away, he crouched down, his hands on Y/n’s hips, “And I love you, my little princess,” he pressed a kiss to Y/n’s stomach, nuzzling it before he pulled away, letting her head back upstairs and off to town.

Four Hours Later John was knee deep in his work, his steady fingers carefully working the tools expertly, a reflection of his skill in the area. He was repairing a dislodged page from a first edition of a classic children’s novel. It was for a client who collected that sort of thing and since his ‘retirement’, John had worked on quite a few books for the elderly woman. Slowly, with optimum expertise, John reattached the page, sighing heavily when his phone started vibrating on the table. At first, he had every intention of ignoring it, though, quickly realized that it could be Y/n, snatching it up without any regard for the caller Id. “Hello?”

“Mr. Wick?” The voice wasn’t readily familiar and carried a thick Russian accent, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Who is this?” John’s voice was gruff and low, disinterested in games, and definitely not interested in carrying a conversation with whoever was on the other anyway; the only Russians he knew were criminals.

The man chuckled, “Why, I’m offended, considering we were such good friends before you retired But don’t worry Mr. Wick, it will come to you soon enough,” when John didn’t respond, his mind already ticking; trying to figure out who the caller was. Whoever it was, greatly unsettled him. “You know John, when you came to me, saying that you needed help so you could get out, I thought that maybe, you were getting too old. Every dog has its day,” he chuckled again, and that was what jogged John’s memory. The man was Dimitri Sokolov, the leader of a mob that had broken away from Viggo’s about twenty years ago. Since their split, Viggo and Dmitri had been sworn enemies, so naturally, when John needed help to get out from under Viggo’s thumb, ready to start a normal life with Y/n, he’d gone to Dimitri, who was more than willing to knock his enemy down a few notches. It hadn’t been his best idea, John knew that, but he was desperate; he wanted to be done, for good, so he could fully commit himself to Y/n and their child. “But now I see,” Dimitri continued without John’s entertainment, “It was for a woman.”

Just then, John’s phone buzzed, and hurriedly, he pulled it away, opening a string of texts from an unknown number. They were all pictures of Y/n in real time, walking along the pavement in hand, shopping bags in hand, handbag on her shoulder and her favorite coat thrown over her pretty dress. “She’s beautiful, absolutely radiant,” Dimitri hummed, “I see why you wanted to leave for her, besides the obvious of course. The young lady stole Baba Yaga’s heart, didn’t she?”

“Whatever you want,” John’s jaw was clenched, book-binding forgotten and his complete attention focused to protecting Y/n, “I’m sure you can get it without bringing her into this.”

“Now,” Dimitri sighed, “If I didn’t do that, then I wouldn’t have any leverage, now would I? Besides, I worked so hard to find Y/n, the wife of the Boogeyman, mother of his child. Would be a shame if something happened to her, don’t you agree? And if you never met that baby, tragic.”

At the mention of Y/n, John’s breath caught in his throat; he couldn’t let something happen to her, John didn’t think he could live with it. A world without her, where he’d never met his daughter would kill him, if not physically, in every other way. “You wouldn’t,” John croaked, hoping Dimitri wouldn’t hear the crack in his voice. 

Chortling heartily, “How naive of you; thinking that killing a woman and her child is beneath me. Let me tell you something John; you owe me. That little family you’re trying to make with Y/n, I gave it to you, and I promise, if you aren’t willing to cooperate, I’ll have no problem taking it away. In fact,” another text came in, that time, the picture of Y/n was taken from a closer angle, “I could take her out right now if I wanted. Imagine that, having a pretty little wife and a baby on the way, and in just seconds, they're gone.”  

The gnarly thought made John’s stomach turn, and he stood from his workstation abruptly, breathing heavy, “What do you want?” 

“I’m sending you an address, I want everyone at it dead by five pm,” Dmitri paused and John knew it was to rile him up, “And if they’re not, then I hope you can make peace with knowing that your family died because of you,” he paused again, that time in anticipation of John’s response. Though, it never came, instead, John clenched his jaw, his fist enclosed at his side. Smacking his lips, Dmitri carried on, “In the meantime, I’ll be taking your lovely wife…..under my wing. Do we have an agreement Mr. Wick?” 

Instead of answering, John hung up, immediately pulled up Y/n’s number, there was no way he was giving Dmitri the opportunity to get to her. He didn’t know how much time he had, but he was going to try. She picked up on two rings, “Hey handsome.” 

“Hey baby,” John tried to maintain his composure, but just the sound of her voice was enough to sting his eyes. Y/n had no idea what was going on, how much danger she was in. He’d do anything, give everything to have had her stay home, where she’d be safe. Swallowing thickly, he cleared his throat, “Did you get everything?”

“Yeah. Oh John,” she giggled, “You should see the blanket, it’s the cutest and they embroidered it in white, at the corner, Baby A. Wick. And it’s so soft,” her tone was giddy and John wished that he could share her excitement, but all it did was make him sick to his stomach. That couldn’t be the last time they talked, “I can’t wait to bring her home in it,” Y/n sighed happily.

Sniffing, John nodded, “Me too baby.” Biting his lip, John had to stop himself from breaking down, throwing up, or both. 

“You okay honey? You sound funny, are you sick?” A new worry etched Y/n’s tone and John felt himself melting the way he usually did when she expressed her concern for him. Before Y/n, no one had ever cared for him the way she had, he never thought that he deserved it before she made him realize that he did. 

“No,” John cleared his throat again, “Y/n, love, I need you to do something for me, you need to do exactly as I say, please. I need you to go somewhere, it’s at the end of-” John was mere seconds away from directing Y/n to the Continental, where he knew for certain, no one would hurt her, when she gasped loudly, her breathing loud and unsteady through the speaker, “What? What’s going on?”

“John….” she breathed, her voice shaking, “I….” another gasp left her lips and John could hear her trying not to cry. In the background, John could hear someone else, a man urging Y/n to keep walking and play it cool, “I love you.” Before he could have a few seconds to return the words or even tell her what was going on, the line clicked dead.

“Y/n?” John nearly yelled, pulling the phone away. The call had been disconnected. He couldn’t believe it; he’d had a solid five minutes, just enough time to direct her to the hotel, and he hadn’t used it. Anything could happen to her, and it was because of him. In a frenzy, John tried to call her back, but it went straight to voicemail. Eventually, his efforts were interrupted by another text; a picture of Y/n buckled up in the front seat of a sedan, her hands bound at the wrists with cable ties and her face tear stained, the caption was simple, but effective; ‘try something like that again, and she’s gone.’ Tossing the phone to the table, John hastily swiped at his eyes, snarling viciously before pounding his fists on the surface. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. John was retired, on the cusp of starting a family with the woman of his dreams. He should have been painting a nursery, not about to dig out his old gear. But he’d do it, to save her, he’d do anything.

“Come on,” the scruffy, shady-looking man tugged at Y/n’s arm, pulling her out of the unmarked car. His grip was tight, and even through the sleeves of her short trench, his nails seemed to dig into her skin. Y/n stumbled forward, struggling to keep up with the man, who’s name she didn’t know- apparently kidnappers didn’t particularly care for introductions. 

They walked along a dirt road, towards an old, dilapidated barn, miles away from the city. Y/n blinked away tears, desperately trying to push away her fear. “Why are you doing this?” She summed up the courage to ask. The closer they got to the barn, the worse it looked; white paint was flaking off in huge sections, exposing weather beaten wood, every nail holding the thing together, or at least the ones that Y/n could see, looked like a one way road to tetanus and whatever glass remained at the broken windows was stained with dust collected over the years.

Just as he shoved inside, her captor chuckled humorlessly, pushing Y/n towards the center of the barn, “You should ask your husband.”  Hastily, he pushed Y/n into a rickety chair jammed to an old post. The dingy cushions looked musty and uncomfortable and the frame was rusted and crooked. Upon being shoved into it, Y/n winced, her breath jumping when the man started tying one of her legs to the chair. Using the distraction, Y/n laced her fingers together, rearing back and swinging wildly, catching him at the side of his head. The assault knocked him off balance and the diamond on her wedding ring seemed to break his skin, though it didn’t take long for him to recover and it certainly wasn’t enough time for Y/n to get up and run. Without thinking twice, he slapped her, hard, “You fucking bitch!”

A choked sob escaped her lips, one of which was now split. Her cheek burned and hot tears didn’t do anything to cool it. “Look at me,” calloused fingers grabbed her chin. Y/n took her lower lip between her teeth and her chest heaved, racked with shaky sobs, “You really wanna make this harder than it has to be?” When Y/n didn’t answer, he yelled, “Answer me!”

Jumping, she cried a bit louder, “No.” Grumbling something about how she’d have to behave, the man resumed his former task, tying her ankles to the chair, leaving her legs slightly parted. When he was done, the man stood, pulling a chair up directly in front of her, just about five feet away, getting out his phone, dialing a number before putting it to his ear, “I got her. She was a little difficult,” he swept away blood from the cut that Y/n had given him, “He’s really got himself a spitfire,” Y/n felt the man’s eyes roam her body, travelling upwards from her bare legs, “Pretty though, he’s got good taste.” After a few grunts of understanding and exchanged words, he hung up, redirecting his attention to a whimpering Y/n.

“My husband’s gonna find us,” she croaked, Y/n’s tears had slowed by then, her faith in John the only thing pulling her through. John would find her, and he’d save her.

“Oh I’m counting on it,” he offered her a toothy grin, filled with nothing but malice, “He’d be a fool thinking we’re gonna let him leave this place alive. See, the big, bad Baba Yaga is going to be so focused on saving his pretty little lady, that he won’t even see us coming and then…” he made a shooting motion with his fingers, “Out he goes.”

‘We’re’? There were more of them?

When a pressure tightened her back, Y/n shifted uncomfortably, passing it off as the faulty chair and all the adrenaline coursing through her. “John’s smarter than that,” Y/n was unwilling to think that John would be so easily distracted; he’d been in the business for twenty odd years, she couldn’t be the person that got him killed. He couldn’t leave her like that, leave them like that. Now more fearful than before, Y/n swallowed thickly, gripping her stomach, feeling her baby kick fretfully, no doubt aware of her mother’s distress. Her breathing grew heavier, though she tried to hide it, her jaw clenching when another wave of pain shot up her spine reaching to her front. As hard as she tried, a small, pained gasp left her lips and she shifted again. As quickly as it came though, the pain was gone. “He’s not gonna fall for a stupid trick.”

“I admire your faith in him,” the man stood, approaching her slowly, and Y/n cowered in her seat. When he reached her, the man brushed some hair out of her face, crouching down in front of her, gently caressing her stomach. His touch was nauseating and it made her blood crawl, “You think you’d ever get remarried if something happened to him?” The question sounded absent and unconcerned, and with his free hand, he twisted a lock of her hair in his finger, “I could probably be a good daddy.”

Y/n spat in his face, “Go to hell you son of a bitch.” Maybe she couldn’t fight him, or run away, but she certainly wasn’t prepared to be a complacent participant.

Enraged; nostrils flared and eyes wide, he grabbed the front of Y/n’s dress, causing her to cry out in fright, “Listen you little bitch, I haven’t killed you yet, but don’t for a fucking second think that I’m not above putting a bullet in your head, I don’t care who your husband is,” he shoved her back and Y/n hit the back of her head on the post, not hard enough to knock her out but hard enough for it to blur her vision and send shocks through out her body. Her breathing grew heavy and her sobs resumed, just as the man let her dress go, grumbling as he walked towards the door, fishing a wrinkled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. 

John got into his car, his hands and the white shirt on the inside of his suit stained with splatters of blood. Without giving it a second thought, he dropped the last gun he’d used in the space between the driver and passenger seats. Hurriedly, he used his bloodied fingers to send the pictures he’d taken as proof that the job was done. It hadn’t been as hard as he anticipated, there were about ten people in the warehouse, the headquarters for a drug operation. John didn’t know what Dimirti’s beef with them was, not that he cared. All he wanted was to get his wife and child home safely.

After sending the pictures, John got his Mustang started, brashly pulling down the sun visor, his shoulders slumping when he saw a polaroid of him and Y/n, held back by the black elastic strap. It was the first picture she’d taken with the camera he’d gotten her; they were sitting on the sofa at home and she was kissing his cheek, so much had changed since then. Directly beneath that was one he’d recently added; an ultrasound print, one from the day they’d found out that they were having a girl. It had been one of the best days of his life, right up there with the day he met Y/n, the day she agreed to come home and their wedding day.

Then it hit John. Like a bullet to the chest.

His best days were all because of Y/n.

Trying to shake off his despair, John swallowed tightly, holding the steering wheel in a death grip, pulling out onto the lonely street, speeding into the traffic on the main road. Expertly, John navigated the streets, narrowly avoiding other cars, almost causing an accident when a text came through. Swiping the phone up from his lap, he opened it, barely keeping his eyes on the road, it was a shared location along with the words, ‘Well done, hope you can drive fast, we’re getting impatient.’ When a picture of Y/n, with her lip split and her cheek looking sore and red, John jerked the wheel, his heart rate speeding up faster than he thought was possible. 

Thankfully, he had considerable knowledge on the address on where Y/n was being kept and didn’t need to closely follow the directions. John’s foot was heavy on the gas as he pulled onto the freeway, intent on the shabby barn just outside the city. 

At some point, Y/n had fallen asleep, though a sharp pain had her gasping as she awoke abruptly. It was worse than what she’d felt earlier; sharp and persistent, and the throbbing of her head only seemed to make things worse. Groaning, she shifted restlessly, waiting until it was over before she looked around. Still in the barn, still tied to the chair.

Y/n had no idea how much time had passed, but she did know that it was enough time for her muscles to start feeling stiff, her mouth was dry too and she was exhausted beyond compare. All Y/n wanted was to get back to John, safe in their home. With a reinvigorated desire to escape, Y/n started wiggling her wrists, trying to wean them out of the cable ties, wincing when the plastic cut into her skin instead of coming loose.

“What the hell are you doing?” Her captor’s voice billowed as he slammed the creaky door behind him, approaching Y/n slowly, knowing full and well that she wasn’t much of a threat.

After a yelp of surprise and a defeated sigh, Y/n stopped; she’d already been knocked around enough. She didn’t answer, opting to shift her gaze to the floor a few feet in front of her. “So this is Mrs. Y/n Wick,” upon hearing the new voice, her head snapped up. Next to the man was another, much older and better dressed in a suit with bowler and scarf, “Pleasure to meet you,” he grinned cheekily. His Russian accent was thick, and Y/n didn’t have the slightest clue on who he was, but she didn’t know that he wasn’t anyone good, “I’m Dimitri, and I heard Boris here didn’t introduce himself. Boris, apologize to the young lady.”

Snorting his short laugh, Boris apologized halfheartedly, “Sorry princess.”

Y/n cringed at the nickname, opting to stay silent. The closer Dimirti got, the more she tried to recoil into the chair, “No need to be scared, it’ll all be over soon,” his grip on her chin was far gentler than Boris’ had been, but it still made her fearful, “Shame you have to die before you meet your baby.” Y/n swallowed tightly, quiet tears warm on her cheeks, “You know, I met your John not too long ago, we’re good friends.”

“You kill friends?” Y/n managed meekly.

Dimitri chuckled, “Only if they want to kill me first. I’m not a fool, and I know that after this little stunt, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. And I can’t let that happen,” he smiled coldly. When he let her face go, Dimitri turned on his heel, walking away as if he hadn’t just given her the most frightening news of her life.

Y/n breathed heavily, mostly from fright, though, when the cushion beneath her, along with the skirt of her dress, her underwear and the inside of her thighs felt instantly warm and wet, she gasped loudly. Neither Boris nor Dimirti paid her any mind though, and all Y/n could do was hope John showed up in time so their baby wouldn’t be born in the same room as murderers.

It felt like ages since her water had broken and the time between the sharp, intensifying pains were becoming shorter. Y/n had tried to count the minutes herself, but had lost track well over three times. It was hard to think with everything going on; Dimitri and Boris were conspiring quietly, her head still hurt a little and she was torn between hiding her situation and just letting things happen. 

Upon she heard a ruckus outside, Y/n didn’t think she’d ever be so relieved by gunshots. Her only hope was that John was the one firing them. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she found out; John was barreling through the door, fighting off a burly man, shooting him in the head before shoving him away. At the sight of him, Boris aimed a gun and Dimiti came up to her again, grabbing Y/n by the hair and putting a gun to her head, “Easy John,” he drew his attention.

“We had a deal. Kill everyone by five and you let her go, those were your words,” John’s baritone was low and husky and carried a coldness that Y/n had never heard in it. He looked far different than Y/n was used to too, sure, she had seen him in his work suits but that evening there was a hardness in his dark eyes and a determination in his gait. He was different, and it scared her. 

“We did,” Dimirti sucked his teeth dramatically, “But you should know better than to trust me John. Fight if you want, but you aren’t leaving this place, and neither is she.”

Y/n’s breaths hitched, her lips quivered and her hands remained at the base of her stomach, trying to focus on not crying out in pain, all while hoping that the night wasn’t ending with a bullet in her head. 

“Let her go,” John warned, “She’s not…” there was a crack in his exterior, Y/n could easily hear it and it made her head snap up. His eyes had softened too as he instantly returned to the man she knew and loved, pleading with Dimitri, to just let her go, “She’s not a part of this.”

“Well, she’s married to you, so I’d say she is,” the metal of the gun felt eerily cool against her skin and Y/n could feel Dimitri’s fingers digging into her scalp, “You know, if we kill you first, you don’t have to watch.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment after that, though, when things moved again, it was in slow motion. John ducked, evading a bullet from Boris, his expert aim sending one between Dimitri’s eyes before he could pull the trigger on her. Everything after that, was a blur to Y/n; a violet exchange between John and Boris, shots ringing through and strained grunts. Everything up until John was in front of her, using a knife to burst her restraints. 

That time, Y/n hadn’t realized she was crying, not until John was brushing messy hair out of her face and she was shoving him away, the stress of the day and all the hormones sending her into a frenzy, “You promised!” She punched him in the shoulder, “You said you were out! What the fuck is this?”

“I know,” John tried to calm her, grabbing Y/n’s wrists to stop her from hitting him again, “I know, I was- I am. But I owed him a favor and he said if I didn’t do it, he’d kill you,” John sighed heavily, letting her wrists go to wipe tears away, “I’m sorry baby, I am so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Your bullshit almost got us killed! Our baby could have been born in a fucking barn and you’re sorry? How could you?” Her yells were interrupted by loud sobs, but when another contraction snuck up on her, Y/n instinctively grabbed his hand, crying out in pain for the first time.

When it was over, John still held onto one of Y/n’s hands, lacing the other in her hair so they were nose to nose, “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to hate me, but right now, you need to hate me at the hospital, okay?”

It took a minute, but Y/n eventually nodded, “Okay,” she let John help her up, leading her towards his car parked outside, en route to the nearest hospital.

It had taken nearly twenty hours, filled with tears and swear words. Y/n had spent half of it trying to push John away, too mad to admit that all she wanted was to have him at her side, but in the end, she’d accepted his comfort, submitting to the little moments where he’d rub her back or sweep sweaty hair from her face. John was patient too, taking her outbursts in stride and never wincing once when Y/n held his hand in a death grip. He’d stayed at her side beyond the night, whispering words of encouragement and placing loving kisses on her forehead when she allowed it.

When their daughter entered the world, greeting the room with loud cries, the doctor offered John a pair of scissors to cut the cord, and he readily jumped at the offer. Afterwards, she was cleaned up a bit, swaddled in a blanket and placed on a groggy Y/n’s chest by the time the placenta was delivered. “Oh,” Y/n sighed tearily, “She’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” John smiled through his own tears, “She is.” With one arm around Y/n’s shoulders, John gently slid his thumb along their baby’s cheek, in awe of the life that he’d get to watch grow. A baby, their baby, “She’s so perfect.”

Smiling, Y/n turned to John, nearly melting at how pure he looked. Despite the cuts and bruises on his face, he was still strikingly handsome and his gaze held the same joy that everyone expected from a new father, “Hold her,” Y/n encouraged, guiding their daughter into John’s arms. 

She looked so tiny in John’s embrace, and to him, she felt much smaller than he'd ever expected. A wave of protectiveness washed through him, and even if it was there before, John’s need to protect her and Y/n was renewed with vigor. A day like the one gone by was never going to happen again, if it were up to him, they’d never feel pain, never hurt or shed a tear that wasn’t brought on by joy. No harm would ever come to his family. “I’m so sorry,” he eventually offered, glancing at Y/n.

“I don’t want to think about that right now,” or ever again. Everything she’d ever wanted was in that hospital room, and Y/n knew that John had made a mistake, but he had done it to be with her and as long as it never happened again, she could work on putting it behind her, there was no way she could even think of living without him anyway. That was the kind of love she had for him, the kind that longed for her to forgive him, despite the deed. “I just want us to be a family,” her eyes brimmed with tears, her smile faltering.

“Me too,” John leaned to kiss her, the gesture filled with love and adoration, their foreheads staying pressed together until their daughter gurgled in John’s arms.

He shifted, still half-sitting next to Y/n on the bed, though with the baby held between them, Y/n’s hand, still hooked up to an I.V cupping her head. They were cooing over her quietly when a nurse walked in with a clipboard, “Have we decided on a name yet?”

John and Y/n exchanged a knowing look; they had decided on a name months ago, one that meant ‘bright light’, which is what their baby had been. The light that had guided them back to each other, the light that had helped them persevere through the worst just over one day before, “We have,” Y/n nodded, “Aileen Wick.”

As Y/n gave the name to the nurse, John kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as he nuzzled her hair. In that moment, he didn’t think that he’d ever felt more at peace and content; five years ago, he would have never thought that he could be so happy, that he could have the things he did then, a wife, a child; a family of his own.

*******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​ @cynic-spirit​

[juliandev0rak]

Apron Strings

Lysander visits her shop and Beatrice does all she can to keep him there.

a little continuation of the Vianan series

characters: Beatrice Viano my apprentice and Lysander Lonan (@leila-of-ravens’ oc)

pairing: Beatrice Viano x Lysander Lonan / Vianan

words: ~1760

warnings: will the pining ever end

read about their first meeting written by  @leila-of-ravens

part 2 , part 3

It’s been a long day at the shop, but Beatrice has to make money somehow. She spends all day wishing she was at the palace library instead, but her need to be responsible for a few days takes over. If she’s being honest with herself, she misses a certain research partner more than she misses the actual research.

Lysander is returning to Umbra soon and their time together is quickly ticking away. She harbors no expectations that anything will happen between them, she’s barely recognized her own feelings for him so she certainly can’t expect him to have any similar feelings towards her. They’re friends, and that’s really all she can hope for. Still, her mind wanders the well worn path of Lysander all day, tracing along the curve of his jaw, the lines of his hands reaching for a book. 

It’s a busy day at least, her hands stay busy despite her mind being miles away. By closing time she’s wondering if she can still make it to the palace before Lysander’s done for the day, maybe she can get a few hours of research in. The store finally emptied of customers, she moves to start closing for the day. The tinkling bell of the shop door rings to alert her that someone’s entered and she sighs, she should’ve locked up first to avoid extra customers.

“Beatrice?” A familiar voice calls. She immediately whirls around to face the figure by the door, smoothing down her apron.

“Lysander! What are you doing all the way over in Center City?” Beatrice smiles, unable to hide her excitement at seeing him suddenly standing in front of her. He stands with his hands in his coat pockets, looking handsome as always. It’s unfair, Beatrice thinks, how he always manages to look like a tragic prince from a fantasy novel. 

“I was visiting Leila, she gave me directions to your shop.” He explains, taking a step further into the shop. “I apologize if you were about to close for the day, I’ll let you get back to it.” 

“Oh no, don’t leave!” Beatrice takes a step closer to him, voice rising despite her best efforts to seem calm and collected. “That is, you can stay if you like. You can take a look around while I close up.” 

“If you’re certain my presence won’t be an imposition?” He asks, already inspecting the labels on the shelf of bottles next to him.

“Of course not! I’m glad you decided to stop by.” Beatrice says encouragingly as she unties her work apron. She’s too focused on his pensive face as he looks around the shop and before she notices, she’s tied her apron strings into an impossible knot. “Oh dear..” she mutters, twisting around to try to see the tangle better.

“Do you need assistance?” Lysander appears beside her and she startles at his proximity. 

“Oh um, I seem to have tied myself into quite a knot.” She turns her back to him to show the mangled apron strings. Without saying anything he steps towards her and reaches for the knot, his nimble fingers making quick work of it. This is the closest they’ve ever been, she can feel his breath on the back of her neck and the gentle tug against her waist as he unknots the apron.

“There.” Lysander says, pulling the final knot out. He steps away and she turns around to face him again.

“Thank you, that was a mess.” Beatrice laughs, pulling the apron off. He’s watching her face closely and she wills herself not to blush under his gaze.

“I brought you a book.” He reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a small leather bound book.”I think you’ll find it interesting, and as you won’t be able to return to the library at present I thought you might need something to read.” 

“How thoughtful! Thank you Lyse.” She smiles, not noticing the way his nickname slips out until it’s too late, a name she isn’t sure she’s allowed to call him. “Oh, I mean Lysander.” 

“You can call me Lyse, if you prefer. Leila does.” Lysander holds the book out towards her, giving her a slight smile.

“Well Leila’s your sister, I wouldn’t want to presume to use a nickname.” Beatrice flushes, accepting the book. It does look like something she’d be interested in, the autobiography of a teacher from somewhere up north.

“It’s fine, really.” He replies, his hands disappearing back into his pockets. “I thought of you when I saw that book.” 

“Thank you for thinking of me. I wish I could be with you instead of stuck in the shop all day.” She says, then immediately adds, “That is, I wish I could be in the library, researching.” 

“Do you like running the shop?” Lysander asks, turning to inspect one of the fancy astrolabes hanging from the ceiling. 

“Sometime! It’s nice to use my magic to help others, but I mostly keep the shop out of nostalgia. It was my aunt’s shop.” Beatrice explains. The silence stretches as he continues to look around with fascination and she wonders what to do next. She remembers her aunt’s old mantra, when in doubt, have some tea. “Would you like a cup of tea or anything? I live in the apartment upstairs, when I’m not staying at the palace out of convenience.”

“Thank you, but I just came from Leila’s shop so I’ve already had enough tea for the day.” Lysander replies politely. 

“Of course,” She searches for another reason to keep him here a bit longer, now that he’s here she’s realized just how much she’d missed seeing him today. “Oh, actually I think I have a few books you might like as well. I can go get them if you’d like?” 

It’s not a lie, she had spent most of the morning staring at her overflowing bookcase and wondering which books he might like from her collection. She heads towards the stairs and Lysander looks up from the herbs he’s inspecting to watch her. 

“Sure, I’ll take a look.” He says, following her up the stairs. She opens the door to her apartment, trying not to focus on the man standing only a few inches behind her. They walk in together and he takes in his surroundings, looking around the small living room.

“I’m sure it’s not quite what you’re used to, Leila’s talked about your family manor before.” Beatrice laughs, she’s not insecure about her less-than wealthy background but she wants to put him at ease. 

“I think it suits you, it’s very tidy.” He says, taking a step towards her bookcase which takes up most of the room.

“Well thank you!” She replies, stepping over to join him. “Hey, I might not have a manor, but I do have manners, would you like me to take your coat?” 

He surprises her with a laugh, a real laugh that makes her want to join in.  

“That was an awful joke, Beatrice.” Lysander smiles, turning his attention back to the bookshelf.

“Oh yeah? Why did you laugh then, if it was so bad?” She teases, glad he’s turned away and can’t see her face turn a hundred shades of red.

“Maybe I was laughing at you, not the joke.” Lysander replies, turning to smile at her again over his shoulder. She’s losing track of how many times that’s happened now, but it still makes her catch her breath a little every time. 

“Hey! I thought you were a Lord, is that any way to treat a lady?” Beatrice laughs.

“Well you’re not a Lady, at least not that I know of.” He responds matter of factly. “That is, you don’t have the title of Lady, I’m not insinuating that you’re not ladylike.” 

“Ahh so he’s a gentleman after all.” She grins, her voice laced with sarcasm. 

“Would you mind if I borrowed this book?” Lysander asks, holding up a book which happens to be one of her favorite novels.

“Of course! I didn’t think you were the novel type.” Beatrice replies, “That’s one of my favorites.”

“I thought it might be, from the worn edges.” He comments, flipping through the slightly tattered pages. 

“Yes, I apologize. I wasn’t so careful with books as a child.” She says, chagrined. “You might also find a few of my annotations throughout, hopefully none of them are too embarrassing.”

“I look forward to reading your writing as well, then.” Lysander says, setting the book down on the side table next to him. Beatrice reaches for another book she thinks he’ll like at the same moment he reaches for it and their hands brush. She pulls away right as he pulls away which makes her lose her balance and nearly topple over into him. He reaches a hand out to her shoulder to steady her, but it does nothing to steady her pulse.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. “Great minds think alike! I think you’d really enjoy that one.” 

“I think these two will suffice.” Lysander says, holding up the books. “I’d better return to the palace, there’s still quite a bit of work to do.” 

“Alright, but you’re welcome to borrow more books any time.” She smiles, following him towards the door. They walk down to the shop in silence and stand staring at each other in the half light by the door. She thinks she should probably say something like “goodbye” or “please stay” but the words don’t come out.

“You’ve never put your hair up like that before.” He comments suddenly, and she’s taken aback. She certainly hadn’t expected that. 

“I put it up when I’m making potions, it gets in the way otherwise.” Beatrice replies, awkwardly raising a hand to smooth back her undoubtedly messy hairstyle. 

“It suits you.” Lysander says, and she, predictably, blushes in response. “Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I won’t be back in the library yet, I’m planning to spend another day in the shop.” She reminds him.

“Leila wants to stop by the shop to see you, and I said I’d go with her.” Lysander explains, tucking the books under his arm. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Until tomorrow.” Beatrice says, watching as he opens the door to leave. He turns around one last time before he closes the door fully and smiles at her. Beatrice wonders if she should commission a painting of that smile so she can look at it forever. 

She leans back against the door after he’s gone, catching her breath. Leila was right, she is in deep.

[hephaestiions]

hi! love your work, and i just wanted to ask: why do you write?

what a heartbreaking question. i wish i had a proper answer, but since i don’t, have a piece of my heart instead. 

i was a latchkey kid. both my parents worked till late in the evening, and five year old me spent hours after school walking through the rooms of our two-storey house in the suburbs, pulling clothes out of the cupboards wanting to feel grown-up, mixing up perfumes and shampoo and lotion to make potions, spilling acrylic paint on the tiles instead of the blank side of my father’s unimportant documents that he kept in a separate folder with my name on it for those restless hours when my hands itched to do something, anything. 

i was too young at first to really understand loneliness. i had dolls and i had clothes and i had paint and i had books and i didn’t need my mom or dad, because the world had two floors and a very interesting attic with fancy spiderwebs in all the corners. but little kids grow up, and they talk to their friends about what they did yesterday afternoon and their friends tell them, ‘my mom made me aloo parathas for lunch!’ or ‘my dad and i went to the park’ or ‘my little brother is so annoying, he scattered all my colour pencils across the floor.’ then, little kids, who think they’re all grown up when they’re eight years old, start to understand loneliness a little too well. when their parents come home, exhausted and irritable from a long day with an extra work hour, they throw tantrums and refuse dinner and try not to cry, because where were you, why didn’t you take me to the swings, why don’t i have an annoying little sister?

my parents tried their best to answer those questions when the words and tears spilled. we were at work, because unless we go to work, there won’t be any dinner for you to say you don’t want. we couldn’t take you to the swings because we were at work, but maybe we can go tomorrow evening, it’s a saturday. and about the siblings– well, um, hmm, well you see, god gifts adults whom he has deemed responsible enough with– you get where that one went at least. 

but explanations soothe the brain, not the heart or the soul or the vicious waves of childhood envy that make you want to kidnap other people’s siblings from their homes after sleepovers. and because kidnapping isn’t what we do, not even as lonely eight year olds, i started storytelling. storywriting. story-brainstorming, whatever it is one wants to call pulling out twelve of my mother’s dupattas and tying them around my body and running to the roof in the pouring rain to call myself a rainbow. and then taking it further and further– a rainbow who became best friends with a raindrop, and after they both died (in the clouds and on concrete respectively), they found each other again in rain heaven and went on monsoon laden adventures with fairies and mermaids. a witch in the woods who made potions with rose scented water and perfumes, who found a flower with a scent so strong that she was commissioned by the king to brew him cologne that would never fade. my mother did not appreciate the liberal wastage of expensive gucci perfume for that last one, but she didn’t really know after all. she didn’t know that the witch left the woods for the first time in years to deliver the cologne to the king, she didn’t know about the witch’s bird friends, she didn’t know about the mouse who was a prince in disguise. 

my parents still tell this story to anyone who will listen: i cried and cried and cried when i found out my mother had drunk all of the water from a specific bottle i put near the window because the water had travelled all the way from the himalayas to have a conversation with the window panes about what they’ve seen on their journeys. 

my father bought me a notebook because i scrawled my stories on the walls, on the windowsills, on the backs of not just his unimportant documents, but also the important ones. and the joy, the sheer, unadulterated joy of scrawling your name on the first stiff page of a notebook, of filling up the contents page with headings that now, in retrospect, are far more interesting than the titles i come up with for fic (you’re telling me song lyrics are somehow better than ‘the mermaid who ate a guitar’?)– that joy, even today, is unparalleled. 

i started storytelling because i was a lonely kid in desperate need of company. i started writing because the blankness of my barbie dolls’ eyes in the artificial audience grew a little disconcerting and the whole point of paper is eradicating, annihilating the blankness in favour of smudged graphite and scrawled ink. 

i have other, shorter answers for this question which are all true. i write because it makes me kinder. i write because it makes the world clearer. i write as a coping mechanism, i write as a celebration. i write because my brain doesn’t ever really stop and some ideas are too precious to lose. 

but i mainly write because this world is full of stories. there’s a story to be told in the chewing gum container on my dressing table, a story to be told about the frayed edges of my secondhand copy of hamlet, a story in the half drunk cup of coffee on my desk. and i write because someone needs to tell those stories. 

[lemonz-and-limez]

The Anniversary Pandemic Alignment

A/N: CEO of turning something in last minute 😬 I almost didn't write anything, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist. Please enjoy my contribution to FluffCrawlspace

It was not how she pictured spending their 10th anniversary.

Stuck at home while a pandemic was quite literally trying to tear the world apart. Amy was sure Sheldon would try to make up for it once things started opening up again in California, but that didn't appear to be happening anytime soon. It was okay, she figured, spending the day at home with her husband was still a good way to celebrate

She knew Sheldon had something big planned, the way that the payments dropped so quickly on their credit cards told her as much. Still, he never disclosed what it was that he had planned, and she assumed she would never find out. Which was probably better, nothing to be sad over losing.

The days leading up to their anniversary were lighthearted. For the first time since March, Sheldon didn't appear to be stressed or overwhelmed about the current state of the world. He was just more than happy to spend time with her. He even accompanied her to restock on groceries, even though she knew he hated going anywhere. It had been an excursion, yes, but the gesture meant more than his actual attitude towards being out.

On the morning of the 24th, he wasn't in bed when she woke up. Odd, but not uncommon. He often got out of bed before her anyway. She just expected him to be there considering what day it was.

Sheldon didn't leave her wondering for long; he appeared in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee moments after turned off her alarm. "I made us breakfast," he explained as he handed her the mug. "But anniversary or not, we're still not eating in bed." He winked at her before returning to the living room.

Amy chuckled; some things would never change. She took a sip of her coffee, which Sheldon had made perfectly, and set it down on the nightstand. Reaching for her glasses, she smiled fondly at the functional MRI he'd given her for her birthday. It may have seemed like a dumb gift to other people, but to her, it meant a lot of things. The biggest way was that it showed her, with biology, that he loved her. And nobody could take that away from her.

Walking into the main room of their apartment was like any other day. The breakfast was not extravagant, just like she expected. Supplies were still limited, so he had to do his best with what they had. Just enough for the two of them. He'd opted to make the waffle batter from scratch rather than the box mix like they usually did. Instead of cooking extra links of sausage, he only made enough for both of them to have two.

Like usual, they ate their breakfast, enjoying each other's companionship. Discussing how difficult it was to work at home, bantering over a TV show they mutually enjoyed, even playing a few rounds of Counterfactuals.

It was enough to prove that she didn't need some grand gesture or big present to celebrate their 10 years together. All she wanted was to bring their relationship back to the basics and enjoy his company. After all, they wouldn't have made it this far without the strong foundation of friendship they had built.

Sheldon insisted on doing presents next. That was one thing they had agreed upon before the quarantine that was still manageable. But Sheldon seemed giddy as they sat down on the couch. Almost too giddy.

"Why don't I go first," he offered, his voice giving away his palpable excitement.

Amy nodded in agreement. "Alright."

He reached down and grabbed a box from the little shelf of their coffee table. Amy wondered how he managed to hide it in plain sight. Upon closer inspection of the item, however, it became obvious. There was superhero stuff lying all over her apartment, what was one more tin can. A Wonder Woman tin can to be precise.

She looked at him quizzically. "A superhero gift?" She asked, her fingers running over the textured lid.

"The real present is inside, but the traditional symbol for a 10th anniversary is tin or aluminum. It seemed fitting to wrap your gift in it." He told her with a shrug.

'Of course!' she thought. Sheldon was not one to forgo tradition after all, and scotch tape did still give him the heebie-jeebies. Amy smiled down at the lifeless face of Wonder Woman beaming up at her. There is no way Sheldon is getting this box back, it was hers now.

She could feel his eyes bearing down on her as she popped the lid off. What could he possibly have gotten her that made him this excited? He hated gift-giving after all.

She had no idea what she was expecting, but it certainly was not what she lifted up and out of the box. There were words on the cover and illustrations that she didn't recognize, but it looked and felt familiar somehow. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she smiled at him and asked: "What is this?"

His response came like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's our comic book."

"Our?" she asked.

"Read the title," he told her.

Amy inspected the comic closer this time. Her heart jumped into her throat when she read the words printed across the cover.

The Adventures of Sheldon and Amy

And there they were, right on the front, drawn in comic book style.

She was speechless. "Did you- how- how did you do this?" Amy stuttered, gently flipping through the pages now. Everything was inside. From their first meeting at the coffee shop to their unfortunate breakup to their wedding officiated by Mark Hamill.

It was so unequivocally perfect.

"I commissioned Stuart for the artwork," He explained. "I approached him after we got back from Sweden about it. He immediately agreed when he saw how much I was willing to pay him." Sheldon paused for a moment. "Anyway, I wrote it out for him, and he illustrated it. I am quite pleased with the way it came out."

Amy put a hand over her own heart. Did he have any idea how much this meant to her? It captured them perfectly. His love of comic books and her love of literature and storytelling.

Tears brimmed in her eyes now. "Sheldon, I love it, thank you," she whispered, mirroring the words she spoke when he'd given her the MRI.

He scooted close to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're welcome," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm glad you love it."

"Oh, Sheldon, this is the most beautiful gift you've ever given me!" She exclaimed.

"Pretty sure you said the same thing Valentine's Day 2013 when I gave you my emergency contact information," he smirked before continuing. "That account is in there by the way," he told her, gesturing to the comic book sitting in her lap.

Her face hurt from smiling so much, but she didn't care. She really did hit the jackpot on the husband lottery.

"I mean it, Sheldon. You and Stuart put so much effort into this, and I really appreciate it… It's beautiful." She didn't need to say anything else, and she didn't want to. Turning her head, she pulled his down for a kiss. It was perhaps the purest way for them to express their feelings towards one another, and that was all that mattered.

10 years of ups and downs. Highs and lows. In Sheldon's words: "the best love story within their social circle." And now it was written down, something for them to show their future children. Amy's heart bled with love for him.

She settled into the crook of his arm when he sat in the corner of the couch. Just like they had all those years ago before they were even dating. She rested her head against his chest as they flipped through their comic book. His fingers twisted in her short hair, a new habit he appeared to have grown quite fond of.

She looked at him with wonder as he told her tidbits about the comic's creation and the process of making it with Stuart. Was the comic book one of the best gifts he's ever gotten her? Yes. But it wasn't her greatest gift. No, that title belonged to him. He was her greatest gift. He had been for 10 years.

So, it was not how she pictured spending their 10th anniversary. Cuddling with her husband on their couch, recounting all the fond memories they have made.

No, this was the perfect way to celebrate.

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think :)

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

One Day

Pre-serum! Steve Rogers x Mexican!Reader

A/N: commission for the amazing @reina-shitposts​ (im so sorry it took forever to post.)

Summary: While your parents are away at work, Steve joins your sisters and you for dinner.

The kitchen smelled like frijoles and arroz, the area surrounding the stove was warm as you walked in to gather plates and cups for dinner. Your parents were working late again, and it was your job as the oldest of three to prepare the meals and make sure everyone behaved – it was a curse and blessing. The curse was that you were held responsible for anything and everything that happened while they were away from the apartment, the blessing was that it meant you could have anyone over for dinner if it pleased you – and tonight, once again, a special guest was coming over. 

Nina, one of your younger sisters, walked in, a book in hand. “Y tu novio?” 

“He is not my boyfriend,” you scolded, telling her to put away the book. “It is rude to read while we eat.”

“It’s rude to have strange men in our house, Papa would not approve.”

Turning off the stove, you looked at Nina, hand on your hip. “I’m twenty years old, I have my own job and one day I’ll move far away from you. But for now, what I say goes, okay?”

Your sister smiled sweetly at you and you knew what she wanted; rolling your eyes you sighed and told her to fetch your handbag from your room. “I will give you enough to go to the cinema, but that’s it.”

“Fine by me.”

Watching as she skirted out the kitchen, you yelled for her to get Maria washed up for dinner. “Wash your hands too!”

She shouted back something you could not understand as a sharp knock came from the front door; your heart leaped as you took off the apron from around the new dark blue dress you had bought with last week’s paycheck, the little you had left after helping your parents, and rushed to get the door. Taking a deep breath, you opened it up to see your long-time neighbor, Steve Rogers. 

He was a stringy little fella with the greatest blue eyes you had ever seen – who was wearing brown slacks and a white button up, a few books in hand and a small arrangement of flowers in the other. He grinned as you asked him to come in, closing the door gently as he walked in, turning nervously and holding up the flowers.

“I got these for you, Bucky helped me picked them out.”

You reached for them, fingers touching his as you thanked him. “They are so pretty; I should put them in water. My mom has an extra vase under the sink, they will look so nice on my bedroom window.”

The mention of your bedroom made Steve blush and you grinned, motioning for him to follow as you walked into the kitchen.

 He whistled and exclaimed how good it smelled. “You’re a great cook, any man would be lucky.”

Laughing, you explained that you liked cooking and did it for fun. “I wouldn’t want to marry someone who just wants me for my cooking.”

“Oh, no, no,” Steve backtracked, eyes wide as you pulled out a vase from under the sink. He nervously brushed away hair from his forehead and you laughed, explaining that you were just teasing him. He sighed in relief and apologized. “You – you have many attributes that would attract any man.”

His words were firm and sincere as he stood there, a good deal shorter than you – skinny and constantly ill, he was what the world would call fragile, but you saw beyond the layers. You saw the braveness in Steve’s eyes, the kindness in his laugh and his ability to see a person for who they were and celebrate their differences from him – it was hard being a Mexican family in this city, let alone the only one in the whole apartment complex. You noticed the dirty looks and assumptions, but it was Steve and his mother, Sarah, who welcomed the lot of you with open arms and it had been like that for years now. 

“Steve!”

It was Maria, your six-year-old sister; she rushed the man and tugged at his sleeves, begging him to take a look at his new baseball you had gotten her. Steve grinned and took the ball, tossing it up in the air a few times.  “Let’s take this ball out tomorrow, yeah? We can see how high it goes.”

The little girl agreed, and Nina stood there, eyes on the books Steve had in his hand. You could see the curiosity in her eyes as she turned her head to the left, hoping to catch the titles. Steve noticed too and held them up. 

“I picked these out for you, the bookstore had a great deal.”

Nina’s face perked up and she walked over to Steve, taking the books when he handed them off. You leaned against the counter and watched as she squealed in excitement, explaining that she had grown tired of reading the same old books.

“Thank you, Steve! I told my sister you weren’t so bad, I’m right!”

“Nina!” You yelled; eyes widen in disbelief. Steve looked over to you and laughed, his mouth pulled into a great teasing smile and you looked away, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks – he did that to you, made things stir inside and by the way he blushed, you knew you did the same to him.

Clapping your hands, you got everyone’s attention and felt Steve’s eyes still on you. “Dinner is ready, everyone take a seat, and Nina.” the young girl gazed up at you, books in hand. “You can have one book at the table, only one.”

This time you winked at Steve, who blushed again but walked over to you, taking the space up next to you. The two of you watched, backs leaned against the kitchen counter, as the two children settled at the table, Maria’s legs swinging as she held the baseball in hand and Nina, across from her, already reading the first page of the novel of her choosing. Most nights, it was just the three of you, but it seemed every time Steve came over for dinner, the kitchen felt warmer than ever. 

“This is nice,” he whispered, eyes diverting up to yours; that’s when you felt his knuckles brushing against yours and it was the sincerest feeling you had ever felt – it was the feeling of love blossoming and you knew then that this was the future you wanted with Steve, and no one would ever take that from you.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, shifting your hand to grab his. He held it tight and you gave it a squeeze. “This feels really nice.”

….

The morning sun broke through the sheer white curtains, warming the side of your face up. Opening your eyes, they went to the vase on the desk that stood under the window – the flowers Steve had gotten you last night were still glowing, and you felt a lightness in your chest. Your gaze moved to the left to the framed photo of your brother, Alberto; he was so handsome in his military uniform, he had enlisted a few months ago and besides the letters the family got every few weeks, there was no way of knowing how he was. Everyone in the family feared one day a knock on the door that would bring terrible news, so everyone kept busy – that was the way you all were dealing with his absences. Saying a whispered prayer for Alberto, you got up from the bed and began to get ready for the day – it was your day off and you planned on meeting Steve outside the complex building, the two of you were going to the cinema. 

You got dressed in a simple light green dress with some matching loafers, then walked into the living room to find the house quiet – the girls were at school by now, your parents usually dropped them off before heading to work. The apartment was quiet and nice as you tidied up a bit before grabbing a coat and your bag, heading downstairs to meet Steve. 

He was outside, hands tucked into his slacks, looking nervous as his eyes followed those who passed by the building. You watched for a moment before tapping his shoulder, laughing as he turned around with great relief on his face – he closed his eyes when you leaned down to kiss his cheek and asked if he was ready. 

“Always,” he whispered, motioning for you to lead the way. The two of you walked side by side, the cinema was only two blocks away, but your footsteps were slow and deliberate – you liked to cherish every single second you had with Steve. You listened as he talked about trying to get enlisted and how he failed. “Bucky left last week, I just wanted to join the fight.”

“I understand,” you said, stopping next to a bakery. Steve stopped too and blushed when you reached down for his hand, holding it tightly. “This is selfish, but I have to say I’m glad you are here. Alberto left and I fear for him every day, I cannot imagine you leaving me too.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he gave your palm a squeeze back. “I wouldn’t want to leave you.”

“Good,” you laughed, not letting go of his hand. “Shall we go see a film now?”

The two of you did and inside the theater, side by side, you held hands in the dark. Steve’s fingers were long and gentle, warm against yours as the movie flickered in front of you. Afterwards, you held his hand as you exited the playhouse and started toward the corner diner; tucked in a back booth, the two of you ordered shakes and fries, holding hands across the table and ignoring the rest of the world.  Once you were full, Steve walked you to the local market – you had to pick up some ingredients for dinner. Inside the market, he held the basket for you as you added things you needed and once you got back to the apartment complex, Nina and Maria were outside, home from school. 

“Steve!” Maria was the first to run to the man, grabbing his hand as the two of you walked toward the stairs that lead up to the second floor. She was going on and on about the mean boys at her school, and Steve listened until she asked what she should do.

“I don’t like bullies,” he reminded her, kneeling beside her. You watched as he shuffled the brown grocery bag from one arm to the other and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t let anyone push us around, we fight for what’s right.”

Maria gazed up at you and you nodded. “Steve is right, you need not back down from bullies. Show them how strong you are.”

She nodded and Steve got up, turning his attention to Nina. He asked her about the book she was reading, everyone following you up the stairs as you listened to them ramble on about the story. It seemed like everyone was talking at once as you got to the front door of the apartment; you unlocked the door and swung it open, telling the girls to get in. They both ran in and you held the door closed a bit to give Steve and you some privacy.

“I better get dinner going…”

“No worries,” Steve laughed, handing off the bag. “I had fun today.”

“Me too,” you whispered, hating the feeling of hiding him. He was such a good man; you knew your parents liked Steve but weren’t sure how they would feel about the two of you pursuing a relationship. You wanted to invite him in and were about to when the two girls screamed – Steve and you gave each other a panic look before running into the apartment. When you walked in, you nearly dropped the grocery bag in your hand because your parents were standing in the living room with Alberto.

Tears sprouted from the corner of your eyes as you ran into the arms of your older brother, who held you tight. Your mother was crying, and your father stood proud, as the two of you pulled apart and you asked what he was doing here.

“I’m on leave, for a week. I wanted to surprise you all.”

The two of you hugged again before Alberto eyed Steve, who was standing near the open front door. He looked a bit nervous, but Alberto removed his arms from around you and nodded to him.

“Rogers, what are you doing here?”

“He always comes over, he likes Y/N’s cooking,” Maria beamed, not realizing what she had done. Nina elbowed the little girl, but it was too late; the cat was out of the bag. You left your brother’s side and stood in front of your parents, standing strong as you looked over your shoulder to Steve.

“Please do not be angry,” you pleaded, reaching for your mother’s hand. Her face was tensed but you knew she was the one that would break easier. “I care about Steve and yes, he comes over occasionally, but Nina and Maria are always here.”

“That’s not the point,” your father said, sighing. He looked over to Steve and gave the young man a sympathetic smile. “Whatever is going on between my daughter and you, ends now. It’s not right.”

“Father,” you argued, casting a glance to your mother for support. But all she did was take the bag of groceries from your hand and call the girls to the kitchen with her. “You can not be serious. I’m a grown woman, I can make my own life choices.”

“What will people say? When the two of you walk down the street together, what would they think? I don’t want you to go through that.”

Unable to comprehend what he was saying, you held back tears and looked to Steve, who straightened up and stared at your father.

“I mean no disrespect, sir,” he said, stepping further into the living room until he was standing next to Alberto. “We walk down the street together just fine.”

The rebellion tone in his voice made you smile, and you watched as Steve stood taller than he had ever. Your father stared back at him and for a moment, you were afraid that this would all end; no more dinners with Steve and suddenly, the little future you dreamt of with Steve seemed to be slipping away until Alberto cleared his throat.

“Dad, come on,” he grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “We’re at war, isn’t life hard enough? Let the kids have their fun, and hell, if it ends in marriage our family will only get bigger. Plus, our little Y/N would be so lucky to catch a fish like Rogers, I never heard of a man who's gone through so much trouble to enlist.”

Alberto looked to Steve and whistled, patting him hard on the back. It nearly sent the man flying and even your father broke a smile. “They were fools to reject you, you’re a good man, Steve.”

You glanced over to your father, seeing his body relaxed and his arms drop from his chest. He sighed and shook his head, pointing a finger at you then Steve. “Know this, society might not accept this – if you marry and have children, they might be looked upon with judgement…just know, in this family none of that will matter.”

Your heart raced as Steve reached out a hand to your father, thanking him for his blessing. “I promise all my intentions are good.”

The two men shook hands and Alberto laughed, pushing you toward Steve, who caught you by the hand. Your father grinned and called to your mother, who apparently had been listening, along with your sisters, to the whole conversation – they were all smiles and Maria ran straight to Steve, asking if the two of you were going to get married. Steve blushed but gazed over to you with nothing but love in his blue eyes and he shrugged to the little girl.

“Maybe one day.”

His answer rang in your heart, because one day, whenever it may come, was all you would ever need. 

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Happy Sunday. Hope it’s a good one for you. 

So, potential crisis averted, time for some more wedding planning type stuff.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge, @wickedgoodbooks, @happytoobserve and to you all for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting.

Chapter 18: An Exquisite Ensemble

Anthony Marantino: "You want pasta, you go to Little ltaly. You want wedding, you go Wang."

Sex and the City

Claire staggered into the living room, her arms full of magazines which she unceremoniously dumped onto the coffee table.

Jamie raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Little light reading there, Sassenach? Bit different from the usual blood and gore.”

He picked up an issue of You and Your Wedding and flicked through the glossy pages, pausing on a page entitled ‘The Ultimate Guide to Bridal Lingerie’.

“Mebbe I’ll jes’ be having a look through these meself. Some interesting articles here,” he said as his eyes focused on an Agent Provocateur demi cup plunge bra with matching thong.

Claire sighed. “Geillis got them for me. She can’t believe that I haven’t bought my dress yet. She reckons it’s the single most important choice I make.”

Jamie tore his attention away from the magazine. “I canna believe it either. I thought ye’d be sorted by now.”

“But it’s because everyone tells me how important the dress is. What style do I go for? How am I expected to know? And when we look back in thirty years’ time, I don’t want us to laugh at my choice. So, Geillis is taking me shopping. And apparently, we’re not coming home until the dress is chosen.”

“Weel, I know ye’ll be stunning whatever ye wear.”

He stood up and stretched. “I’m off fer a quick shower before Geneva drops William here. I’m that sweaty from the gym. And Geneva wants tae talk about the bairn’s first day at nursery tomorrow.”

“And,” Jamie paused and turned dramatically in the doorframe. “Fer yer information, the dress isna the most important choice, Sassenach. Ye already made it when ye said yes in Ned’s office.”

Claire settled herself on the sofa and picked one of the magazines at random. Opening Brides magazine, she studied the images, hoping for sudden inspiration. So many decisions… long, short, slinky, strapless, ivory, blush, white. And how would she manage in one of these frocks all day, she asked herself. How would she even go to the loo?

She was normally so sure of her decisions, but this was totally outside of her comfort zone. Claire sighed again. Thank goodness for Geillis. Without her, Claire had a feeling that she would be totally lost in this minefield of satin and lace.

The sound of the doorbell pulled Claire from her musings. Abandoning her magazines, she made for the front door, only pausing at the bottom of the stairs to call for Jamie, with no response -- the sound of the shower drowning out her summons.

She pasted a cool, polite smile on her face as she opened the door to Geneva. The smile as she bent to greet William, squirming in his car seat, was, however, full of genuine warmth.

Claire straightened up. “Hello, Geneva. Please come in.”

Geneva led the way into the living room.

“Jamie’s just having a shower,” Claire explained as Geneva placed the car seat on the floor and began to unstrap the baby.

Geneva turned to respond and noticed the selection of bridal magazines strewn across the coffee table.

“Little late in the day to be having second thoughts about the dress,” she commented, idly picking up one of the magazines.

“No,” Claire quickly clarified. “I’ve not bought the dress yet. I’m going this week with my best friend.”

Geneva appeared stunned. “But… surely not. You need at least four months for a bespoke gown. I suppose one could get away with three months… if one was a standard sample size, for example.”

She eyed Claire’s hips disparagingly.

Claire smiled politely and tried to remain calm. “Oh, I don’t want a bespoke or designer dress. I think Debenhams has a good selection.”

Geneva barely suppressed a shudder.

“Oh, off the peg.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head dramatically as if trying to remove this incredibly distasteful image from her brain.

Claire said nothing in response. There was nothing to say. This was her wedding, planned exactly how she and Jamie wanted and no snide little digs from Geneva would make her change a single thing about the day. Yes, it would be totally different from any wedding Geneva may plan… a different groom for example…

Geneva finally managed to overcome her abhorrence and opened her eyes. She glanced at the magazines once more before lifting the edge of one to reveal a set of photos underneath. Deliberately she picked them up, slowly studying each glossy image, the photographer capturing different aspects of the subject’s character reflected in those amber eyes -- the laughter, the dreams, the warmth, the knowing glint.

“You've been photographed by Simon Winchester?” Geneva asked, somewhat incredulously. She touched the photograph’s watermark as if to check it’s authenticity. “But he rarely does private commissions.”

“Aye, weel…” Jamie entered and immediately picked a slightly disgruntled William up, lifting him high in the air and blowing raspberries against the baby’s tummy.

William, content to be the centre of attention once more, chuckled happily and pawed at his father’s face.

Jamie continued as he snuggled the baby close to his chest. “Weel, it was fer our latest advertising campaign… in Japan. We decided tae use Claire as our model. Her eyes match the whisky. And I canna think of a better combination… the wildness of the heather clad hills, the powerful complex flavours of the dram and the beauty and honesty of those eyes. The windows to the soul, are they no’?”

Geneva bit her lip as she carefully placed the photos back on the table.

“What a wonderful idea,” she exclaimed, her tone giving an indication of her true sentiments. “Congratulations, Claire, what an exceptional opportunity for you to work with such a talented photographer. And, I must say…”

She glanced down at the photos again.

“... he really is a master of photoshopping techniques.”

Jamie made no response, trying to ignore that comment, born out of simple jealousy, and considered moving the subject on to William’s first full day at nursery. He looked across at Claire, a small amused smile playing across her lips as she watched Geneva studying the photos. She was obviously willing to rise above Geneva’s petty spite… Jamie decided he wasn’t. He wanted Geneva to know what he thought.

“No photoshop needed at all, Geneva. ‘Tis all natural. And I ken they’ll be a big hit in all the Japanese advertising… those eyes… seen and admired by millions.”

He paused for a moment to let his comments register with Geneva.

“Right, so, William’s first full day at nursery. What do I need tae know?”

**********

“She said what?” Geillis spluttered as she quickly put her coffee cup back on the table. “Photoshop, how dare she? That’s pure spite, that is. She’s only jealous because Jamie wouldna have ever wanted her tae do that. Sae, what happened then?”

“Well, that was pretty much it. Jamie put her right on the whole photoshopping thing and then they started talking about William.”

“But, come on, Claire,” Geillis persisted. “Admit it. Ye must have had a wee bit of satisfaction from it. Rubbing her nose in it, like?”

“Well, I didn’t rub her nose in it. I played it low key. But,” Claire smiled at the memory. “Yes, it was really damn satisfying. Especially when she’d already made snide comments about me not going for a designer wedding dress, but an ‘off the peg’... and cast dubious glances at the size of my hips.”

“But G,” she continued. “Does it bother you, as my maid of honour, not having an expensive designer dress?”

Geillis patted Claire’s hand comfortingly. “Dinna fash. This is yer day and ye’re going tae wear whatever ye want. It doesna bother me at all. All I want is tae see ma best friend wed the man that she loves. And I will wear whatever ye want me tae wear.”

“Mind ye,” Geillis added with a wink. “With ma natural style and grace, I could make a bin bag look haute couture. Now, come on, drink up. We are no’ going home until we’ve found the dress fer ye.”

**********

Claire perched awkwardly on the upholstered chair in the changing room, trying hard not to look in any of the many mirrors, currently reflecting her underwear-clad image from every angle. Although -- she sneaked a peek -- at least she had remembered to wear one of her better (and matching) sets of underwear for this occasion.

It had been an inspired decision of Geillis’s to book an appointment with the store’s personal shopper, resulting, clearly, in a better class of changing room, complete with plush upholstery, gilt edged mirrors and a proper wooden door, rather than a curtain not quite wide enough for the frame.

The personal shopper (“Och, call me Diane, I’ve a feeling we’ll be here fer hours!l) had gone on a quest for an assortment of gowns, with Geillis in tow, unwilling to trust Diane’s professional instincts.

A tap at the door heralded the arrival of the frocks. Geillis led the way, followed by a long rack pushed by Diane, a plethora of sequins, satin and lace cascading from the hangers. Claire’s heart sank at the abundance of frills.

Geillis gave a shrug. “They werena all ma choice, ye ken.”

Diane gave a bright smile. “Och, I ken ye said simple but there’s nae harm in looking, is there? And ye canna always tell until ye’ve the dress on.”

Claire began rifling through the dresses, muttering to herself as she passed each one by. Suddenly her hands stilled, and she took a step back, casting her eyes up and down the dress now on display.

“This is it.” Claire stated simply.

“Ok,” Diane began to remove the dress from its protective plastic. “Ye canna say this is the one, but it’s a start. Ye pop yerself behind that screen and we’ll try it on ye.”

Claire felt a thrill of excitement as she watched Diane unzip the dress and then slowly lower it for her to step into. The ivory fabric slid easily over her curves as the zip was fastened once more.

“Like a glove,” Diane breathed as she beckoned Claire from behind the screen towards the full length mirrors.

Claire gazed at her reflection. The ivory satin overlaid with a delicate lace skimmed the contours of her body. The Bardot neckline enhanced the smooth, creamy skin of her shoulders. A trail of tiny buttons led down her back towards the swell of her bottom. Gently fitted to her curves, it fell to the ground before flaring out slightly into a small train.

She tentatively took a couple more steps in the dress, testing the freedom of movement. Geillis watched, her eyes glistening with moisture.

“Christ, Claire,” Geillis exclaimed. “It’s breathtaking.”

Claire turned to her. “This is it,” she repeated.

“I’ll admit, ye look awfa bonnie in that dress, but ye canna be trying on jes’ one dress.” Diane gestured to the large rack.

Claire sighed, unwilling to take the dress off. Finally, she agreed, allowing Diane to put it back in it’s plastic covering and continued to rifle through the rack. Towards the back, she pulled out another hanger and passed it to Diane.

“I’ll try this one on then.”

Claire twirled in front of the mirror, watching the full skirt float around her before coming to a halt to critically study the dress.

It was, in Claire’s mind, undoubtedly a very nice dress. She had always been very fond of the Grecian style and in many ways it would be a more practical dress -- definitely easier to go to the loo and she wouldn’t have to wear a strapless bra with it. And yet…

She looked across at Geillis, who smiled politely. “Aw, it’s a nice dress, but…”

Claire smiled. “I know. That’s how I feel.”

She turned to Diane. “I know you think I should try on loads more dresses and really look around, but I love that first dress so much. I feel wonderful in it. Nothing’s going to be better than that.”

“And ye look so beautiful in it, Claire. I ken ye’re making the right choice.” Geillis agreed.

*********

Claire sipped her coffee happily. “I can't believe how easy that was. That dress is everything I wanted. And I can pick it up next week.”

“Aye, no’ much more tae do today.”

“What do you mean? Oh, of course your dress, Geillis. I was thinking bronze, satin… you can choose the style.”

Geillis licked the smears of chocolate brownie from her fingers. “Och, I ken exactly which dress I want. I’ve done ma research, ye ken. No, I mean ye, we still have the get yer underwear. A little gift for yer husband tae unwrap on yer wedding night. Start yer married life with a bang.”

Claire laughed. “And I suppose you have just the items in mind.”

“As a matter of fact I do… demure yet sexy, innocent yet hot, virginal yet wanton. Yer man will thank me right enough.”

“Well, lead me to this magical lingerie.” Claire began to gather her bags up, preparing to leave the café.

She paused. “And G, thank you for this, for all this. You’re my best friend and I can’t think of anyone better to share this with.”

Instinctively, Geillis gave Claire a warm hug. “Ye’re more than a friend, Claire. Like it or no’, ye’re family.”

[miracle-sham]

When Sitting on the Roof, We are but Coffee Sleuths.

| {Sequel to Death is the Stage, My Art is Your Grave.} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [DitSMAiYG Link] |

| {Repost due to original post disappearing from tags.} |

| Triggers/Warnings: Mentions of drugs/drug ring (in regards to a case), Mild language. |

| After a long day of boring casework, there's nothing better than getting a new commission, and then drinking coffee and having a chat on top of a roof with a certain bat. |

| Word Count: 3051 |

==–==

| A/N: First of all, I'd like to quickly thank everyone for all the positive response and support the original oneshot got on both Tumblr and Ao3! It really motivated and inspired me to continue with this Au (expect at least another sequel, maybe more if I get more inspo but even if I don't there's definitely gonna be one sequel minimum to this). I'd also like to mention, that this took a lot longer to write as I got a cold halfway through writing it and also it's romance based fluff (which is not my forté), but thanks to those who've waited for this! And finally, for reasons that I'll explain in a separate post later, it might be a "little" while before I can start work on the sequel to this one but it will get written at some point. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then send me a DM or an ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==–==

It's been a month since Marinette got kidnapped, kissed Red Robin, and solved the Elemental Park Serial Killer case. For three weeks she's been held off active duty to make sure her bruised ribs heal but now that she's able to be on active duty again, all the available cases are those that are paperwork heavy. A small part of her misses the immediate healing of the Miraculous Cure but she's not Ladybug anymore and even if she was, it would raise too many flags for her to even use it anyway. But logic doesn't stop her from missing the days when she could literally and metaphorically magic away her aches and pains.

Marinette groans and slumps into her chair, it's been a surprisingly slow day at the GCPD, so when her phone beeps rapidly for a few seconds, she thinks, please be something interesting, and can't help but take a quick glance to see what new notifications she has. The screen reads: '3 new messages from Red'. So she taps the notification and reads through each message.

>RedRob: Hey, found some new evidence on our case, want to meet up for coffee to discuss it?

>RedRob: Rooftop coffee after dark, of course.

>RedRob: I mean I could waltz into a coffee shop during the day in my suit but that might get too much attention for case talk.

Marinette snickers to herself as she reads the messages over a second time. She quickly taps out her response.

>MariBlue: Will we need to worry about one of the other Gotham vigilantes crashing our coffee not-date?

Almost instantly she receives a response.

>RedRob: I'll bribe Oracle or Batgirl, maybe even Black Bat, into keeping the others away.

She sends a heart emoji back, then returns to sorting out her boring paperwork.

Detective Grayson raises an eyebrow at her from over the desk, clearly having caught her looking at her phone. “Red Robin again?”

She flashes him a sheepish grin. “How'd you guess.”

He gives her a deadpan stare. “He's the only person you respond to when working.”

Marinette bites her lip. “Whoops, that obvious?”

“Yes.” Detective Grayson hesitates for a second, he leans in closer—and like a teenage girl at a sleepover in a cheesy teen drama, asks, “So are you dating yet?”

She shrugs. “Well neither of us have asked the other so not really.”

“But you guys are perfect for each other!” He exclaims, gesturing towards her with an outstretched arm—very narrowly avoiding knocking anything off the desk.

It's Marinette's turn to raise an eyebrow. “We literally have only seen or talked to each other when working…”

“So? What do you call you quote unquote "not-dates"” He huffs, making air quotes as he speaks.

She huffs and shakes her head. “There's a reason they're called "not-dates" and that's because we discuss work at them. And anyway it's too early to rush our relationship.”

“Fair.” Detective Grayson stills, frowns and then almost hesitantly, he asks, “Is it because if the mask? The whole not knowing his real identity?”

Marinette rolls her eyes and shakes her head again. “Nope, I couldn't care less about finding out his real identity—at least not without his consent that is.”

He hums, a pensive look on his face. “So you're not curious?”

She shrugs. “Not particularly, why?”

Detective Grayson shrugs back. “Just wondering,” he leans back on his chair and for a split second, Marinette fears he might topple over but somehow he seems unaffected by gravity, “I think you're the first person I've met, who doesn't want to know who's behind a vigilante's mask.”

A smile tugs at Marinette's lips. “I think it's kinda dumb that so many people are obsessed with the people behind the masks because if they're doing good, unmasking them will only deter them from continuing fighting the good fight and all that, y'know.”

He nods slowly, “huh, that's one way of putting it I guess but I agree, the vigilantes do more for this city than people think they do.” Detective Grayson then tilts his head towards the Commissioner's office. “Anyway back to work, don't want to get in more trouble with the Commish than we are already!”

Marinette huffs in amusement and rolls her eyes but complies nonetheless. Wouldn't do to get in trouble so soon after getting back onto active duty!

==–==

It isn't until gone seven pm, that Marinette finally gets home. She slips through the door, locking it behind her. Now that she's in, the first thing she does, as she does every day, is check her online portfolio and commission site.

Marinette plops herself down in her wheely chair and logs onto to her computer, going through all the verification and security Max had kindly added. A new commission notification grabs her attention. With three clicks, she brings up the new commission's details. She scrolls down to the name of the commissioner: one Mr 'T. Drake-Wayne'.

Curious as to why the name sounds vaguely familiar, Marinette opens up a tab on Google with a hum and types in the name. Upon reading the top results, she half chokes in shock and thinks to herself, Are you kidding me? She blinks and breathes in, a small part of her very glad she wasn't drinking anything otherwise she definitely would've fully choked on that or spat it all up from the shock. I know a bunch of well-known celebrities have all commissioned me many times before, but still why the heck is a fortune 500 CEO commissioning me? I'm not Audrey Bourgeois, Gabriel Agreste, or even Valen-hecking-tino. I do celebrities, not fortune 500. The heck. What. The. Actual. Heck.

Eyes wide and gobsmacked, Marinette shakes her head and clicks back to her latest commission's details page to read through the actual commission. After reading the first line, she scrambles for her sketchbook and begins jotting down notes and scribbling down ideas.

Half an hour in, Marinette takes a break to sort out and eat dinner, no point designing on an empty stomach but once she's done eating and washed up, she goes straight back to designing.

Even at a quarter past midnight, she's still at it—surprisingly only three drafts in and so thoroughly lost in her own head in designing, Marinette nearly misses the knocking against her window facing the fire escape.

The rapid rap-tap-tap spooks her so much that she falls out of her chair with an “Eep!”

Marinette, face flushing bright red, scrambles up and scurries over to the window in question. Shoving her blinds out the way, she stares through the window and is greeted with the absolutely glorious sight of a beaming and uninjured Red Robin holding two takeaway coffee cups on the fire escape. He waves at her with one hand and gestures for her to join him on the fire escape.

She can't help but grin back at him and deftly opens the window and slinks out onto the fire escape. He hands a coffee cup towards her and instead of taking it, Marinette gives him a good ol' bearhug—smooshing pressing her face into his Kevlar armoured chest. Which is unsurprisingly, very uncomfortable. She shifts her head to stare up at him (as he's at least whole head taller than her) “Hey,” she greets.

Awkwardly hugging her back, as to not spill either of the coffees in the process, “hey yourself,” Red Robin responds, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Marinette pulls back from the hug and nabs the coffee cup that had been offered to her before their hug. “Thank you~!”

“No problem.” He then gestures towards the fire escape stairs leading to the roof, “after you.”

“So which of our cases did you manage to get a lead for?” She asks, making her way up to the roof.

“The one pertaining to the new drug ring in the fashion district. I've narrowed down where they're storing the drugs to potentially three warehouses near Miller Harbour.” Red Robin answers, following after her.

Reaching the roof, Marinette sits down on the half wall around the roof edge. She glances over at Red Robin as he joins her on the improvised seat. “That's the drug ring dealing Miraclo right?”

“Yeah, that's the one.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee, “I got the intel from an old friend of Catwoman's called Mackey lives in an apartment that overlooks the Harbour and saw a shipment of the drug arrive at the warehouses.”

Taking a sip of her own coffee, Marinette raises an eyebrow. “And will Detective Grayson and I will be able to get that intel as witness statement?”

Red Robin nods. “Yep, Catwoman's vouching for you both.”

She jerks back in surprise, nearly toppling off the half wall but managing to cling to the edge in time to keep her from falling. Miraculously somehow managing to avoid dropping or spilling her coffee. Oof, if it wasn't for my stint in Spandex I definitely would've made a fool of myself in front of Red Robin. And here I thought that part of my life had since passed. Marinette thinks to herself, wincing at the newly gained superficial graze across her palms. She clears her throat and attempts to look like she didn't just nearly fall off a half wall. “Catwoman's vouching for us? Since when? I've literally never encountered her before.”

Red Robin, the traitor, snorts at her predicament. “You are the epitome of elegance. And Detective Grayson's bumped into her a few times on the job.”

“Thanks.” She responds drily, layering on the sarcasm thickly. She shakes her head and sighs. “So do you know what the addresses are for the warehouses and this Mackey's apartment?”

He takes an excruciatingly slow sip of his coffee before speaking. “Of course I can, what kind of vigilante do you take me for?” He then proceeds to rattle off the addresses.

Which Marinette jots down on the napkin that came with her coffee, and puts it into a pocket for safekeeping. “Thank you.” With it written down, she pauses then starts kicking her legs in the air. She sniffs. “And I take you for the kind that flirts with innocent police officers.”

Red Robin grins at her as he gently elbows her in the ribs. “I don't hear you complaining.”

Marinette scoffs and slaps her hand to her chest in an overly dramatic mock of shock. “Unfair! If I complained I wouldn't get any hugs or kisses from you!”

Humming he wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. “That's true, what a shame it would be for you to miss out on all those hugs.”

She hums back and the two ease into a comfortable silence; leaning against each other and sipping their coffees whilst staring at the night sky.

Once Marinette gets halfway through her coffee, she glances at Red Robin and hesitates, her earlier conversation with Detective Grayson springing to mind. “Communication is key in healthy relationships,” she prefaces, “so are you okay with our current relationship? Y'know the flirting, the not-dates, the whole me not knowing your identity?”

Red Robin laughs, sounding slightly bitter. “Of course I'm fine with the flirting and not-dates but I'm not going to lie and say I don't have any worries over you not knowing my identity. It's one of the reasons a relationship I had with a fellow mask didn't work out.” Rubbing at his jaw, he tilts his face away from her slightly, as though reminiscing about something. He then shakes his head and turns back to her. “Really, I ought to be asking you that. So what about you, are you okay with how our relationship is?”

Marinette hums. “This isn't the first time relationship I've had with a masked hero.” Then takes a calm sip of her coffee.

“So you've got a thing for masks then huh? Lucky me I guess.” He responds, smirking mischievously, and whilst she can't see the rest of his face thanks to the cowl, Marinette just knows that he's wiggling his eyebrows at her from underneath that cowl.

His comment nearly sends her tumbling off the half wall—again. She coughs and splutters in laughter as she nearly spits up her sip of coffee. It takes her a full thirty seconds to recover and mock gripes, “remind me why I love you again.”

Red Robin cocks his head to the side and grins. “Because I bring you coffee?”

She huffs, “good point.”

“So back to the mask thing, can I ask what happened with your masked hero relationship?” He asks, tone hesitant. He stares at her, ready to back off the topic at the slightest sign of discomfort from her.

Marinette hisses through her teeth and states, “I can trust you.”

His stare conveys an 'I would hope so' whilst he bobs his head a little in a 'yes you can' and a 'please continue' gesture.

She takes a deep breath before speaking, “I used to be a hero, back when I lived in Paris.”

“Oh?” Red Robin freezes, thrown off guard by her admission.

Nodding, Marinette continues. “It was difficult. We started when we were barely teens and had no training and no support except for temporary heroes we could bring in when the battles got too hard for just me and my partner to handle. When we started, we were repeatedly told to never, under any circumstances, let anyone find out our identities. My partner and I, neither of us knew who the other was beneath the mask. And we only knew the identities of the temporary heroes because we gave them the ability to become superheroes. But even then we didn't always know their real identities and they certainly never knew ours.”

“Yikes.” Is all he can respond with, mind racing with questions. “That can't have been good, at least I had Batman and Nightwing when I was starting out, but you had no one to talk to about being a mask, outside the mask.”

She flashes him a watery smile and sighs. “No, I did have someone. Tikki. But we're uh, not in contact any more. Since I retired.”

Still, Red Robin makes a noise of concern at that.

“Anyway, one thing led to another led to another, and my partner found out my identity.” Marinette puts her coffee down then tips her head back and closes her eyes. “We started dating not long after that. But once we defeated the BBEG terrorising Paris and some… concerning things came to light, our—we,” She shakes her head, “we realised that because of that, neither of us were emotionally able to continue our relationship in a romantic way. So we decided to stay friends and I—uh, I retired and moved to Gotham.”

He puts his coffee down as well, and pulls her into a tight hug, although making sure it wasn't too constricting as to not make her uncomfortable. “I'm sorry.”

She leans into the hug, rests her head on his shoulder, and delicately wraps her arms around him in return. “What? Why? It's not your fault.”

Red Robin frowns, not that she can see in their current position, “I know but no one should be forced into becoming a hero at such a young age with no support network.”

Huffing, Marinette buries her face in his shoulder, somewhat muffling her voice but not enough to make her unintelligible, “what about Spoiler? She became a hero around that age and had no support network.”

He sighs. “Spoiler chose to become a vigilante, she wasn't forced. And anyway, she had Robin and the rest of the bats to support her once they realised what she was doing.”

“Hmm… fair.” Marinette pulls back from the hug and pauses. “On a lighter note, I got a commission on my fashion site from Tim Drake-Wayne!”

Red Robin raises an eyebrow and with poorly concealed amusement, responds, “Oh? And what's so special about him”

She rolls her eyes at him. “He's the youngest fortune five hundred CEO, founded the Neon Knights among other charities, and often donates to various charities around Gotham! Plus Wayne Enterprises is one of, if not the most ethical company in the fortune five hundred bracket. Employees get living stipends, and training and higher education paid by the company. They get healthcare and dental insurance. They get flexible work hours, paid breaks, and receive above minimum wage pay!”

He laughs. “I guess he is a pretty decent sounding guy then.”

“Mhmm.”

“So what's the commission then? Or is it a secret?” He teases, leaning towards her.

Marinette dramatically places her hand over her heart. “I guess I can spare you the details this one time.”

“Wooh!”

She bites her lip before launching into a long ramble about the commission, gushing over what design and colour palette she's thinking of going with, what bots and bobs and patterns to add, what stitch to use and how to make sure it fits his style, etc.

Red Robin spends the entire time listening attentively, despite not really understanding half the fashion terms, and staring at her like a love-struck puppy.

“Damn, I love you!” He exclaims once she finishes speaking, then leans in to kiss her on the lips.

Marinette bursts into giggles and kisses him back. Her giggles are seemingly infectious, as once they part from the kiss, both are giggling and flushed red.

A bright flash of white followed by a camera shutter sound immediately distracts them both. They just manage to catch sight of Nightwing swinging away.

She gives him a look, which is somewhat less effective as she's still smiling from the kiss. “What happened to bribing Oracle, Black Bat, or Batgirl?”

Red Robin groans and drops his face into his hands. “Clearly Nightwing was able to one-up my bribe. Probably in the form of giving them copies of the photos both he and Detective Grayson have taken.”

“You mean to tell me those two are working together? No wonder Detective Grayson was asking about our relationship earlier today at work!” Marinette gasps, sounding mildly horrified and betrayed.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Red Robin asks, lifting his head up and grinning deviously at her.

She smirks back, “Revenge?”

He nods—the sagely kind of nod. “Revenge.”

==–==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@casual-darkness

[baby-n-boo]

Home- a commission for @pixangelofbees (6338 words) The sun had barely crested the horizon, bathing the entire apartment in a peachy sort of glow, as Patton crept down the stairs, a small backpack clutched in his hands, the keychains on the zip clattering gently as he moved. Hopping familiarly over the creaky step right at the bottom, as not to wake up the rest of the house, Pat giggled to himself as his fringe bounced and fell over his eyes. The only downside of this new blindness, is that he almost collided with Logan, who was stood at the bottom of the stairs in his practical workout gear, clearly taking his own pulse, if the watch and professionally placed fingers on his neck were anything to go by. Pulling up with a tiny squeak, Pat stayed quiet till Lo was done, and had taken a mental note of the value, before flinging a comfortable arm around his shoulder. "Good morning, LoLo!" He chirped contentedly, pulling his friend into a side hug, ignoring how Logan blustered, unable to formulate a way to respond to the liberal affection. "I-It is indeed a pleasant morning, Patton..." He eventually settled on saying, trailing off as his gaze fell to the small owl print bag that the other side was holding. "Where are you going? Are you going alone? What of Virgil?" His questions came thick and fast now, concerned for his opposite, though Patton just smiled apologetically, stepping a little way away as he slung the bag onto his back. "Thomas...he wanted me to work with Jan.." He started explaining, nibbling nervously on his lip, a habit Logan had tried to teach him to kick, but had never succeeded in really losing. "...I'm meant to meet him in the library, so if anything blows up.." He inserted a gentle 'kaboom' sound effect, giggling awkwardly, before wiping off his palms on his pants. "While we're talking..it won't hurt anyone?" He phrased it like a question, shyly looking up to Logan again, and was met with a nod, Logan understanding. "So it won't hurt Roman." Logan clarified, watching as Patton's shoulders dropped in relief that he wouldn't have to say it. Nobody could deny, their resident fanciful figment was notably more vulnerable and fragile since his run in with the snake, tearing up at the slightest perceived insult or raised voice. They were all trying to help him, but he seemed to prefer spending time vanquishing imaginary and improbable villains in the imagination, to spending time with Janus anymore, even going out of his way to avoid being in the same room as him, even if that meant not eating or foregoing family time with the others. It was getting increasingly harder to coax him out, especially if Virgil was regressed, since the loud noises would cause a princely ball in the corner within a few moments, and not even the innocent baby babbles could help him, just pushing till he sunk back out to his room. Thoughts of their regressed charge in his mind, Logan fixed Patton with a look. "And what of Virgil?" He couldn't lie, nerves were coiling in his stomach, having never spent longer than a few minutes alone time with Baby Virgil, but perhaps it could be a useful observation experiment. With that lie in his head, fuelling him, Logan tuned back in to Patton explaining. "Well....i was sort of hoping you would keep an eye on him and Roman? Vee was a big kid when he went to bed last night, and he didn't crawl into bed with me during the night, so...maybe he still is?" he seemed almost pleading with the hope, like he didn't want Virge to be little without him, or maybe like he didn't expect Logan to be able to do it. Slightly affronted at the idea he wouldn't at least try, Logan nodded and gestured Patton to the door. "Rest assured, i shall endeavour to do my best, and not let chaos ensue." He tried to joke, to bring a smile back to Patton's face, the shy concern not looking quite right, and, luckily, it paid off, as Patton broke back out into a radiant smile. "Yay! Thank you Logie! I made cookies, they're on the counter for lunchtime, and there's coffee in the pot for you, and some sippies of juice in the fridge for VeeVee, and..." He babbled, wanting Lo to know everything, but he was cut off by an easy chuckle. "Patton. Patton, i know. It will be okay." He assured the exuberant father, ushering him out the door goodnaturedly, before falling victim to another tight hug. This time, he couldn't help his arms slipping round under Patton's, meeting at the back to squeeze slightly, though, as soon as they pulled away, he quickly denied it ever happened, seeing the twinkle in Pat's eyes. "Whatever you say, Lo!" Pat winked, starting down the garden path. "Oh! I'll be back about lunchtime, if things go well!" He called back, as the sun rose to a golden sort of color, halo-ing him warmly. Lo merely smiled in acknowledgement, running a hand through his hair, and closed the door gently, sighing a familiar sigh at Patton's antics. He took a few seconds, just leaning against the heavy door, letting silence settle like dust motes back over the house, before the sweat cooling on his back from his morning jog started to irritate, and he was spurred once more into action, heading to take a quick shower and change before either of the other two woke up. It didn't take long, and, knowing it was just going to be a lazy day, Logan left his hair wet, slipping into just some comfy slacks and a random polo shirt from a university none of them ever went to, tightening his signature tie for a small sense of responsibility and control. He slowly padded out to the communal area with his current reading conquest, a fantasy novel recommended by none other than their prince, to try getting a few more chapters down as the sun rose higher in the sky to give a dim but yellowish sort of light, leaving the blinds open to let it fall in neat italic columns along the floor. However, the longer it went on, the more the silence was unnerving Logan, him being so used to Patton's leaving the radio on for background noise as he cooked that he couldn't get comfortable in his easy chair without it. Forcing himself back up, he headed into the kitchen to get some coffee, sure it would shake the last of his babysitting nerves. But, as soon as he leant against the counter, his steaming cup of hot bean juice held tenderly between his hands, the urge for the radio multiplied tenfold. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he was tuning it to the right channel, kept on a dull mumble just for something to listen to. It worked almost like a lullaby would on a child, letting Lo relax his shoulders, and let out a deep exhale, as he slowly made his way back to the arm chair, and curled up again, opening his book at the homemade bookmark Virge had given him, and trying to get lost in the prose. It was flowery, and rather improbable in it's storyline, but, strangely enough, compelling. He couldn't help but keep going back to it, despite the fact it wasn't his normal taste. However, he didn't get much more than a chapter further, before shuffling, hesitant steps started to become obvious, coming down the stairs. They were easily identifiable as Virgil's, since Roman would never leave his room unprompted, so, pretending to still be reading, Logan decided to let the answer of how old the regressor was feeling, come to him. Virgil was fully shrouded in a dark blanket as he shuffled past, seemingly in his own world, since he didn't even notice the logical side beside him, looking like he hadn't slept in weeks. Pretty normal for adult V, and, breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn't needed right away, Logan watched the emo make some food, out the corner of his eye. He didn't need to, and really, it wasn't like it was interesting to watch, a shambling pile of blankets moving slowly about their small kitchen to get a bowl of cereal, but, knowing that Patton was relying on him, Logan couldn't help but keep an eye on the not-really-baby. Not that it was the best use of his time. Virge seemed entirely numb to the existence of another side in the communal area, though, apparently, muscle memory still had a place in his mind, as, on autopilot, he grabbed the milk and poured the last of it into his bowl of-luckily healthy-cereal, before shaking it a little with a small 'hmph' and turning to speak over the breakfast bar, so used to Patton being there. "Hey, Pat...think we need more-..." he started, before his mind caught up with his body, to see Logan, a blush starting to form high up on his cheek bones. "Oh. Hey Lo." he greeted awkwardy, putting down the empty carton and heartprint bowl of cheerios he had been holding, to pull the blanket closer about his shoulders anxiously. It had been slipping to show the shamefully pastel blue shirt underneath, and he really didn't want to show the usually stoic side such an obvious sign that he wasn't entirely adult. Logan waved quietly back by way of greeting, placing his drink aside once more, and closed his book carefully, bookmarking the page subtly, so he could affix Virgil wth his full attentions. Fidgeting from foot to foot, Virge swallowed a few times, looking around a bit, before finally stumbling out a few quiet words. "Wh-Where's Patton?" he seemed fragile, the way he was curling in on himself, but Lo, not picking up the signs quite yet, spoke bluntly, taking a sip of his now-cooled coffee. "He left, to go speak to Janus, upon Thomas's request. He informed me that, should all go optimally, he will return at approximately midday." It was simple information, both to hear and to process, though Virgil suddenly seemed to be a lot paler than before, nodding quietly as he averted his gaze, to throw the trash from the counter away. "Oh...okay." He had mumbled, trying his best to pick the bowl back up with hands mostly covered in blanket, an action that Logan was sure would result in a problem, but not sure how to bring it to his attention. "Be careful, Virgil, there is a high chance that-" He struggled until Virgil was about to mount the first steps of the stairs to speak up, though was quickly interrupted by the side, head hung low. "I've got it, Lo. It's fine." He tried to assure, though, sure enough, the very next step he tried to take, the blanket tangled about his ankles, and he tripped, the bowl flying out of his hands and down the steps again, spilling its contents as it rolled, eventually coming to a stop at the foot of Logan's chair. "Virgil!" Logan gasped, springing up to grab cloths to clean up the mess before it soaked into the carpet too much. "What did I say!" He wasn't particularly irritated or angry at all, mostly just frustrated in the moment, as he pushed a small hand towel into the emo's stiff hands, and dropped to his knees to blot at the wet patch. But, after a few seconds of silence, when Vee hadn't joined him, Lo looked back up, and saw him looking absolutely panic-stricken, on the brink of tears, his lip quivering as he tried to fight it back. "'m sorry...." Virgil whispered, through numb lips, his shoulders almost to his ears with how tense he was. "'m so sri...." Logan knew it wasn't necessarily directed towards him, the smallest side's anxiety kicking in now, along with his apology complex, but he couldn't shake the knowledge that it was still his fault, for being so harsh. "Virge?" Logan tried softening his tone a little, standing again, to take the cloth back out of the side's hands, then gently enfolding them in between his own. "Virgil, I apologise for snapping at you." He tried to make amends, a strange guilty feeling fluttering deep in his chest, especially at his own helplessness to help fix the issue he had caused. "Can you tell me how to assist you?" He spoke quietly, carefully, like the slightest misstep would result in a bomb going off, but Vee's face just crumpled, as the tears spilled over, in big, ugly sobs. He curled tighter into himself, shaking his head, and eventually just sinking to the floor, sticking his thumb in his mouth to muffle his cries. Especially as he mumbled for "daddy", something that big him would never live down having mentioned, but this version entirely oblivious. He shook as the tears forced their way out, Logan finally getting the hint, as he snapped away the mess quickly, sure he would pay the price later, and knelt down in front of the little. "Oh, are you little right now?" He asked, a rather rhetorical question as the sight in front of him rather answered it, but he still wanted to give Virgil the chance to tell his stand-in caregiver himself. Logan got a slight, clumsy nod back, before Vee hid his face behind the blanket, feeling guilty with the last vestiges of his adult mindset, and he exhaled slightly, feeling slightly more in control of the situation now he knew where Vee was mentally. "That's okay, little one. Can you tell me how old you are?" It was a long shot, but, luckily, it paid off, as Vee held up a shaky finger, still crying round his thumb. "Wow, such a tiny little baby today, huh?" Lo tried to coo, remembering how Patton had told him that Virgil liked to be babied to feel secure in his headspace, even if he didn't fully understand how to seem sweet and caring the way Patton could. All the payback he got from that was another tiny, tearful nod, Vee seeming to lose his grip on the blanket a little, his shirt being revealed a bit more, and making itself obvious as one of his favorite regression tops, the little fried egg in one corner courtesy of Logan's own embroidery skills. Namely, a shirt he had been wearing since the previous morning. "Does the little baby want a change, into some clean and comfortable clothes?" Lo tried, unsure how to deal with Virgil being this small, since Pat usually took care of him at this age, but, apparently, was doing okay, since he hadn't screamed and run away yet. Though, that may have had something to do with the fact that, when Logan stood to start up the stairs following an affirmative hum, Virgil whined and made grabby hands from his position on the floor, belying he couldn't walk on his own. A quiet steadying breath later, Lo knelt back down to Vee, and, watching to make sure he was definitely okay with it, placed his hands on Virgil's hips, lifting slightly, no complaint following, just a slight teary sound to make him hurry up. He didn't need any encouragement after that, quickly swinging the baby onto his hip, and tucking the blanket around his shoulders so he wouldn't get too cold, since the day still held a slight chill. Virge leant his head comfortably on Logan's shoulder, rubbing all the tears and snot from his panic, onto his nice, clean shirt, but, holding himself back from cringing, Lo smiled a little. "You...like this?" He spoke haltingly, unsure, but Virge didn't respond, instead just closing his eyes, mostly reduced to sniffles now, looking okay enough. Sure he would know about it if he did anything wrong, Lo started slowly up the stairs again, checking back on the baby every few seconds, as if he might break if not under intense supervision. He was trying to walk as smoothly as he could, but the added weight on one side was giving him a decided sway once they hit the hall, though his precious cargo didn't seem to mind, it seeming to be lulling him into a doze, if his slowing breaths were anything to go by. He was barely holding on, the sniffles having subsided by the time they -finally- reached his door, and, very carefully flattening down pieces of Virgil's bed head, Logan tried humming. He had heard somewhere that the vibrations from humming helped to soothe babies, and deduced that it would probably be easier if Vee was as calm as possible for the next part. Very very carefully opening Virgil's door, Logan had to hold back from gasping, at the fully furmished nursery that faced him, proving Virgil had been little right from waking up, rather than slipping at Logan's snapping. The guilt seemed to swell in his chest as Lo realised what he had done, but, fighting it down, he tried his best to be present in the moment for the both of their benefits. Carefully peeking down as he felt movement against his side, he watched as the regressor hid his face in Lo's chest shyly, clearly feeling bashful at the proof he was just a baby. But he didn't mind, Virge's regression not exactly being a new thing by this point, and he was used to seeing baby paraphernalia spread all about the house. The nursery had just been a surprise. Gently heading to the changing table all set up in the corner, still extremely softly humming some old Russian lullaby or other, the CG tried his best to push into a gentler frame of mind, rocking very gently to distract from the separation that was about to occur. Though, as soon as he tried to lay Virge down, a whine broke through the quietness, and the small hand that had been resting gently against him then bunched tightly into Lo's polo, refusing to let go. "It is alright, Virgil, i am merely choosing some clothing for you, i am not venturing far. You can see me from the changer." Logan smiled slightly, trying to reason, but it didn't register, the baby still clinging on tight, too afraid of being left behind, whining softly. Giving up on the venture, Lo instead just nodded. "Very well, perhaps you can aid me." He spoke lowly, half to himself, as he one-handedly pulled open the closet, to reveal all the onesies and day suits that hung neatly. "Which do you prefer?" He couldn't bring himself to coo like Patton, instead speaking as if Virgil was merely a nonverbal adult, feeling a lot more comfortable that way. Especially as Vee didn't seem to be bothered by it, reaching hesitantly for a pastel purple daysuit with a small skirt sewn on, before pausing, and changing his decision to just a pair of plain navy footie pyjamas, the briefest flash of confidence having drained away, even as Logan tilted his head. "Would you like to wear the first one, Virgil?" He was confused, not minding what the regressor wanted to wear, since none of it seemed particularly gendered to him, but, getting no response, Lo picked the onesie out anyway, along with striped knee socks that matched, a distant memory of Pat saying they were cute coming to mind as he felt the soft material. He wanted to make Virgil happy, and not make him feel like he had to censor what he wanted, so, gently hanging the onesie on the side of the changer, Logan gently picked out one of Virgil's cuter diapers, feeling the padding the baby was already wearing, and knowing it was most likely beneficial to maintain said protection. Vee couldn't help but giggle, when he heard the crinkle, reaching out a hesitant hand to poke it so it made the sound again. Frankly, it was an adorable sight, and provided enough of a distraction for Logan to quickly lay him down on the printed plastic, letting him keep hold of it until he could find a rattle, or a pacifier to swap it out for. Making quick work of searching all the drawers, Lo pulled out all the other changing materials, proud of Patton for being so prepared, though there was no rattle to be found anywhere, eliminating that avenue from use. Instead, Lo grabbed the plain white baby pacifier from the rumpled sheets in the crib, wincing at the litany of health concerns that sprung to mind at how worn it looked, and gently teased Virgil's lips with the nipple until he opened up for it, effectively pushing his thumb out at the same time. That was a bonus, since Logan couldn't be exactly sure where the little boy's thumb had been, and, even if it was too small, the baby pacifier was infinitesimally better for him. He took to it easily, it lazily bobbing in and out, making Logan smile slightly, a strange fluttery feeling starting to manifest, almost like parental love, though he was sure he could deny it ever existed, should anyone take him up on it. It didn't take long to clean up and rediaper Virgil, even taking care of the rash that was starting to form, since he had been absolutely soaked, and clearly not in a good enough place to care for himself. Vee happily kicked his legs once he was clean again, cooing softly and reaching for imaginary things in the air, almost forgetting that he had ever been sad, or even that he had ever not been being cared for by Logan. But, the second Lo reached for the hem of his shirt, to pull it up and change him, he whined, wriggling away, as if he didn't want the shirt to be removed. Pausing, Logan pulled his hands away again, and tilted his head. "What is the issue, Virgil? Is this okay?" He asked softly, unsure as to what he had done wrong. The baby just whined, shaking his head gently, and holding on tight to his long sleeves that had fallen over his hands. "Would you like to keep your shirt? I have to change it, because it is not clean. But i will allow you to hold it, like a comfort blanket." Logan offered, trying to stop the tears that were starting to gather in Virgil's eyes again. He was out of his depth, he couldn't deny that, but, maybe, just maybe, he could exert some sort of control over it all, by making decisions for Virgil. By helping to support him. By being a parent Virgil hesitated, before nodding, seeming unsure about it, so Logan didn't bother with any of the usual talking or distractions, merely slipping the shirt off, and the onesie on in a few seconds, quickly placing the main body of the shirt back into Virgil's hand as he started to whimper. "Is that better?" Logan whispered, watching and smiling slghtly as the little emo rubbed the soft material against his cheek, glad that he had managed to find a way around the impending panic. It was, in a way, sort of strange that Virgil had so many stuffed animals and soft blankets dotted about the room, but yet he chose to hold a seemingly random shirt as comfort, though, Logan supposed, he was in no place to judge what did and didn't soothe the regressor's raging anxiety. It didn't take much longer to pop closed the bottom of the baby's onesie and slip the socks over his tiny feet. Though the little contented kicks that he was now showcasing made it a little more difficult to pull them up round his knees, even if Logan did eventually manage it, trying his hardest not to laugh at how absurdly domestic the situation was. Changing a baby, whilst the other parent was away at work? He could help but feel somewhat parental, especially as Virgil reached one-handedly and innocently for his tie, that had been hanging down, with a soft coo. "Would you like to touch it?" Logan offered, holding it a little bit up, as he scooped Virgil back off the changing mat into his arms, relishing the warm, sort of melty movement that he did to get even closer. Practically immediately, the pacifier was forgotten, tumbling out of the baby's mouth and onto the floor, in favor of the end of Logan's tie, clearly a comfortable fit to idly gum on. Strangely enough, he didn't mind the baby drool occasionally dripping onto his stomach through the shirt, thinking it almost endearing as he retrieved a different pacifier from the small basket in the corner, shoving it in his pocket for later, and headed back out of the room. Virgil didn't even seem to notice the change in surroundings, only slightly shifting to push closer to Lo's warm core as protest to the lack of blanket swaddle, all set to a whispered chorus of babble and coos. The warm, parental feeling swelling in his gut, Logan pretended not to notice the guilt building as he passed Roman's bedroom door, instead just focussing on rocking Virgil a tiny amount, with an characteristically genuine smile. "Should we try to get Roman out of his room to eat? What do you think?" He couldn't very well leave the creative side out of the pleasant moment, even if his company lasted just a few minutes. Hearing nothing but unintelligible burble from the regressor, the tie and shirt still held in iron grips, Logan nodded gently, raising a hand to knock. "That's what i thought too, good choice." He pretended to have gotten a response from the other side of the door, opening it just a crack so that his voice would carry better. "Roman. Myself and Virgil are inviting you to pass a short amount of time with us, in the communal area, until Patton returns from his task. Do not feel obliged, I just believed it would be pleasant for you to engage in family time." He tried to imply he was at no risk without mentioning Janus' name, but, as he only got a noncommittal grunt, he sighed slightly, and tacked on another comment. "Only myself and Virgil will be present, everybody else is absent from the house today." He couldn't say he didn't try, when Roman didn't even bother to respond at all this time. Instead, Lo pulled the door shut again, smiling gently and encouragingly to Virgil, who had lapsed to silence at some point during the one-sided conversation. "Come on, let's go get a drink, before we dehydrate, it is Roman's decision whether or not he wants to join us." He murmured, placing one hand on the side of Virgil's face to hide his view of the stairs as they descended, sure it would only result in another decline in his mood if he could see the site of the accident that had caused all this. Pausing halfway down, just for half a second, Logan wondered where all these new caring attitudes had manifested from, his brow furrowing slightly, before he shook it off, and continued along his way, giving Virgil a tiny little cheek rub with one finger, still taken aback by how innocent he seemed in this infantile headspace. "Does apple juice sound desirable?" He asked gently, the cold air from the refrigerator blasting in both their faces as he picked up one of the brightly colored sippy cups Patton had left for them, peeling off the Post-it that bore Virgil's name, and a little heart. Trying to hand the cup to the little as he stuck the post it on the next cup in line, Lo didn't quite expect it to hit his foot hard, followed by small whimpers. Virge, watching the now floored cup with teary eyes, wriggled trying to reach it, his thumb having made its way back into his mouth in place of the tie, almost masking his guilty look, as Logan gasped. Muffling his hiss of pain, he tried his hardest to assure the little that it was okay, that it wasn't his fault, accidents happen, as he stooped to pick up the -thankfully spillproof- Sippy. He was determined to do better than his previous mistake, cleaning off the spout with a hand, and offered it again, keeping hold of it himself this time, though Vee just whimpered and turned away from it. "Are...are you okay?" Logan whispered, shutting the fridge with a foot, carrying the drink and the baby back into the front room, and settling back down into his chair, concerned. All he got was a quick head shake, and a tearful burble, before Virgil buried his face in the CG's side, feeling like he needed to hide. "What was that? Baba?" Logan parroted, trying to make sense of it, not quite sure what the problem was, instead just carrying on stroking Virgil's cheek with a finger. Puzzling over the word, Logan started up his idle humming again, trying to coax the little out from his buried ball position, content enough to be patient. "Do you want something else to drink, other than apple juice?" He tried, only getting a muffled repetition of the same burble, a wet patch starting to spread on his shirt. "How about..." He trailed off, taking the sippy back into his hands, and staring at it for a second. "How about this?" He tried again, offering the drink to the little, who peeped out nervously. He hadn't done much, merely forced the sippy to change into a small bottle, but Virgil seemed much more content at the sight of it, burbling the same word over and over, though making no move to take it. "Is this a baba?" Logan wondered out loud, forever confused by the intricacies of baby talk, something that, by rights, should be simple to handle. Gently moving the now-bottle closer, Lo watched as Virgil, instead of reaching for it, merely opened his mouth a little, even obediently moving his thumb out of the way. "You want to be fed it?" Logan's voice was slightly incredulous, unable to believe Patton had never told him this stuff, sure it would have been helpful to know, but nodded all the same. "Alright, come here then." He mumbled, shifting to sit on the couch, to have more space, sliding Virgil half onto the cushions gently, his upper half propped up in Logan's arms, the CG gasping slightly as he slipped the bottle teat into the littles mouth and he instantly started suckling. He was like a baby through-and-through, and Logan was fascinated by it, watching with completely unveiled curiosity as Virgil's hands fisted and released idly as he drank, like he wanted to support the bottle himself, but couldn't get the coordination, along with the innocent look in his slightly-glazed over eyes, implying that the rhythm of the bottle was actually helping to soothe him. "That's it, well done." Logan praised, using the hem of his shirt to wipe away a slight dribble, smiling wide as Virgil seemed to glow at the praise. "I've got you, its okay." He continued, mostly parroting little phrases he had picked up, both from Patton and various parenting web sites he had researched, though Vee didn't seem to know the difference, snuggling deeper as the bottle drew to its last few drops, with a tiny yawn. "Are you feeling sleepy?" Logan didn't really want the moment to end, as he took the empty drink, swapping it for the pacifier from his pocket, putting it aside to clean later. Virge, rubbing his eyes even as they drooped, tried to deny it round the paci, but Lo just chuckled. "Sure, i believe you. How about you join me in reading my book for now?" He offered, knowing full well by this point that Virgil was not going to make it through one chapter, since he couldn't even read in this headspace. Nodding weakly cuz it got him out of nap time, Virgil felt Logan stretch to reach for his book, resting his head gently on the CG's chest once they were all settled back down. His pacifier bobbed gently between his lips as Lo opened the book, the strange smell making him sneeze tinily, prompting a soft chuckle from the reader, before the spine creaked, and pages rustled up above, Lo doing his best to find his place, and a comfortable position, without jostling too much. Once everything was ready, and he was sure Vee wouldn't be uncomfortable, Logan gently cleared his throat, licking his lips a little, and started to speak aloud. "Althalus reached up, took the burning torch from the bronze ring beside the door, and followed Ghend into the room, carefully pulling the door closed behind him. Then he held the torch aloft, and the two of them looked around the strong room for the first time." He read, slow, and careful, so that Virgil could keep up, even as the little's eyes drooped further. Shifting to fully lay down, Logan didn't miss the tiny squeak as the movement surprised the regressor, pulling him closer to his chest, and continuing to read, the peaceful atmosphere sort of pleasant, and certainly stress-free. Patton would be pleased. True to form, before Lo had even managed to get through half a chapter, Virgil's breaths were starting to even out a little more, his eyes having all but shut a few pages previously, as he cuddled deeper. Pausing for a few seconds, Logan stroked the little's hair out of his eyes, smiling gently at what he had managed to do, almost proud of himself for making Vee so happy and comfortable. Almost. Quickly scanning the page, he picked back up where he had left off, with a small bashful blush, not yet ready to accept that maybe he was a good CG, instead just murmuring the lines to the drifting baby laid on his chest. The stairs creaked gently as Roman crept down them, looking to all the world like a deer in headlights as he looked around, sure that a snake-man would jump out at him if he didn't frantically check every little corner and shadow, and, at a slight wave from Logan, he almost jumped out of his skin, clamping a hand over his mouth so he didn't scream, having noticed the sleepiness of the moment. Averting his gaze, he scuttled into the kitchen, head down, like a man on a mission, opening the fridge shakily, and humming a tiny 'hmph'. Carrying on reading, sure that none of them were at any immediate risk from serpentine ambushes, Logan didn't notice as Ro cast a quick, terrified look over to him, hand hovering over the remaining two sippies in the fridge door, before he grabbed one in a sudden rush of fear, shoving it deep into his jacket pocket. "Galbak’s scouts had found the tracks Althalus had carefully put down from the back of the hay barn to the trail that followed the river gorge. The main gate swung open, and Galbak led his men out in pursuit of the thieves." Logan kept reading, only just seeing out the corner of his eye as Roman tried to sneak back upstairs, nervous as a skittish rabbit, but paused, taken in by the mention of thieves, and instead folded himself up small as he could in the armchair, cradling something multicolored against his chest like he didn't want either of the other two to see it. One of Virgil's sippy cups, apparently, as Roman quickly tipped it up to get a drink, when he thought the logical side wasn't looking. He didn't really mind, the cups were useful for everyone, not just the regressor, but, as Roman rested his cheek in one hand, the position seemed awkward, his knee now employed with hiding the almost shameful cup. It wasn't until Logan finished the chapter and paused for a second to check on Virgil, now all the way asleep, that he could even ask Roman how he was. However, just as he bookmarked the page, and laid the book down to begin a conversation, Virgil stirred just enough to mumble a single word round his pacifier. "Mommy..." He hummed, then nuzzling deeper, seemingly slumbering, totally oblivious to what he had just said. Roman broke into hesitant giggles upon hearing that, moving his hand away, to speak, and if his thumb looked a little more wrinkled than it should, who was to take him up on it? "Hehe, Mother Logan." He commented, looking shyly away from the CG and flinching back, just in case it would cause a negative reaction. No such unpleasantness came, Logan instead cracking a small smile, hiding how fuzzy the nickname made him feel inside, and gently sat up, smoothly as he could, cradling Virgil. "Indeed, Roman. I suppose i am now his mother figure." He agreed, looking down curiously to the sleeping side, and stroking his head again. "But, for now, i need to put him down for his nap. Would you like to stay and listen to a little more of that book afterward? I noticed you seemed to like it?" Logan offered, quickly patching it over with a "Of course, dont feel obliged." As he mounted the first few stairs, not wanting to pressure Roman into doing anything he didn't want to do, especially since it was so rare for him to even venture downstairs anymore. "I could make some snacks, and we could....we could talk, if you dont want to read with me?" He wanted to give the creative side some decisions so he didn't feel so trapped in a corner, on top of giving time to hide the sippies, if he didn't want to tell Logan anything yet. He was greeted with a nod, and a small, but genuine smile. "Talking sounds good....Mom."

[black-streak]

Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - Routine

Part 3

Hey! I came up with a name for this finally! Might've been listening to Elton John at the time.... Completely self induglent fluff for part 3. Also changed the part title for timinette thing to 'the beginning'. Very original, I know. So I've decided to not have anyone aware of identities here. And Mari also does not use the ladybug in this.

Lastly, from what I gather, Tim canonically seems to swing between sharp, calculating and carefully selective with words aaand a complete disaster child with severe anxiety, weird obsessions, and no filter. So if anyone has any notes on my characterization of him, I'd be happy to hear it.

...Please don't get use to this rapid update schedule, I have no control on the speed in which I write these.

~---~

Marinette meant to make good on her request for a movie with Tim. She really did. She was not some shy little teenager anymore and if she wanted to have a date with the guy she liked, no one could stop her from trying!

Except maybe a spike in her commissions, an Arkham breakout, and three narrowly avoided confrontations with multiple of the bat… people. So maybe she was exhausted and overworked and it had been over two weeks since the morning she woke up on Tim. Maybe at this point she couldn't even concentrate on the date portion and just wanted to skip right into the napping together bit. But who could really blame her? Life is cruel to the sleepless. So perhaps the way they actually ended up dating could be forgiven.

It started on a gloomy Sunday afternoon that Mari found him at a desk in the manor library, pouring over what looked like a criminal case? In a manilla folder? What? Who even uses manilla outside of a filing cabinet anymore? And for what purpose did he need to read it so intently? 

Shaking the confusion off, she refocused on her current mission. Tricking him into taking a nap.

Pushing down a blush, she tapped him on the shoulder.

Startling, he turned partially to look up to her while closing the file, not expecting the interruption.

"Oh, hey! Did um… did you need something?" 

Taking in the dark bags building under his eyes, two empty cups on the desk, and overly comfy clothes, she realized this might be easier than she originally planned for. He looked perfectly nap ready and as over worked as she was. 

Nodding, Marinette took hold of his hoodie sleeve and gave a small tug.

Tim turned further to face her fully, watching for only a moment before seemingly coming to some conclusion.

"Whatever it is will have to wait. You need sleep."

Only she didn't argue, simply nodding again and tugging at his sleeve again, pleading eyes latching onto his.

"Nap?"

Understanding dawned on Tim and lit a small smile across his face as he moved his attention back to the desk, closing up all his work and compiling it to transport.

"Let me gather this up."

A happy sound of approval sounded behind him before lean arms wrapped around his shoulders, a face ducking close to his neck, quietly resting in wait.

Not entirely surprised with the contact, Tim took it in stride, though his mind was whirling with possible causes, attempting to determine whether this was a show of further affection or simply the way she interacted with those she deemed close to her. He'd seen the way Mari leaned into Jason when he ruffled her hair or tossed an arm about her shoulders. The happy cheek kiss she graced Dick in thanks for helping with one thing or another. The way Damian allowed her to pull him around by the hand all the time. Maybe she decided on sleepy cuddles for him? But then, it had sounded like flirting and an offer for more last time. Had he read too much into it or was this the offer come to fruition at last? 

Speaking of which, as he grabbed the last file, she slid one hand over and down his arm to grab at a hoodie sleeve to tug once more, simultaneously shifting away so he could get up.

In a fashion similar to two weeks ago, he paid little mind to her dragging him about until he noticed her aiming for the door, quickly twisting a hand to grab her wrist and redirect them towards the couch in the room. 'Whatever this is, there's no need to advertise it for my brother's to see.'

Meanwhile, Marinette was trying to figure out the best way to get Tim to put his work aside and just cuddle her. Obviously he seemed to be following along now, but if the way he brought over the case file was any indication, he planned to continue working while she slept beside him. 

'Hmm… he followed suit last time, maybe it'll work again this time,' she thought, smile regaining momentum on her face when she saw the library couch went much deeper than the living room one.

He must have read her mind, because he immediately sat sideways, upper back pressed into the arm of the couch, still holding onto her wrist to guide her towards him.

Climbing over, she sandwiched herself between his body and the couch, leaning into his shoulder. He hesitated slightly, then adjusted his left arm behind her and reopened the case in his lap.

"What's with that anyways? Not your usual work there," she murmured.

"Old cold case. Hobby of mine to try and solve them. Or at least find details that were missed in the initial investigation," he intoned smoothly, use to the line of questioning.

"Hmm," she adjusted her legs to lay across his lap, reaching to prop the folder on them as a makeshift desk, "tell me about it?"

"The details are pretty grim, you sure?"

"Mhm, I don't mind. It's like rubber duck coding, right? Maybe if you explain it out loud to someone the missing pieces will pop into place."

And that's how Tim found himself explaining the intricate pattern of a series of connected murders to Marinette, who took the horrific descriptions in stride, sometimes throwing in theories for him to pick apart as he went. Even if it didn't look it with her closed eyes and relaxed disposition, she was obviously actively listening and paying attention to his rapid fire rambling which in turn encouraged him to continue despite his initial hesitance.

Stopping mid sentence, he yanked the file closer with his free hand, the other wrapped around her waist, studying it intently for a moment. 

Letting out a frustrated breath, he murmured in a way indicating her almost forgotten presence, "Really? That's it?" And proceeded to move both arms to hold the pages steady, incidentally shifting Mari fully up onto his chest to accommodate the movement as he wrote across the page, connecting the dots to give a final full picture. Closing the folder up and moving it to the side table, Tim rewrapped his arms around her waist, taking smug satisfaction at successfully transferring her fully into his lap without it seeming to be on purpose.

"You make a good duck."

"Told you it would work, Drake."

"You sound like my brother."

"Hmm, don't call me a duck and I won't call you a drake."

"You're the one who brought up being my metaphorical rubber duck. You only have yourself to blame."

"And your the one who's last name literally means 'male duck', Drake," she deadpanned back to him.

Narrowing his eyes, Tim stared her down. However, Marinette was not one to back down to a challenge and only quipped, "So, still going to call me a duck?"

"I'll concede this round, but you're not cuddling back up to me until you find something else to call me. I'm not trying to hold my brother's clone here."

"Oh? But you are trying to hold your little brother's best friend?" She teased, turning a little pink and marveled at his own flushing face.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who came in seeking My attention."

Giggling, she squirmed so that one leg was curled over his, torso shifted to in between his side and the couch once more, and tucked into his neck for the second time that day, smile pressing into his skin.

"Not denying it, Mon Cher."

Not expecting agreement nor the endearment, Tim gave a hum in response, not wanting to let on how flustered he felt. Lifting a hand, he hovered it over her head, not sure it'd be welcome, but holding a sigh of relief when she pressed up towards it, as though sensing its proximity and craving the affection it seemed to promise. Which is how he found himself nuzzling the side of her head, hand running down her hair in a soothing pet, listening to the almost purr that reverberated from her into his skin. 

"You cut off earlier. How did the case end?" She spoke, lifting only enough to speak, but close enough that her lips still brushed his neck with every word before lowering back in.

And so Tim told her, giving her the answer before going back and explaining the connection and then finally the less notable details as he sensed her slowly falling into a light slumber listening to the low timber of his voice warm in her ear.

With a small smile, soft and unsure, he settled further against her, pulling her tighter just a moment before allowing himself to drift as well.

…..

Every few days, Mari would seek him out. The same tired, pleading look. The same gentle tugs and soft embraces. Helping him finish whatever he was working on before falling asleep curled up to him, humming with his hands in her hair and warm breath fanning across her skin. Sometimes the side of her head, other times murmuring random details into her ear, and on one notable occasion, down the side of her neck.

Sometimes they wouldn't sleep, just pass jokes and obscure references or talk about her latest project, finding rest and solace in one another without the need for immediate sleep.

And then finally, finally, one of them took a step forward. 

… maybe not the way either of them planned. They'd been running this routine for three weeks straight but now.. It'd been 4 days and Mari had yet to come find him. This did not sit well with Tim, who counted on her to enforce something along the lines of regular sleep for him. Even if it was only in the form of long afternoon naps every couple days. Needless to say, he was grumpy, over caffeinated, and not entirely in his right mind when he sought her out. 

Tim found her eventually, probably in Damian's room based on the bed and katana above the headboard. He hadn't paid attention enough on his mindless search to be 100% sure. Either way, she was there and that's what mattered. Taking a page out of her book, Tim walked over, took ahold of her wrist and tugged her up and towards the door, grip loose enough to slip out if she so desired, only to be stopped by large hand gripping his own wrist. 

That's when Tim decided to actually take in the room fully, surprised to see Damian standing there, scowling with a raised eyebrow, not appreciating the abrupt interruption or kidnapping attempt.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"It's naptime," Tim stated, blinking back with a blank, unfazed expression.

Taken off guard, Damian stared at him, speechless, hand falling back to his side. Tim decided to take advantage of this and made way for the door once more, only to be blocked off once more, tired anxiety and frustration building by the moment.

"That doesn't explain you bursting in here and kidnapping my Angel." Damian stated, arms crossing in defiance, more annoyed at the lack of permission to enter his room than the way Tim sought her out.

"Mine."

"What?" The two younger occupants voiced.

"It's not naptime without Mari. You've been monopolizing her time. Mine now."

Neither of the younger could make heads nor tails of that. One use to Tim cutting off emotions and speaking so directly without consideration, but not the possessiveness being displayed. The other use to the clinginess and sleepless, unthinking words, but not the deadpanned delivery. It was weird to see the two sides mix together into this.

Mari was yanked from her stupor as Tim wrapped his arms around her, chin resting on her head, uncaring of their audience for the moment.

Eyes wide, she turned towards him and tilted to look up and meet his own dead ones.

"Yours?"

Reigning her in again, he rested his cheek in her hair, murmuring, "Mine."

Her and Dami met eyes and a smirk stretched across his face as he realized what this finally met.

"It's on."

"I suppose it is. If you'll excuse us, I think my attention is being demanded elsewhere."

"Oh, you think?"

"Mhm."

With that she allowed Tim to tug her away from the room, surprisingly not questioning the exchange, only to hear more invasive voices from down the hall. Not wanting to deal with the inevitable teasing and questions, he twirled on his heel, bringing her back past Damian and over into his own room. Surprised, but willing, Mari allowed him to lead her into his bed, hands holding her to him as he curled around her petite form, blanket coming up around them.

Finally finding her words, bright red painting her face, she turned in his arms, "Where'd that come from?"

"It's been 4 days. You never take that long."

"Miss me?" She teased, but the effect was ruined by the hope her voice betrayed.

"Terribly," he admitted unflinchingly. Surely, he was going to have an absolute anxiety attack when he woke up, but for now, his thoughts weren't coherent enough to be monitored or analyzed before falling out.

"What took you so long?" He wondered, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Kept getting too busy. You're not the only one who gets sucked into too much to think of sleep." She whispered, settling closer and running her hands over his shoulders in a soothing manner, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

" You should be apologizing to yourself. You need our naps as much as I do." 

Humming, she guided her fingers up into his hair, glancing at his lips without thinking, "Do you think we could watch that movie you promised me next time?"

Waking up a little more at the seriousness of the question, even under the pretense of playfulness, he sent her a calculating look.

"I'd like that, ma lutine. Sunday night? We can watch it in my apartment..." He asks, purposefully looking down to her own parted lips before meeting her eyes again.

Silvery blues lit up at the endearment slipping out, moving further up into his space, lining up without touching.

"Yes please," whispers out.

Taking the plea for what it is, Tim slowly cups the back of her head in one hand, the other moving to tilt her chin. It's only for a moment, but he kisses her with such sweet affection, she feels dizzy with it.

He pulls away to her soft, happy humming, sleep creeping into the edges of his mind. Tucking her back under his chin, he falls into slumber with a quiet murmur.

"It's a date then."