("We choose to love, we do not choose to stop loving.")
(Listen to this while reading)
Word count: 4.4k
Warnings: Angst, mentions of injuries, baby (?), some cringe writing, one curse word (tell me what I missed pls)
A/n: These are my children, I suck at grammar ish. Don't hurt me like I've hurt them-
Hephaestus lay asleep on his side of the bed, snoring loudly. Meanwhile, Marinell had been staring at the ceiling, restless for what he will do, he turned to Hephaestus and reached out a hand. Marinell went to caress his cheek, then hesitated.
His thoughts spun and ran in his mind, he has had months of preparation. But would he ever be ready for it? No, he wouldn’t. However, Hephaestus and Euphrosyne will be safer if he did. Hephaestus was still healing from his wounds, not even Marinell’s healing abilities could help.
Marinell’s eyes welled up with tears, he pinched his nose and covered his mouth as he let out a shuddery breath. He knew that Hephaestus’s mental health would take a hit from this, but he knew that Euphrosyne would be his reason to keep on going. Throughout his pains, Hephaestus would not be one to give up. Especially on a child he had waited for for so long.
Marinell turned away, shutting his eyes and hoped the land of slumber would take him. For tomorrow at twilight’s shine, he will have to leave his family behind. He shan’t tell Hephaestus, for his love will persuade him. Marinell would become weak for him, giving in to his every whim. Perhaps Hephaestus hating him would make it a great deal easier, for all of them. Marinell knows that he will be a prisoner for his family, it hurts him that he may never see his daughter grow up. He may never age, but he will know that his loved ones will wither away upon the coming years. For Death shall ring Her tolls and guide them to the afterlife.
Marinell wishes to have more time with both of them, but the longer he goes, the more it’ll hurt. His daughter may never know him, but it is a comfort knowing that she will be safe from his family. They both will. Bearing punishment for them was worth it, even if he had to go through it twice over. Hephaestus already experienced much due to his curse. Marinell wasn’t much for praying to other deities, having only known his family would be there to give him anything… But for this? Marinell had pleaded and begged any one that may listen to his call, ‘Strengthen my husband, strengthen my daughter, protect them, I offer anything. I beg, I plead, I show upon any of thee that I am willing and able. Protect my husband from himself, protect him from wrongdoers or anything that may cause harm. I beg and plead a sorrowful song unto any who listens to me.’
He finished his prayers and started to slowly succumb to rest, Oneiros guiding Marinell slowly. As he almost stepped a foot into the land of Dreaming, a sharp cry rang in the air. Startling him and Hephaestus awake, Hephaestus sat up beside him. He then groaned and pressed his chest, massaging it as he heaved and wheezed just a bit.
Marinell swung his legs off the bed, he then rubbed his eyes. He blinked blearily as he stood, Hephaestus then made a noise of protest, he then spoke up “No no, cara mia. I can handle this. You’ve done enough yesterday, or is it still today? Whatever, you’re hogging Euphrosyne and that’s quite unfair, beloved.” Hephaestus walked to Marinell’s front, head leaning down a tad to meet his gaze. He raised a hand and rubbed Marinell’s cheek, pulling him in to kiss him. Marinell deepened the kiss, hands snaking their way behind Hephaestus’s neck. They slithered slowly and combed fingers into his hair.
The cries then became louder, Hephaestus pulled away while Marinell’s head spun at the lack of oxygen. Hephaestus pushed Marinell’s chest so that he sat on the bed, “Right, I’ll be back. Go to sleep, darling, you look like you need it. The princess awaits.” He chuckles as he walks out of the room. Marinell smiled sadly, no more days like this. No more kisses that fill his heart and soul, only the guilt and longing that will replace it. A void that would perhaps consume every fiber of his being.
Marinell finally let the dam break, an onslaught of tears fell, making it hard to see. He couldn’t anymore, the thought crashed heavily on him. Apathy could only hold the feeling off for so long. The lack of sleep pulled his emotions to overdrive, making it hurt all the more than it had when he numbed it down. He grasped at his heart, trying to make the hurt lessen. Marinell shoved his head into his pillow, taking in stuttering breaths. He calmed his breathing, following the patterns he was taught by Hephaestus. Deep breaths in, and deep breaths out. Marinell shut his eyes for the umpteenth time, clearing his throat. Might as well force his body to sleep…
*footstep*
*footstep*
*Creeee-ak*
Hephaestus stepped in with Euphrosyne in tow, he couldn’t resist bringing along the darling girl. She cooed softly in her sleep, Hephaestus rocked her gently. He looked to Marinell’s form on the bed, a calming feel washed over Hephaestus. He walked quietly as he could to bed, pulling up the covers and climbing in. He then settled Euphrosyne in between him and Marinell, placing a gentle kiss on her nose, to which she sneezed in response which made Hephaestus let out a small laugh, settling in and letting out a big sigh. Time for rest.
*the following day*
The sun rose and shone brightly, gleaming through the curtain. The beams glaring at Marinell, he squinted his eyes and let out a small sound. Covering his eyes from the harsh light, he turned and found the bed empty. His mind was still hazy from sleep, Marinell was confused, but not for long. For the sounds of singing and giggling had answered his question, it was followed by the sound of sizzling. Marinell grinned slightly, shaking his head as he stood up. Then he was struck by the thought of him leaving later, the smile swiped from his face as quickly as it had come.
Marinell took a breath in, willing himself to walk out the door. If this was their last day together, might as well make it special for them. Sweeten the betrayal before it befalls on them, this shall forever pierce their memories.
Marinell walked slowly to the kitchen, Hephaestus had his back turned to him. Euphrosyne sat on her high chair, gnawing on her chubby fist. A pink cap on her head, covering the wispy brown mixed with aquamarine. She grabbed her seashell rattle that sat in front of her, shaking it as wildly as she could. Hephaestus let out a laugh, “Careful with that, seashell, it just might fly out of your wee hand,”
As he uttered those words, Euphrosyne threw the rattle at the floor.
“Speaking of. You’re such a cheeky baby, Euphrosyne. What will me and your father ever do with you, my seashell?” Hephaestus turned and saw Marinell in the doorway, his arms were crossed as he looked upon his husband and child. Hephaestus arched a brow, picking up the seashell rattle and putting it in front of Euphrosyne who only picked it up, shaking it as wildly as she could once more. Hephaestus spread his arms, grasping at Marinell and hugged him. Hephaestus pulled his head back, “Good morning, cara mia. I’ve made us some breakfast. Your favorite, some fried potatoes and garlic fried shrimp. You deserve it for taking care of our little tulip.” He placed his forehead on Marinell’s, living in the moment. Euphrosyne squealed, making the two men laugh, Marinell spoke, “Alright, you noisy bub. C’mere.” Marinell walked over and plucked Euphrosyne out of her seat.
Hephaestus went back to cooking, throwing a tea towel over his shoulder and swiping at the beads of sweat that formed. Tossing the food around a bit before grabbing a plate, placing the food onto it. Marinell opened a window that overlooked the seashore, the sounds of the ocean waves and the seagulls filling their ears. The salty smell of the sea hitting his and Euphrosyne’s noses. Euphrosyne reached a hand out to the vibrant blue waves of the sea, as if it called to her.
Marinell was worried about it, but it was bound to happen. His connection to the sea would pass on to her, of course it would! Her fist clenched and unclenched, a tiny whine escaping her mouth. She looked at her father, pouting as her eyes watered. Marinell shook his head, “No, dear one. We can’t-”
“Sure, we can!” Hephaestus hugged Marinell from behind, kissing Euphrosyne’s chubby cheek. Euphrosyne slapped away Hephaestus, his beard especially unpleasant to her in the morning. As well as the fact that she is currently not getting what she wants.
“Oi, little missy, I’m on your side! How could you… My once loving daughter... Hurt me so much.” Hephaestus said dramatically, throwing his head back as he shut his eyes and placed the back of his hand on his forehead. Marinell let out a small laugh, kissing Euphrosyne’s other cheek. Her face was a tad rosy, as if embarrassed and upset. She burrowed herself into Marinell’s neck, a hand grasping tightly onto his tunic.
Hephaestus stepped back, “Guess we know who’s your favorite huh, sweetheart?” Euphrosyne merely thumbed the cloth of Marinell’s tunic, eyes still looking out the window. Hephaestus spoke once more, “Alright, settle her down, cara mia. We should eat and then go down by the beach. I have an off day from the library and Yelena has it handled for fishing. Family day out! I can finally spend some time with you lot.” He settled back on the counter, taking a drink from a mug of warm water with ginger in it. He gestured at the plate that was set on the table. A bowl of mashed up potatoes and a separate bowl of fruits sat on the table of Euphrosyne’s high chair.
“What about you, Heph? You should eat as well, you’re still recovering.” Marinell arched a brow, as of late, Hephaestus had begun to eat irregularly. Cutting back on certain meals and losing more weight than normal. His once muscular physique had slimmed down, his age became more prominent on his face. The once energetic man he had been, slowly dissipating as time went by.
Hephaestus looked away and waved Marinell off, “It’s fine,” Marinell rolled his eyes, Hephaestus looked back at him and raised both hands, “Cara mia, I really am. Besides, I got a tad peckish an hour after I brought our princess to our bed. Loaded myself up with cheese and crackers, which reminds me, we should head to the markets later. I’ll tell you more of my plans as you eat. Hurry, food’s getting cold, beloved.” Hephaestus stood up and pulled a chair out, he then walked to pick up Euphrosyne. Hephaestus proceeded to smother her chubby face with kisses, she responded in kind by giggling and shoving his face away.
“So sorry to keep passing you around, darling. Now come on, you’re probably hungry.” Hephaestus stopped his attacks, looking into Euphrosyne’s silvery bluish green eyes. She drooled a bit, shaking her arm up and down as she began to babble. Hephaestus grinned from ear to ear, placing another small kiss on her button nose. He carefully situated her on her high chair, taking the tea towel off his shoulder and tying it around her neck as a makeshift bib.
It was a nice quiet morning, Marinell for the most part of it had watched Hephaestus feed their daughter. Laughing a bit as he saw Hephaestus try to make their daughter mimic him so she would eat. A stone settled into the pit of his stomach, this would be the last time he would ever see such an occurrence. He stared longer, trying to capture them the way that they are. Trying to sear this moment in his mind forever, although, in his heart, he knew he would never forget them. They were burned into the core of his being, traversing through every stream of his veins. For his love had bewitched him wholly.
After their breakfast, Marinell insisted on cleaning the plates while Hephaestus rested a tad. Well, he didn’t exactly follow through. He quickly got a move on packing things for their little adventure, Marinell could hear him telling Euphrosyne of what today will look like.
“First, my darling child, we shall go to the beach,” To which Euphrosyne squealed in response, Hephaestus laughed as she did so, “Yes, my seashell, the beach. Your favorite place. You truly are your fathers’s child. Now, after the beach, we shall return home for a nap. Following after said nap, the marketplace. We need more cheese and more clothes for you, ‘m afraid you’re growing too fast for your clothes, seashell.” Hephaestus said in a higher register, baby talk.
Marinell tuned out after, grabbing the other tea towel they had and wiped his hands dry. He stalked over to their bedroom, seeing Hephaestus packing an extra shirt in a bag. Euphrosyne sat on the bed, slobbering on a glass swan. Marinell then took it out of her mouth, causing her to yell. Marinell tsked, “We need to pack your clothes for later.”
“Already did that, snacks and packing. I need to be active in this family as well. Now, let’s go!”
Off they went to the beach near their home, Hephaestus and Euphrosyne being the only two who swam. Marinell was quite peeved off at the sea, not wanting to even touch it. He would comment once in a while about what Hephaestus and Euphrosyne were doing. They spent about an hour at most swimming, Euphrosyne had tired herself out from all the playing. Hephaestus walked back to the shore with the babe resting on his shoulder. Hephaestus chuckled, rubbing her back slightly. Marinell met him halfway, placing a towel over their child’s wet form. Hephaestus kissed him, “Thanks for always being there, love.”
Marinell caressed his cheek, “I do my best.”
The small family had gone home, resting for a tad before they went off to another adventure to the marketplace. Euphrosyne this time was strapped to Hephaestus, he would make her smell some of the food and if she had disliked it, he would return and pick another. Marinell would hang back at moments, then catch up. Sometimes he would be overly affectionate, sometimes he would be over protective. There was no in between, Hephaestus had even asked about it once. Marinell had merely shook it off. Saying that he’s always been this way, which backfired completely, because Hephaestus apologized profusely. Marinell covered his mouth with his hand, kissing his cheek and telling him not to worry. He clutched his husband’s hand, leading him to another area.
They played around for a bit near the school, then danced around for a bit to the band that were playing. Tossing a gold coin in the hat on the ground. Late in the evening, they had gone back home. Marinell and Hephaestus cooked dinner together, teasing each other at times. Euphrosyne would look at them and laugh, her hands clapping as she squeaks.
The day had ended and the fog of happiness in Marinell’s mind had gone. He was in the same debacle as yesterday however, he would be leaving soon. Forever. He waited for his husband to sleep, the moment he heard Hephaestus snore. Marinell carefully sat up, getting out of bed. He looked back at his husband, then turned away. Marinell opened their closet, he searched in the dark for a box. He found it quickly at the bottom, he stepped outside the room and went to the kitchen. Marinell placed the box on the table, he lit a lamp and opened the box. He picked up the bracers he hadn’t worn in years. A crown, his crown, laid under the bracers.
He took them out slowly, as if to stall. But he shouldn’t be late. Marinell placed the first bracer on his left, flinching at the way it clung to him. He took the right one and locked it in place. The crown was the finishing piece. Marinell wore it, the set was now complete. While some would have loved to have worn all these things, Marinell detested them. All these things solidified the fact that he was a prisoner to his family. Marinell looked at the clock that hung on the wall, he had 30 minutes to leave. His meeting spot with Nerissa was ways off, he could see it from the kitchen window. The glowing of the sea, his eyes glowed in return.
Marinell walked out of the door, shutting it gently to not make a noise. He walked forward, not glancing back even once.
Hephaestus snorted in his sleep, choking a bit on some spit. It effectively woke him up, he flopped to the other side, expecting to find another body but finding none. Hephaestus thought, “He must’ve gone to the bathroom.” Hephaestus was slowly drifting back to sleep.
A cry had woken him up, Hephaestus bolted straight up. He thought that Marinell might handle it, but the cry had gone on far too long for Hephaestus. He stumbled out of bed, “Coming, Euphrosyne,” he said groggily. Hephaestus opened the door to her room, picking her up from her crib. Her cries softened, Hephaestus let out a small laugh. He patted her back, hushing her gently as he hummed. “We spent the whole day together, sweet one. But you miss me still?”
Euphrosyne cooed in response, Hephaestus hummed more, “Well, let’s get you some milk. It’s usually your feeding time anyway. Let’s go, seashell.”
Euphrosyne gripped at her father’s beard, pulling harshly at it. He let out a pained groan, the pain waking him up. His eyes blinked away the last bits of sleep as he went to the kitchen. He carried her around as he took one of Euphrosyne’s bottles. Hephaestus turned on the light, he turned and saw the box on the table. A box he had seen before, a gust of wind hit him in the face before he could ponder on it some more. Hephaestus turned to the window, seeing the glowing sea.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Hephaestus ran on the sand with Euphrosyne in tow, he hid her under his cloak. He could faintly see the outline of someone’s figure. Marinell. Hephaestus knew in his heart that it was Marinell, he moved faster. The wind bit at his face as it grew stronger, he clutched Euphrosyne tightly. His breathing grew rapid, his lungs beginning to struggle to get air in. He panted as his muscles burned, “MARINELL!” Hephaestus shouted, hoping to catch his attention. The wind grew louder, whistling in his ears.
“MARINELL!” He shouted as best as he could over the air, Euphrosyne managed to sleep through all of this. Hephaestus thanked whatever deity made it that his daughter hadn’t woken up. He could feel her small breaths on his neck as he strained his voice, “MARINELL!!!”
Marinell could hear his husband, but not once did he turn. Turning would only make it worse, he saw Nerissa standing guard at the meet up. Her tall figure is intimidating to any who may see her in the clearing. Marinell’s pace remained unfaltering, slow but steady; unfazed by the strengthening of the storm. His husband kept calling out to him. Marinell’s eyes shut, taking in a breath and striding forwards.
Hephaestus took big gulps of air, his lungs squeezing tightly. A jolt of adrenaline rushed through him as he heard the crackling of thunder. He lost feeling to all of his body, mind focusing on Marinell. Euphrosyne moved a little, but Hephaestus could barely notice. He was nearing Marinell, he took in gasping breaths; a hand reached forward and grabbed at Marinell’s forearm.
“Marinell! What’s going on, cara mia?” Hephaestus yelled.
Marinell spoke no words, head tilted and eyes aglow. His stare was distant, as if he were caught in a trance. Hephaestus shook him ever so slightly, cupping his face as Marinell stared through him. His once loving husband, gone without a moment’s notice. Nerissa had seen the commotion and stepped out of the water, drawing her sword from its sheath. She dripped head to toe with water, eyes glowing the same blue that had enraptured Marinell.
Hephaestus paid no mind as he gripped Marinell’s face, chest heaving up and down as he shook Marinell. Another crash of thunder and lightning struck as Nerissa pushed Hephaestus back. He dropped to the sand.
*BOOM*
*CRACK*
He raised his hand, as if that may shield them from her. He turned his body so that Euphrosyne may not be struck, Hephaestus held her a distance from him. She squirmed but slept still; Hephaestus closed his eyes. Preparing for the end that may come.
…
….
…..
He waited with bated breath, but nothing came. No pain came. He heard a gasp from the woman, one of his eyes opened. Turning his head slowly, he saw the sword being thrown aside. The rushing winds blew his hood over his head, standing up, he looked to see what had happened. Marinell held the woman’s arm, staring into her very soul with fiery rage. The blue glow fading in and out of his irises.
They fully stopped after Marinell turned his gaze to his husband, his features softened as he dropped Nerissa’s arm. He wanted to speak, to utter apologies to Hephaestus. But his voice belonged to the sea… He cannot even whisper.
Marinell gestured for Hephaestus to stop, backing up slowly. Nerissa got her composure back, taking her sword back and sheathing it. She was terrified, yet she was still fierce. Her eyes glowed brighter, she stalked off to join the waters.
Hephaestus held a hand out for Marinell, Marinell felt the temptation to grasp it. His insides turned, burning him for rejecting Hephaestus. Their feet had touched the water, Hephaestus was tired of this, he snatched Marinell’s wrist, gripping his bracer tightly.
“Why?” His voice was broken, soft and was caught away in the rushing winds. Tears arose quickly in his eyes, the happiness of yesterday replaced with the sorrows of today.
Marinell shook his head, backing up further, they reached knee deep waters. The glowing casted at their faces from below, Hephaestus tightened his grip further, “Please, my love. Don’t leave us.” A tear fell down his face.
The water rose from below, engulfing Marinell at a natural speed, his face and arms remaining uncovered. They crept as Marinell mouthed the words, ‘Let me go, let me go, it’s alright.’
Hephaestus shook his head, face scrunching up as he felt Marinell pull away. Hephaestus saw the water nearing his hand, making him pull at Marinell. It was a futile attempt. The water kept him down, as if it were stone instead. The water pulled Marinell’s arm down, pinning it to his side. The water began to consume his face, his eyes beginning to glow once more.
‘I love you.’ He mouthed.
Hephaestus felt his heart rip in two as Marinell had been pulled under. The strange glow moved away quickly. He did not know what to do with himself at the moment. His eyes never left the glow, he stood there for what felt like a lifetime. Numb and heartbroken at the same time. A swirl of pain and hatred flowing within him.
Euphrosyne cooing broke him out of his thoughts, he looked down on her, looking at her small figure in his arm. She reached a hand out for him to take, and he did so. Giving her a finger to hold, he walked out of the water, back to his home.
The rain poured heavily from the heavens, shedding the lost tears of Hephaestus for him. He quickened his pace and began to sprint as the rain hammered upon them. Hephaestus covered Euphrosyne once more.
They had reached home, the light of the kitchen welcoming them. Hephaestus felt as though he died, his body moved on its own accord, giving Euphrosyne a warm bath and fresh clothes, feeding her the remainder of her milk. He tucked her in her crib, leaving without even looking at her. His feet dragged him to the kitchen, steps faltering as he fell to his knees. The storm raged outside as Hephaestus succumbed to the grief that called upon him. Willing him to fall into its arms.
He shivered as the air hit him, he was cold and tired. His insecurities ate him whole, not a piece of him went unharmed. He felt sick, he felt pain, he felt everything eat away at him. He took off his tunic, ripping the bandages that wrapped his healing scars. Hephaestus wrapped his arms around himself as he took in breaths.
Standing up, he went to find some alcohol. Something to distract him from all the raging demons within, something that will fill the hole and wash away the pain. He searched in every cabinet and cupboard, none. He seethed in frustration, pacing around the kitchen. Hephaestus ceased as something caught his attention.
The box.
He picked it up, opened it and found it empty…
Save for a ring.
Marinell’s ring.
It glinted under the light.
He crushed the box slightly as his hand held it tightly. Gingerly, he plucked it from its spot inside. He clenched it hard, hands shaking ever so slightly. It dug into the palm of his hand, his nails and the ring denting the skin. Hephaestus willed himself to stop, taking a breath in and opened his palm. It dropped into the box, he regained some of his senses; he walked back to his room. Stopping for a bit, he looked at Euphrosyne’s door.
He entered without a word, shoving the box under his armpit, he carried Euphrosyne out of her cot and brought her into his room. Hephaestus settled her in the middle, she made a noise before snoring lightly. Her father chuckled, then he turned to the closet; opening it and placing it at the bottom. He took some of Marinell’s clothes and shoved it atop the box. Letting out a sigh, he closed the doors. Hephaestus went to lay down, he will have to feel all of that tomorrow.
“You’re a dashing guy. You have a dork-like charm. Surely you have someone home before coming onto this mission.”
Ryland’s being stopped, air not travelling to his lungs.
Flashes of you both sharing a cot and staring off at the ceiling discussing space and its vastness, sharing your lives and details there of.
He knew he would lose you to the trip on the Hail Mary months before the actual trip, and even so, you both got close and didn’t want to go your separate ways regretting having not done anything about your feelings.
So against both your better judgements, you got together and decided to stick by each other till the trip came.
Then the day came.
And Ryland was forced on the ship.
Then he woke up years later, just to experience that loss of you again. — you staring at him as if he were a stranger. For you didn’t know him as Ryland Grace, a person you bared your heart too. But just Dr. Grace a guy that happened to work alongside you on the Hail Mary project.
Ryland swallowed hard keeping his emotions at bay. He averted his eyes from you as if the very sight of you hurt him. “No,” his voice cracked at the edges. “No, there’s no one at home. Not anymore.”
Post Fic Author's Note:
Fun Fact abt this fic: this is the 1st fic that I came up with and wrote for this fandom. Just deep angst for no fucking reason... so... yeah..
Like, Comment, Reblog if you enjoyed the fic! + if you have any fic ideas feel free to comment them or send them in the request box!
Will Graham with a hot rockstar reader? One who's on the covers of magazines with a guitar, and is on tour with the band often. Performances here and there, groupies, and the usual lifestyle of a cliche rockstar, you know? Maybe not too much, idk.
THE ROCKSTAR AND THE PROFILER
Will Graham x Male Reader
Will Graham never liked attention. You, on the other hand, were made for it. It still baffled him sometimes, seeing your face in glossy magazines beside neon text like "The Soul Behind the Strings" or catching your gravel smoke voice in coffee shops and record stores across the country. However, it wasn’t the stardom that unsettled him, it was how often people assumed you liked being adored.
They didn’t know you like he did. Didn’t know who you were before the tattoos, before the platinum records and custom guitars.
Will had met you during his undergrad years. Quietly intense, with headphones perpetually slung around your neck and fingers always tapping rhythms into your jeans. You were studying music theory with half hearted intent, more interested in playing than anything structured. Will had been, well, Will.
Introspective. Brilliant. Solitary.
And you? You wormed your way into his life the same way a favorite song did. Slow at first, then absolutely everywhere.
Back then, no one believed you’d ever make it. Except Will. He used to sit in on your rehearsals, muttering critiques like he didn’t care, but always showing up anyway. He was the first person to buy your demo CD. He still had it, hidden somewhere between his dad's old belongings and fishing poles.
And, when you first kissed, it was an awakening.
Not the kind that came with fireworks or epiphanies. No. It was quieter than that. A brush of your lips against Will’s in the dim hallway of a house party, the music pounding through drywall while the two of you stood close, not touching, not yet. Until you did.
You’d tasted like cheap beer and something sweet. Your breath hitched when his hand curled around the back of your neck, and you pulled back only to whisper. “God, I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”
Will didn’t answer, because he didn’t know what to say. So he kissed you again.
After that, things shifted. Not drastically. You were still you and Will was still himself, more comfortable talking about music theory or murderers than admitting his feelings. Even after graduation, when life tugged you in opposite directions. Him toward the police force, you toward studios and smoky bars, you stayed in each other’s orbit.
Years passed. Careers were built. Fame arrived. And still, when things got loud, you came back to him.
CURRENT DAY (WOLF TRAP, VIRGINIA)
“Baby,” you drawled, arms stretched over your head, shirt riding up just enough to show the deep cut of your hips. “You have to let me buy you a better couch. My back’s killing me.”
Will didn’t look up from the skillet, but you imagined the roll of his eyes. “I warned you it was lumpy. And I know you've slept worse. Tour buses can’t be good for your posture.”
“You warned me after I passed out on it.” you grumbled, rubbing your lower back with a grimace. You swung your legs off the couch, planting your bare feet on the hardwood, still in just his flannel and your boxers. The early evening light spilled in through the windows, casting warm orange across your legs, making your tattoos look like stained glass.
"Besides," You padded into the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, cheek pressing between his shoulder blades. “How do you expect me to sleep comfortably when every surface is sticky from spilled beer or other questionable substances. Yours, however, is covered in dog hair and smells like black coffee.”
“Speaking of, you should head back,” Will murmured, but his body relaxed under your touch. “Your manager’s going to scream again.”
“He already did.” You buried your nose into the crook of his neck. “Didn’t listen.”
Will set the spoon down. “You never do.”
“Not true,” you said, mock-offended. “I listen to you.”
Will turned slowly in your arms, eyes narrowing. “So when I say you need to be careful with the fans—”
You kissed his frown away.
“You know I don’t let them touch me. That’s not my scene, doll. That’s not me.”
Will held your gaze a beat too long. And you knew what he was seeing: headlines, rumors, tabloid shots of your bandmates tangled up with groupies outside clubs, lipstick on their throats and wrists marked with backstage pass stamps.
But you weren’t like them.
You never were.
“I come home to you,” you said firmly. “I call you. I wear your old flannels under my damn leather jacket in Los Angeles summer heat just so I feel close to you. Do you seriously think I’d throw that away for some stranger who only knows my face on a magazine?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, Will pressed his forehead to yours. “I don’t like sharing.”
You smiled. “You don’t have to.”
You left him three days later. The band was waiting. The tour wouldn’t pause just because you were tangled up in the warmth of someone who grounded you. But you slipped something into Will’s drawer before you left. One of your rings. The one you always wore on stage.
He found it the next morning, right next to his shaving kit. When he picked it up, there was a note underneath that said:
"You're the only one who'll ever wear this. Only you, baby."
Werewolf with will graham but he still has fangs after becoming human and will is obsessed with them?????!?!?!?!? And he has a habit of licking them all the time....... can be nsfw but like doesent have to be ><
DON'T HIDE THEM FROM ME
Will Graham x Male Reader
synopsis: Even in human form, your wolf never fully leaves. The fangs stay, reminders of what you are beneath skin, and Will can’t seem to keep his tongue off them.
Will had a habit. No, not one of the polite little quirks people mentioned with affection. This one was more primal. A private indulgence. A worship. His hand cupped your jaw like you were breakable porcelain, but there was nothing gentle about the way he used his mouth.
You'd only barely finished shifting back when he climbed into your lap, straddling your thighs like it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers ran down your still-bare spine, feeling the heat of your skin before they moved to your face.
“I told you not to get into fights when I’m not there,” Will murmured, brushing your split lip with his thumb. “I get jealous.”
“You get jealous of people trying to kill me?”
He smiled. God, that smile. It was never just amused, it was feral. And it meant he was about to do something unhinged in the best way.
“I get jealous that they get to see these.” Will tilted your chin up, thumb teasing your bottom lip until your mouth parted just enough to expose the glint of fangs you never lost, even when the fur disappeared and the claws withdrew.
And then, like always, his mouth was on yours.
It wasn’t a kiss. Not exactly. It was more like he was tasting you. Like he needed confirmation that you were alive. Warm. His. His tongue swept your bottom fang, lingering there as if savoring the sharp edge. It should’ve felt ridiculous, but it didn’t.
It felt like claiming.
Will pulled back with a low breath, and his eyes, blue and blown wide, were locked on your mouth. “You have no idea what these do to me.”
“You’ve only told me a dozen times.” you muttered, but your voice cracked with how tightly your stomach knotted. Your breath stuttered when Will leaned in again, this time dragging his tongue across your top canine like he wanted to cut himself on it.
“Wouldn’t mind letting them pierce me. Just a little. I want to know what it feels like.”
“Will—”
“No one else gets to see you like this,” he said, curling closer, thumb stroking your throat now. “The in between. Human skin but wolf’s mouth. And it’s mine.”
He kissed you then, properly, but his tongue kept returning to those damned fangs, like he was trying to etch the shape of them into his muscle memory. You could feel the faint scrape each time, a shock of sensation that tugged something low and hot inside you.
Later, when you tried to pull away to catch your breath, Will growled, actually growled, and bit your lip to keep you still.
“You lick them like they’re candy.”
Will grinned, tongue darting out again. “They are.”
FRESHLY MARRIED WAYNE COUPLE SPOTTED IN IBIZA ON THEIR HONEYMOON!
bruce wayne fangirls, prepare your hearts— and perhaps a box of tissues— because gotham’s most eligible bachelor is officially (and devastatingly) off the market!
newlyweds bruce wayne and his stunning wife were spotted soaking up the mediterranean sun this week during a luxurious honeymoon getaway in ibiza. the couple, who tied the knot in what many are calling ‘the wedding of the decade’, appeared completely smitten as they enjoyed a rare break from their high-profile lives
fresh paparazzi photos from the couple’s honeymoon show bruce wayne and his wife enjoying a private yacht getaway off the coast of ibiza— and its safe to say neither of them seemed paricualry intrested in anything besides each other
in one photo currently sending social media into a blaze, mrs wayne can be seen perched on top of her husband while the pair float in the ocean on a red and white inflatable ring. the billionaire’s arms are wrapped securely around her waist as the two stare at one another from inches apart, seemingly oblivious to the photographers documenting the moment. witnesses claim the newlyweds spent nearly the entire afternoon attached to the hip
“he literally wouldn’t take his hands off her” one source reported. “not that she seemed to mind”
another set of photos reveals the couple lounging together beneath a shaded cabana aboard their yacht. and what began as a quiet afternoon sunbathing quickly turned into an intimate cuddle session, with mrs wayne stretched across her husband’s chest and his arms holding her close. the billionaire appeared completely relaxed— a rare sight for the notoriously reserved businessman
however, the internet’s favorite images remain the now-viral ocean snapshots, gotham royalty floating together in the middle of the crystal blue water as two people completely wrapped up in their own little world. sources are saying that the honeymoon has been intentionally low-key despite the luxury surroundings, with the pair opting to spend most of their time swimming, sunbathing, and enjoying each other’s company away from gotham’s constant spotlight
judging by the photographers, they’re succeeding. as for bruce wayne’s devoted fanbase? our thoughts are with them during this difficult time
Batboys Reacting To Their Kid Disrespecting Their Wife
Bruce Wayne:
It had been a long day. Bruce was exhausted and dragging his feet up the stairs when he heard it.
"Leave it alone mother!" Damian yelled.
"Dami, honey-" You tried to reach out to him but his swatted your hand away. You gasped in pain- He was usually good with controlling his strength or holding back so the sharp pain shocked you.
His hand hoovered in the air, mouth open, eyes wide- He couldn't even find the words to apologise when Bruce appeared in the doorway. You immediately hid your hand behind your back.
"Babe!" You smiled, blinking away the tears that had gathered due to the pain. "I didn't expect you home until-"
"Damian." His voice was low and gravelly. "Did I see what I saw or was I hallucinating due to exhaustion?" The tone Bruce used, Damian had never heard that from him. Ever.
"Father- I-" He swallowed, looking up at him.
The way Bruce's shoulders loomed over him. He wasn't Bruce Wayne, or Batman. He was worse. He was Batman without the mask.
"Apologize. Now." There was no room for argument.
"I'm- I'm sorry Ummi." Damian turned to you. "I didn't-" Bruce cleared his throat and you swore you saw the boy shiver. "I should have controlled my anger better- I'm sorry."
"Now, go to your room. I'll be there in a while." Bruce stated and Damian all but ran out of the study. Once he was gone, Bruce's shoulders dropped and he sighed. "What was the reason?"
"He was annoyed that I was babying him by rechecking his injuries from yesterday's patrol." You explained as Bruce wrapped himself in a hug with you.
He hummed against your neck. "Did he hit hard?"
"It was an accident." You downplayed it.
"Yes but still. He should have had better control. He's growing up- Getting stronger. He needs to be careful and I'm not raising a boy that thinks this behaviour is okay- No matter the circumstances." He explained and you nodded.
"I know. Just... Just be gentle. He's never done anything like this before." You pulled back a little, touching Bruce's face.
He smiled against your palm. "I'll try."
Damian was sitting on his bed, head cradled in his hands when he heard the door open then close. He watched Bruce pull up a chair and sit infront of him.
"Father I-" He began but Bruce put his hand up to stop him.
"Damian, I'm disappointed to begin with." Bruce stated simply, tiredness obvious in his voice. "I did not raise you to disrespect my wife."
Damian's eyes widened. You were his mama. Not just- Not just Bruce's wife. Right?
"No patrol for two weeks. And you will tend to your mother until her hand heals." Bruce explained, "If anything like this happens again-"
"It won't." Damian interjected. "It won't. I swear."
Dick Grayson:
"Honey-" You sighed, "You know last night was important for your dad. He got the key to the city. We were there to show support and-"
"Dad's gotten keys before too!" Your son whined, "I missed out on a once in a lifetime kind of party last night. I was the only one who didn't go- I'm going to become a social outcast!"
"John-" You tried again.
"Jesus fuck mom! You don't understand!" He yelled and you blinked in shock.
He'd never spoken to you that way, let alone with that language.
"John. Room. Now." Dick's voice carried through the house.
John's spine straightened rigidly. Dick was the fun parent. Jokes, adventures, always the the person to lighten the mood. So, for him to use a tone he's never experienced before, John shrank away from the voice alone.
He tried to shuffle behind you, his hand reached to grab your wrist to safety- for protection when Dick walked into the kitchen.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" He asked and John shook his head. "Good. Go. Now."
"Yes, sir." John swallowed and quickly left.
"What the hell was that?" Dick whispered to you. "How can- What?"
"I don't know." You looked down, your eyes full of absolute sadness.
"Are you okay, baby?" He cupped your face and made you look at him. You nodded, a deep frown on your face. "My girl." He sighed, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back. "I'll talk to him. This can't happen again." He whispered into your hair. "Either he gets his act together or he's spending summer with Bruce instead of his little trek through East Asia."
John was nervously pacing his room when Dick entered. His eyes skitted to the door that closed behind his father. He'd never seen Dick upset- Even remotely so. So this was jarring for him.
"Dad-" He began but Dick wagged a finger at him, earning complete silence.
"Do you have any idea how much my wife does for you?" Dick asked slowly. "One party, John. It was one party. You have privlidge beyond words- You get to experience life that most people don't even get to dream of and you yell and curse because you missed one party?"
"I'm sorry- I am! But-" John tried, earning a chuckle from Dick. Uh oh.
"But?" He raised a brow, an eerie smile on his face. "You're defending your behaviour?"
"No!" A deep unsettling feeling gathered in John's stomach.
Dick's gaze narrowed. He hated that he had to use his body language reading skills on his own child but he had to. "Apologize to your mother and mean it. If I have even an inkling that you're not in it 100%, you're spending the summer with grandpa Bruce."
"Yes, sir." John nodded numbly, watching his father leave his room.
Jason Todd:
Jason took off his boots by the door when he heard the commotion. He could hear you and your daughter arguing. She was a teenager now- So, naturally, the world was against her and she was against her mom for everything.
"Woah- Where's the fire?" He joked, entering the lounge, kissing your cheek.
"I found this in her room." You sighed, showing Jason the domino mask, along with some gear. "She's the new vigilante."
"Why were you in my room in the first place?!" She yelled. "It's an invasion of privacy!"
"Okay- First- Let's not yell." Jason tried to mitigate.
"I was there to pick your laundry. Not snoop." You said again. "And we've already had this discussion multiple times. I have told you- I don't want you in this life."
"Dad!" She looked to Jason, "Can you tell mom to not be such an uptight bitch?! I'm doing good in this city!"
You sucked in a sharp breath. "Calliope-"
Whereas, Jason had gone dangerously still. "What did you just say?" He looked at her, his green eyes pulsing a glow.
"I didn't mean-" She backtracked, colour draining from her face.
"Not the question. What did you just call my wife?" He repeated.
Maybe the scary part was that Jason never raised his voice. But his scars and eyes glowing did the fear for him.
"A bitch." She swallowed, looking down.
"Right." Jason folded his arms. "For worrying about you- For picking up after you- For having reasonable concerns. For loving you enough to not want you to get hurt. And this is how you behave?"
"I'm doing real good." She argued back.
"Let me say this once because if I have to repeat it, there will be cosmic consequences. Do you understand?" Jason said softly and she nodded once, "Good. Now, you will never be a vigilante in this or any city. If you want to do good, use your trust fund to give back to the community. Secondly, if you ever speak to your mother- and most importantly, to my wife that way again, you will go to your Uncle Damian's at Nanda Parbat for every vacation and holiday. You know. Since you want to be a vigilante so bad. You should have the proper training."
"Yes, dad." She nodded, horrified.
"Good. I'm gonna go shower." He kissed your temple again then turned to his daughter. "Apologize to your mother and when I come down for dinner and there's even the tiniest bit evidence that she's still upset or hurt- Like I said. Cosmic consequences."
Tim Drake:
"Babe?" Tim called out, dragging his feet to your shared bedroom. "I can't even start to explain how bad today was-" He entered the room, loosening his tie. "Tell me why the board is so-" He paused, you were sitting on the bed, wringing your fingers togther, eyes full of tears. "Uhh- What happened? Someone die in one of your books again?" He teased.
You sniffed, wiping your tears. "No- It's nothing." You gave him a weepy smile. "Sorry I-"
"Don't. Don't do that. Tell me what happened?" He caressed your cheek gently.
"Something Teddy said. It's really nothing- Just my insecurities." You brushed it off but alarm bells were already ringing in his head.
"What did he say?" He asked softly, already knowing that right after this conversation, he'd be going to his son's room.
"It's stupid. Kids say stupid things." You tried again.
"He's 22. So... no. What did he say?" He asked again.
You sighed deeply. "He's been stuck on this Tort Law assignment and I guess he was just frustrated- I said I could help and he-" You bit the inside of your cheek, "He said that if he wanted to ask help from a dropout, he'd ask."
"Right." Tim rubbed at his temple. "Okay. Um- Yeah-" He stood up and left the room.
Teddy was in his room, still hunched over his desk, trying to work out the assignment. He heard the door open then close, he didn't pay much mind to it until Tim cleared his throat.
"Oh, hey dad. What's-" He looked over his shoulder and paused. Tim looked... off. "Is everything okay?"
"I don't know. You tell me." He smiled and sat on his son's bed. "Anything interesting happen today?"
"Uh- No? Why?" Teddy's brows furrowed.
"No? Really? Then you didn't behave rudely to your mother?" He asked, the smile still there.
Teddy groaned and rolled his eyes, swivelling his chair to face Tim. "I didn't say anything wrong. She doesn't understand what I'm studying-" He doubled down.
"Funny. Because she was my tutor in college. That's how we met." Tim shrugged. "And if my wife hadn't gotten pregnant, she would've had a degree right now instead of a rude and ungrateful son."
Teddy suddenly felt very sick. "What?"
"Yup. She was your age. Whole life planned. And you know what she did? She picked you. And she's picked you ever since that day. And you?" He let out an exhaled laugh, "Today, I come home to find out that you took one of her biggest sacrifices and threw it back at her because you were frustrated."
"I didn't know." Teddy said shamefully.
"It's not about knowing. You shouldn't have something so cruel to begin with." Tim corrected. "You made her cry."
Teddy blinked and looked at Tim. "Mom cried?" His voice was tiny. "I- I didn't- Fuck-" He shot out of his chair, stumbling, almost falling, running to the door. "I'm sorry- I'm sorry-" He ran out of the room to find you. "Mama! I'm so sorry!"
Damian Wayne:
"Absolutely not. Your father will flay you alive." You shook your head, going back to your book.
"Mom, please. It'll be fun!" Alfred begged, "Come on."
"Honey- It'll be your funeral." You laughed and turned the page.
"Please!" He whined again, "It'll be fun. I've never seen Baba flip out."
"And for good reason." You rolled your eyes and looked up from your book. Damn, those puppy eyes. "Ugh- Fine. But I'm not saving you when he goes all Demon's Head on you."
"Ah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!" He said gleefully, giving you a hug and running off.
You sighed. This was going to be a disaster but a part of you wanted to see how it would play out. So, here you were, sitting in the study, Alfred setting a camera on the shelf.
"Okay, ready?" He whispered with giggles.
"I still don't approve." You said, "But I won't lie- I am curious..."
Alfred smiled brightly then straightened up. He took a big breath in and then yelled. "Shut up, mama!!"
Before he could even react, a ninja's star wizzed past his ear, lodging itself in the wall.
"Baba!" He squeaked, "You-"
"You dare speak to my wife like that?" Damian growled, "You dare to disrespect the woman that gave you life?"
"Baba! Wait! I can expla- ah!" He dodged the next ninja star. "Wait! Mama!"
"You will not intervene me disciplining him-" Damian whipped his head at you.
"I'm not, my love. Carry on-" You said lazily, watching with amusement.
"Mama!" Alfred yelped, dodging another attack from Damian. "It was just a prank! Just to get a reaction from you!" He scrambled away on the floor.
Damian went still, his gaze narrowing. "You wished for my wrath for a video?" He took one look around and caught the phone propped between books. He threw a ninja star at it, breaking the phone into pieces.
"Mama! Please!" Alfred begged.
"Nope. I told you it was a bad idea." You laughed, then turned a page.
"You chose to not listen to your mother?" Damian hissed.
"Okay, my bad! My very bad! This is escalating too fast!" Alfred ran between the shelves.
"Apologize. Now." Damian's voice carried in the shadows.
"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry- Mama!! Help me!" He cried out.
You sighed softly and put your book aside. "My love?" You said sweetly and Damian hummed. "I think he learned his lesson."
"He did not." He huffed. "Come out. Now. I won't attack you anymore." Alfred shuffled out in full view. "So, you decided to not listen to your mother and then disrespect her for a prank to get a reaction out of me?" He nodded weakly. "You do know that if it had been anyone but you, the first start would have lodged itself in your heart. Yes?"
Alfred gulped. "Yes, Baba."
"Good." Damian nodded. "Now- You will write a 3000-word essay explaining that you understand what you did was wrong. And then you were clean the training room of the assassins."
Alfred's eyes bugged out of his head. "The assassins' training room?" He whispered. "But that's-"
"Quite big. I'm aware." Damian smiled. "Should take just enough days as your spring break?"
"Should've listened to me." You said softly as he groaned and left the study.
summary: 🔥✨ A failed experiment causes a fire to emerge in Mr. Grace's classroom. Luckily, a very handsome fireman is there to save him. ✨🔥
Tags: masc!reader, mlm, strangers to lovers, reader is implied to be strong/muscular ig, reader lowkey isn’t mentioned until 2k words in, ryland's kinda a jerk, not beta read oop
w/c: ~8.8k
“Holy fuuuudddgggeee! Fudger- fuuu” Ryland’s not-so profanities muddle into groans. A cloud of foam sprays from the nose of the fire extinguisher in his hands, snuffing the growing flames into nothing more than thick dark smoke. He holds his arms straight as he assaults the fire with sweeps of the extinguisher from side to side.
The science teacher coughs as he chokes out huffs of smoke. He fans his face in an attempt to clear the air, but it doesn't do much to alleviate the burn in his throat. The fumes flood his senses. Still, he sprays the extinguisher twice more for good measure.
It was supposed to be an easy experiment, trivial really. Ryland has done this experiment a million times and it has never gone this wrong.
Mr. Grace meticulously adjusts the gas dial on the bunsen burner on his desk. A room full of curious students watch him closely. “Okay, kids,” he starts “Get to somewhere you can see.”
The students raise their heads to get a good look. On his desk, besides the mountains of paperwork he’s pushed to the side, are cups of different powders and liquid, as well as the bunsen burner. Ryland grabs a box of matches and tosses them up and down in his hand.
“Alright, as many of you know, we’re going to be literally playing with fire today. And I am required by law to remind you of the safety measures, so let’s make this quick.”
“Do we turn on or adjust our burners without my permission?” He asks the class, pointing the thumb of his free hand to himself.
“NO!” The class responds.
“Do we put our body parts within one foot of the flame?”
“NO!”
“Do we put our hair up before starting the experiment?”
A mix of nos and yeses chorus from the room between the kids mindlessly answering and those actually listening to the questions. Ryland smirks.
“Ha, gotcha. Yes, everyone with long hair put it up. Keep your safety goggles on and come to me if you need any help, am I missing anything?” The students in the front row shake their heads. Ryland places a finger to his lips. “Oh! Listen to my instructions! The most important rule.”
The students laugh, but Ryland can tell they’re getting restless with excitement. “Okay, let’s get started. Everyone pay close attention to the demo I’m about to do.”
Ryland pulls his goggles over his glasses, which immediately fog up. He looks over the rim of his frames as he grabs one of the cups in front of him. “You guys have learned from our geology unit that different minerals have different properties. Density, hardness, colors. Those properties can also cause fire to burn different colors.”
He grabs a metal spoon and scoops the powder in the cup. He tilts the cup forward enough for the kids to see without spilling it. The shiny blue powder glistens, drawing the students even closer. “This is copper sulfate, a mix of sulfur and copper.” He raises the cup to his nose and makes a curious face. “Surpisingly, it has no smell,” he observes. “But don’t eat it! It’s not rock candy!”
He carefully pours the powder from the spoon into the barrel of the bunsen burner. “Any guesses of what color this will turn the fire?”
“BLUE!” His students respond enthusiastically.
Ryland smirks. “We will see.” He checks the gas line once more. “Okay count down.”
“THREE!”
He turns the gas handle.
“TWO!”
He lights a match.
“ONE!”
He lights the top of the bunsen burner using the match, igniting a small green flame. The students let out their ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, shiny eyes reflecting the green hue back to their teacher.
“Woah, right?” Ryland hypes as he adjusts the flame's size using the needle valve until the flame is substantial and glowing brightly.
Well, it is for a second, before it flickers and dwindles. The blonde man’s eyebrow scrunches. “Huh,” he says, “that’s weird.” He fiddles with the needle valve… nothing happens. He scratches his head. Sweat is collecting at his brow now from the foggy goggles and he’d really like to wipe it off.
Ryland finally adds more gas with the handle. Maybe there was a problem with the gas pressure? And it had built up pressure at first? Whatever, he turns it up again.
He goes back to teaching, explaining the science of the green flame. The gentle whir of the air conditioning started. On good, now it won’t be so muggy and hot in here. Especially once all the burners are on, the room would be a sauna. The fire dances with the cool flow of air from the vents. Ryland considers taking off his goggles and fixing his glasses, but he figured that would be a bad example to the students.
Just as Ryland is answering a question from the girl in the third row, the fire surges, angry and vibrant.
Ryland jumps back. “Holy crap!” he exclaims, pushing himself against his whiteboard. He quickly remembers he’s the teacher, the trained scientist, and the only adult in the room; thus, it’s his job to handle this. He reaches back over to cut the gas, but not before the barrel literally falls straight off the base, tumbling down like a dead tree. Stupid piece of junk. Curse this school's ancient equipment.
Good news: the fire is disconnected from the gas. Yay!
Bad news: the fire has fallen onto all of Grace’s paperwork. Boo!
Any thoughts that Ryalnd had were quickly cut off by the screams of 13 year olds. The kids run to the back of the classroom, confused, scared, but waiting for instruction. They don’t really practice fire drills where the fire takes place inside their classroom. Ryland needs to think fast, because the green flame is increasingly feasting on stacks of research papers and handouts.
“Remain calm!” Ryland yells over the chaos. He reaches for the fire extinguisher he thankfully put nearby. Though, of course, he thought it wasn’t going to be him who caused the fire. He backs up and rips the pin out. The sound of the metal pin hitting the floor is muted by the spray of the extinguisher.
The room is as silent as a desolate battle field by the end of it. Mr. Grace looks at the students. They look back at him, all with the same thought in their heads.
What. The. Fu-
The ear shattering ringing of the fire alarm blares. Even the terribly inefficient smoke alarm (which Ryland highly doubts has been checked since… well ever) recognizes the smoke rising to the ceiling. The sprinklers (which have definitely never been used) release drenching sprays of water.
The kids screech and cover their heads. Ryland just sighs. His clothes droop and stick to his skin. He appears to be more of a wet rat than anything. He pulls his goggles up to his forehead and takes his glasses to wipe them off. It won’t do anything considering they’ll just get wet again, but it makes him feel just a bit calmer, more in control.
“Alright, everyone out into the hallway. Single file. You know the drill.”
It was a disaster. One that Ryland wasn’t entirely sure that he was ready to take responsibility for.
The parking lot was filled with students and teachers taking attendance. Most of the kids out there looked uninterested, but were grateful for the break from school. Everyone probably would have assumed it was just another drill had it not been for Ryland’s class of completely soaked children. He could already see his students gossiping with kids from other classes now. Oh, great.
Thankfully, everyone was accounted for. Ryland finishes taking attendance and wipes the sticky hair from his forehead. He already feels a sense of doom come over him.
Principal Croffely storms over, a stern look on her face. Ryland felt a shiver down his spine, though that might just be his wet suit jacket. The woman approaching him was… terrifying to say the least. She was a great principal, the perfect mix of strict and fun. However, she did not respond so happily to any mishaps- like fights, or graffiti, or, you know, a fire. Not to mention, Ryland doesn’t think she’s aged since he’s been here. She looks just as young as she did in the year books from when Ryland was in middle school.
“Mr. Grace,” she speaks in a low, calm voice. It’s a trap, and he knows it. “Please explain to me what happened?”
Ryland pulls at his collar. Despite it being soaking wet, his neck feels very hot all of a sudden. He’s seriously thinking about how to explain himself without risking his job, but there really is not any other way to phrase it without saying: “I started a fire.”
He runs a hand over his face, pulling his glasses down to balance below his chin and pinching the bridge of his nose. “It all happened so fast really.” He chuckled. He looked up to see Croffely… not as amused.
“A, um, material mishap happened with the 8th grade experiment. The bunsen burner I was using for a demonstration broke and fell over. The papers on my desk caught fire.”
The silence between them was loud.
“I am so sorry. But for what it’s worth, I put it out with the fire extinguisher before the sprinklers came on. Everything should be completely fine now. And the experiment was a success while we were at it! Bright green-blue flames.” The man speaks proudly and confidently for someone so in the wrong. Somehow Ryland’s endearing charm had given him immunity from all previous trouble. He thinks it is because all of the older teachers see him as someone to mentor. But he doesn’t think that’s going to help much this time.
Principal Croffely lets out a long sigh. “Well, I appreciate the situation being handled. None of the students are injured?”
Ryland shakes his head. “They were all at least 6 feet from the fire at all times when this took place.”
“Well that’s the most important thing… You’re lucky Mr. Grace. But I will be speaking to you later about how we can hopefully prevent anything like this from ever happening in the future. Yes?”
Ryland nods like an obedient child. He usually takes scrutiny well. Trust him, he’s used to people disagreeing with him. He never lets a bit of criticism stop him (just look at the UNESCO conference in Denmark), but there are a few authority figures that really make him squeamish and desperate for approval. One of those people being Principal Maria Croffely, who has a history of being an amazing teacher long before Ryland got wrapped up in the job.
Croffely gives him a final firm nod and an unreadable look- it probably says “you’re on thin ice”- and walks off to check on the other classes.
The man finally takes off his disgusting suit jacket. He is not sure how long they’ll have to stay out here. Since the problem is solved, they should just have to wait for the admin to turn off the sprinklers in his room. He’ll have a better chance of drying off in the San Francisco sun without wearing his thick jacket. His tongue sticks out in disgust as he wrings the material and watches the water wring onto the asphalt of the parking lot.
Ryland can hear a resounding siren in the distance. That signature “wee-woo” of American emergency vehicles. Ryland grumbles. “No way,” he whispers.
The science teacher jogs to catch up with Principal Croffely. “Ma’am- I mean, Principal Croffely, ma’am. The fire department isn’t coming, are they?”
The dark haired woman turns back to face him. Her strong jaw seems to always be in a permanent clench, so he’s not really sure if she’s clenching it harder now in annoyance. “They have been alerted, yes. And they are automatically deployed when the school’s fire alarm goes off and they haven’t been notified of it being a drill.”
“Great, just notify them that it was a drill.”
“It wasn’t a drill.” She deadpans with a cocked eyebrow.
Ryland chuckles to cover up his own annoyance. “It’s really unnecessary. I know I started the fire but I know how to put one out. It’s not that hard. Plus, the sprinklers must have gotten rid of any other chance for the fire to restart. The fire department coming out here is a waste of my- our time and theirs. While they’re looking for the fire I already put out, I could be fixing the damage to my room.” Ryland couldn’t help his sass. His want for firefighters not to arrive came from his stubbornness and extreme desire to fix all of his problems himself, especially the ones he’s caused. It’s insulting, really, that they think he can’t put out a gosh darn fire. Heck, he could be a firefighter… if he wanted worse pay, more hours, and to put his life on the line… so maybe not.
Mostly it is just embarrassing and Ryland doesn’t want any more people to know about it than those who have to.
Principal Croffely looked upon him disapprovingly. Ryland wasn’t used to people being so much taller than him, but she was easily 6’3 with her heels on. “While I want to trust your judgement, Mr. Grace, you did remind the both of us that it was you who caused the incident. The firemen, and women, will come assess the situation and the damage before we proceed. It won’t hurt to have professionals out here.”
She’s right. Ryland knows she’s right, but he still wants to argue. Unfortunately for him, he has no more time to make his case as a sleek fire truck pulls up to the school in front of them. Ryland covers his ears, protecting them from the loud blaring siren. The lights on all faces of the automobile flash an angry red, but overwhelming lights and noise soon stop after the truck parks.
A bald man jumps out of the driver's seat, quickly approaching the principal. Ryland assumes he has the top rank among the men there. Something about the way he holds himself.
“Lieutenant Geralds, ma’am. We received a distress call, what seems to be the problem?” He extends his large hand. He and Principal Croffely engage in a handshake strong enough to break bones, Ryland’s sure. Although relatively short, the large bear of a man seems like he could barehandedly break a log in half so Ryland would do anything to not get on that guy’s bad side.
“Science experiment gone awry.” Croffely looks beyond exasperated. “Mr. Grace here,” she gestures to the meek man beside her, “had a, what did you call it? Ah, a material mishap, and some papers caught fire.”
“I assure you the emergency is completely resolved,” Ryland butts in. “I’m usually more adept with fire, but I am very adept with an extinguisher hehe.” He swallows his awkward chuckles. “So, no issues here, sir.”
Lieutenant Geralds looks almost disappointed. Like he really wanted some action or something. “That’s good,” he says anyway. “I’d still like to check out the classroom before we leave and make sure everything is in order.”
“Of course,” Croffely agrees.
“And I seriously doubt we’ll need our full crew for this, so I’ll just send in one man for the job if that’s alright with you.”
“Surely one person is enough. I’m also sure that Mr. Grace will be happily willing to escort them to his classroom and explain the situation.” She side-eyes Ryland with a sharp glance. Ryland, who previously had just been looking back and forth between the individuals, like a small child listening in on his parents conversation, just gives a thumbs up and a forced smile. Whatever it takes to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Lieutenant Geralds walks back over to the truck and knocks bangs on the back door. “It’s all you, Squirt!” He barks in his deep gruff voice. The door opens up and whoever answers to “Squirt” hops out. The door covers his face momentarily as he exchanges a quick word with the lieutenant.
Then, you step into the light of mid-day. Not smiling or frowning, but a pleasant neutral expression on your face. Ryland raises his glasses to actually see properly. And, now, he knows this must be a joke.
The nickname “Squirt” evokes the image of someone small, kinda scrawny, short, probably. The man now in front of Ryland is not a “Squirt”, that’s a man. Like not just 5 bites, but a full meal of man. That’s the irony of it, he supposes.
You leave your helmet inside the truck, which gives Ryland a full view of your face- and that is absolutely not fair. You look like you came straight out of one of those shirtless firemen calendars. Except, you're a lot cleaner than he expected (on account of not having fought any fires yet today). And you’re not shirtless, obviously.
Ryland realizes that the previous comparison might bring up some questions, so he would like to make some amendments: 1. No, he has never, and will never, own a shirtless firefighter calendar. 2. No, he’s not thinking about you shirtless (well maybe a little), but he knows an attractive man when he sees one. There’s science and a pattern to what makes someone attractive. 3. There’s a reason people like men in uniforms…
“S-sir?”
You’re smiling now, gazing upon the drenched man with an inquisitive look. Croffely nudges Ryland and clears her throat.
Ryland looks around and realizes you have your hand extended to him. “Crap, sorry, got a little in my head there,” he tries to help the situation and shakes the extended hand. Your palm is rough from the effects of manual work, but warm and inviting. The handshake is squishy on account of Ryland’s still damp palm.
“S-sorry. Just sprinkler water, I promise.” He drops your hand and wipes it off on his jeans, which are equally, if not more, wet.
You shake your head, dismissing the concern and let out a low chuckle. You turn to Principal Croffely to shake her hand as well while introducing yourself.
“Thank you for the help,” the woman says, “Mr. Grace’s classroom is where the fire emerged, so you can follow him there. I’ve just been walk-ied and alerted that the sprinkler system has been turned off, so you shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“No problem, ma’am. I’ll be sure to take note of any damage or concerns before radioing the lieutenant to let you know when it’s all clear.” You pat the walkie-talkie on one of your belt loops. Both firefighters and school admin use walkie-talkies apparently.
You turn back to Ryland, eyeing him up and down. Ryland doesn’t usually feel self-conscious but his face feels hot enough to boil off whatever water is left on his skin. He’s not a people person anyway and now he has to interact with someone while embarrassed and wet. He probably looks like a sad stray cat.
His expression hardens as he tries to compensate for the nerves. Instead of presenting himself as the mess-up teacher that caused a fire, he’ll act like the hero who put it out. Both are true, but he chooses to ignore the former.
After taking your time looking at him, you walk off silently. Ryland’s left with his mouth agape. Okay then, rude.
You reopen the side door to the fire engine and seemingly search around the seats. When you return you’re holding a rolled towel.
You offer the towel to him. “You look cold,” you whisper softly. He blinks, not quite sure what to do. His first instinct is to reject it; to tell you that he’s just fine and doesn’t need the pity of a devastatingly rugged fireman. He figures the best (and most normal) response is to just accept it.
“Thanks, yeah.” The towel is nice and hot and unbelievably soft. Ryland melts into it easily as he wraps it around his shoulders. He glances back up to catch your kind gaze. You’re smiling so sweetly he feels nauseous. No wonder people fall in love with firefighters who save them. He knows if he was in a burning building and accepting death, and he saw a face like that, he’d probably fall in love with you too. And something about that makes him unreasonably angry.
“Lead the way.” Ryland nods, turning on his heels. He walks towards the front entrance, checking every few steps to make sure you’re trailing behind. You catch up to walk next to him so he doesn’t have to look back, with a rugged smirk still on your face.
Ryland opens his mouth a few times, clamming up. The silence is excruciating, and he can see you observing him in his peripheral vision. You’re probably judging him, or making fun of him. He has to say something.
“So, Squirt, huh?” God, don’t say that. He fights the urge to facepalm. Maybe something in his subconscious is trying to embarrass you, so that way you’re on equal footing and Ryland doesn’t feel so miniscule. He’s trying to fight that part of himself.
Heat rises behind your cheeks, but you’re still smiling. “You heard that, huh?” You shrug your shoulders, pulling your gloves on. “The crew calls me that because I’m the newest and youngest. Also because there was this incident with the hose my first time.”
Ryland raises an eyebrow.
You blush harder and glance away. “Long story. Anyway, yeah, they all call me ‘Squirt’ or ‘Kid’. I really hope that doesn’t end up being my permanent nickname, but it probably will. At least until I do something else more embarrassing, so it could be worse.”
The man beside you nods. “I guess it always could be. It’s a good name, though. Makes you sound like a cartoon sidekick… or a set up to a really dirty joke.”
“There are so many dirty jokes,” you laugh, a grave look on your face.
Ryland can’t help but crack a toothy smile. Dang it, he was supposed to be establishing his “dominance”, in a sense, showing that he’s not a total fool, but instead he’s laughing with you and getting lost in your eyes. He clears his throat and continues silently to his classroom.
When you finally arrive, there is water seeping out from the gap between the door and the floor.
“Got a wet floor sign?” You joke. Ryland doesn’t respond and simply opens the door to reveal a very wet room. The space is in complete disarray. Chairs are knocked over from when the students ran out of them. Some of his non-laminated posters are sliding down the walls, completely ruined. Somehow, his solar system is high enough that it is out of the range of the sprinkles. Thank god. If that model, which took him months to perfect, was ruined, he’d break down right here in front of this other grown man.
“Fiddlesticks,” he “curses” under his breath, examining the damage.
You’re similarly gazing around, but with a different look in your eye. Admiration, maybe. “Nice room,” you say, “though I’m sure it’d be nicer if it wasn’t like a drained fishtank.”
Ryland rolls his eyes. “A drained fishtank would be drier than this,” he comments matter-of-factly.
“Right, sorry…” No more jokes for now, you guess. You decide to stop flirting making small talk and actually do your job. “So, what happened?”
The science teacher groans loudly. He does not want to have to explain this again. “I plead the 5th.”
“You do know I’m not a cop right? You can’t really do that.”
Ryland bites his lip, holding back a smile. “I can and I will,” he says. It only takes him a couple seconds to fold and tell you. You are the professional after all, it’s not really like he can hold the information from you. While he explains the story with far too much detail, you inspect the bunsen burner and the papers on his desk.
“I hope these weren’t important.” You lift a half-scorched, fully-drenched piece of paper. There used to be words on it, but the ink has smeared so badly it’s illegible.
The blonde sighs. “Not really. The kids won’t like having to turn in their reports again, but they’ll survive.”
You nod. “What gas did you use?”
“Propane.”
“And there wasn’t any sparking, correct?”
After you ask all of your questions, you come up with the conclusion. “It just looks like there is some rust at the bottom of the burner here.” You point with your gloved finger. “That caused the needle valve to not function correctly, and for the barrel to fall over.”
Ryland steps closer, bending down to see better. Sure enough, the bottom of the bunsen burner is eroded with rust that he isn’t even sure how it got there, or how he didn’t notice it.
It isn’t until he stands straight that he notices how close you are. He can smell the light musk of whatever body wash or cologne you use. He can see every little hair on your face from this close; every little mark he can commit to memory. He wants to reach out and touch your ruffled hair. His “manly” front is dissolving as he stutters and blushes.
You stare at him so innocently. It should feel infantilizing, but it doesn’t. Instead it feels genuine. Like you’re genuinely waiting for him to find his words and hear what he has to say. That just makes him more flustered.
Eventually you raise your hands to his cheeks. You push up his glasses that were slipping down to the tip of his pointed nose. Your hands slide down his jaw to his shoulders and you pull the towel tighter around him. You smooth your hands over his shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to go inspect the rest of the equipment." You wink and step from behind the desk.
“Y-yeah.”
It’s been a long time since Ryland has been completely dismantled emotionally. He’s not the most social person and typically avoids interactions where he can make a total fool of himself. It’s not often he’s this flustered. And for a long time, he didn’t even know men could make him feel this way. Turns out there is a difference between finding a man attractive and being attracted to one. Ryland spent most of his life not distinguishing between those two things. It was only after he got dumped by his college girlfriend, Linda, that he took the time to really look at his sexuality and attraction. He realized he is equally interested and disinterested in most people (he doesn’t care much for labels).
Even if Ryland didn’t know about his sexuality, he thinks he would realize it right now, with a man like you in front of him, making his intelligence fall apart.
You circle the classroom, checking the other burners for possible rust. Ryland tries to keep his eyes focused elsewhere. He works on throwing all the ruined papers and posters into trashbags. He’s muttering to himself the whole time.
“Okay,” you say, “looks like the burner over here-” you point to a bunsen burner in the center lab table- “and here-” you point to one in the back- “are shot. No saving. The other ones just need to be dried off and cleaned with WD-40. They should be fine after that.”
“Okay.” Ryland nods. “God, I’ll have to put in a request for new ones. We won’t be doing this experiment for years probably. Or until we get the funding.” He mutters to himself under his breath.
You lean back against one of the lab tables. You toss your head back and throw him a sideways glance. “What was the experiment anyway?”
Ryland scoffs. He feels the set up for a nerd joke coming. Maybe something about him not being able to do a middle school experiment right. Or just about how pathetic it was that he’s a teacher. Why is Ryland so defensive right now? He doesn’t know. But you make him nervous, and he feels the need to protect himself.
He scoffs. “I wouldn’t really expect you to understand.” It’s so funny how that cocky pretentious Ryland from his academia days returns so easily when he’s on guard, even after he’s spent years trying to bury that version of himself.
You don’t look offended at all, however. “Try me.”
He looks up at you. “Uhh- I-” he swallows- “By placing certain minerals into the barrel of the burner, like copper sulfate for example, it alters the hue of the flame by shifting the chemical composition of the burning material. Thus, causing the flame to appear as a mix of the gas’s natural burning color and the minerals chemical components.”
Ryland feels smug and crosses his arms over his chest. You squint your eyes.
“You put rocks into the burner and it causes the fire to burn different colors?”
The science teacher's jaw drops open, before he clenches it. He stutters, “No!- I- I mean, yes! B-but, uhh, it’s more complicated than that!” He tightens his arms across his chest, hugging himself, and looking away. He’s acting like one of his students when they argue with him about a test question.
You laugh. “I’m sure it is. I’d love to hear all the specifics sometime, but I’ll save your time.”
“Wait, you’d actually be interested in learning about it?”
“Sure. I’m always interested in some science facts.” You beam and walk closer. You lean in and cup your mouth as you whisper, “Don’t tell my crew this, but I’m kind of a huge nerd.”
You lean back, grinning. “Though, they probably already know.”
Ryland feels warmer when you’re in his proximity. His cheeks dusted in pink as he pushes his glasses up his nose. For once, he finds himself without anything to say. Over and over, you’ve proven you’re more than the asshole Ryland meaninglessly assumed you were, all in order to protect himself from the thought of his mistakes being perceived. You’re making it really hard for him to be short with you when you’re so… nice. And, because of that, Ryland’s the one being an asshole.
“Anyway,” you continue, “it might be a cool experiment for me to show the kids.”
Ryland’s brain buffers like a 90’s desktop computer. He had never considered that maybe you have kids, much less the partner that usually comes with having children (often, but not always.) Stupidly, he asks, “Wait… you have kids?”
Your face scrunches in confusion. “Huh?- Oh! No, oh god, no.” You shake your head adamantly. “I lead the tours and the demonstrations for kids who visit the station. I teach them about fire safety, life as a firefighter, how to plan for emergencies- stuff like that. I think the crew made me do it as a punishment at first, but I really love teaching kids so I’ve just stuck with it.”
The blonde lets out a sigh of relief. Don’t ask him why he’s relieved, but something about you not having kids eases something in him. Because maybe that means you don’t have a partner either.
“You like teaching?” He asks, fiddling with his fingers.
You nod. “Yeah, I like it a lot actually. Being a firefighter has always been my dream job, but if I wasn’t doing that most of the time, I probably would have gotten a degree in education and became a teacher.”
“Who knows,” you say, “maybe I would’ve taught science.” You pat the man’s, now dry hair, that’s poofing up. It’s a cute look. His breath catches as he feels your gloved fingers against his scalp. He likes the feeling, closing his eyes and leaning into it.
As he opens his eyelids and catches your teasing gaze, he knows his face must be fire-engine red. He takes a half step back and casts his gaze down.
You huff a curt chuckle. You wish all emergency calls were this fun (joking!). You let your fingers fall back to your side from his light yellow tuffs of hair. “I better let them know everyone’s set to come back inside.” You delicately break the moment.
“Yeah- you uh… you better do that,” mutters Ryland.
“Do you have anywhere for the kids to stay while they’re drying off your room?” You ask with a gentle tone. Ryland’s head picks up.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. We’ll just be in the cafeteria I guess.” It warms his heart that you care about the kids. For only a second, he lets himself imagine you as a teacher. In a classroom next to his where he can see you (and shamelessly check you out) everyday.
You straighten up, turning your professionalism back on. You walk to the door, but hesitantly, looking back every few seconds as Ryland had when he was leaning into the building- as if you’re hoping he follows you. You clear your throat. “Well, Mr. Grace, I’ll leave you to it.”
Silence falls between the both of you, but you make no further move out of the doorway.
“Uhh, make sure you clear your desk off before your next fire experiment,” you say, jokingly, as a final remark. You’re one foot out the door, when Ryland seemingly teleports behind you and pulls shyly on your fireman’s jacket, stopping you in your tracks.
You turn to face the man once again. He opens his mouth a few times but says nothing, still trying to find the words. Finally, he coughs out, “Wait!”
You smile- so hard it makes your teeth hurt. “I am.”
Ryland curses under his breath. “I mean, if you’re really interested in teaching, Career Day is coming up soon. Next week. I know you’re probably busy and-”
“I’ll be there.” You cut him off. Now you’re both smiling like little kids. “You can call and give me the information.”
“Call?” Ryland asks, and for a moment, he hopes that means he gets to have your number.
You nod, smirking. You’re not going to be that easy. “Call the station and ask for me. I’ll respond.” Ryland pouts, not able to help himself. You pat his cheek twice and turn to the door, leaving for real this time. “I’ll see you, Ryland.”
The man tilts his head to one side. He doesn’t remember telling you his name. You lean back towards him and put a finger to his chest, pointing at his name on his faculty badge at the end of his lanyard.
He smiles. As you make your way down the hallway, he calls after you. “What name should I ask for when I call?”
You throw a laugh over your shoulder before simply saying, “Just ask for ‘Squirt.’ They’ll come find me. I can’t wait to hear from you.”
“I can’t wait either!” Ryland grins. “Squirt,” he whispers, slightly baffled at the utter ridiculousness of the day’s occurrences. Who would have guessed that he would be excited to make a phone call?
Ryland forced himself to wait a full day before calling the number for the local firehouse. He didn’t want to come off as too eager or desperate, though he definitely is. Over that time, he was able to pinpoint the source of his rudeness from the last day. It was a lot of things: feeling embarrassed that he messed up an easy experiment, caused a fire, and got (lightly) scolded by his boss were all contributing factors. To make it worse, and he’s even more embarrassed to say this, but let’s face it! You’re insanely hot and it made him really nervous. Apparently when Ryland’s nervous around hot people he starts acting like a jerky idiot and ruining his chance.
That’s not to say he had a chance. He’s been “out of practice” for years. Since he broke up with Linda in fact. And he didn’t even know if you swung that way. Even if you did, who’s to say you’d be interested in a 30-something year old middle school science teacher?
Ryland takes a deep breath and lets out a long shuttering huff. He’s spiraling again, but trying to compose himself, lest he be an utter mess around you again when he finally calls. It’s after school now. He figured if he made the call before going home, he could justify it to be for school purposes. He sits at his desk, drumming his fingers against the table. His laptop sits open to the webpage of the local firestation; the non-emergency number has been highlighted by his cursor.
He glances at the clock and groans. He needs to make this call and bike home before it gets dark. He types the number into his phone with trepidation, making sure every digit is correct. Ryland stares at the screen for a second before mumbling “Screw it,” and pressing the green call button.
The line rings only twice before a tired sounding voice resonates across the line. “This is the nonemergency line for the San Francisco fire station #032. How can I help you?” The man on the other end lets out a barely muffled yawn.
Ryland lets out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. He had really hoped you’d be the one to answer the phone to save him the trouble. Alas. He clears his throat. “Hi, yeah. This is, uhm, Ryland Grace? Is… Is ‘Squirt’ there?” His face flushes although there is no one there to see it. The nickname is already pretty absurd but the awkward way he says it makes it sound so much worse.
A chuckle comes through his phone’s speakers, turning into a full on guffaw. “You’re the teacher?” The voice asks.
“Yes…,” Ryland responds meekly.
The laughing continues on the other end. Ryland can faintly hear chatter.
“Did you hear that Molly? Squirt’s boy actually called!... Yeah!... Yes, could you go wake up the guy? He’s probably knocked out on the couch... Thanks, Molly.”
Ryland silently listens on the other end. He tosses his Earth-shaped bean bag in his hand. He gives it a squeeze between tosses to calm his nerves. He rubs his thumb over the worn-out crocheted yarn, the texture reminding him of the fibers of your gloves last night you were with him. He squeezed the beanbag again, thinking of your large gloved hand in his.
“One moment, Mr…. Ryland, you said?” The voice pulls Ryland back into the moment.
“Y-yep. That’s me.”
The man snickers “God, I’m never letting Squirt forget this,” he mutters under his breath.
Grace perks up when he hears your voice in the background. His grip on his cellphone tightens.
“Hand over the phone, Bennie.” You growl, “no, he called me let me talk to him… Man, go away.” There’s some shuffling on the other end before Ryland hears a sigh into the microphone. “Ryland?” You speak, your soft tone opposing the harsher one you were using with your crewmate just a second ago.
“Hey.” He says breathlessly. “Were you expecting me, Squirt?” He says the name with a bit more confidence now, and it rolls off his tongue easily.
“You know I was.”
The two of you do not get to speak for nearly as long as Ryland would have liked. You were about to get whisked away for a task just 30 minutes into the call, which sounds like a long time, but he felt like he was just getting past your coy exterior. Halfway into it, he found himself leaning onto his desk with his chin resting in his palm. He might as well be a teenage girl, twirling her hair and kicking her feet on her bed.
Fortunately, he was able to give you all the information about Career Day and you confirmed that you would, in fact, be able to attend (yippee!). Beyond that, you told him you’d be there in your full firefighter gear, which made him more excited than he’d like to admit.
“Okay, well I’ve got all the info for next week down,” you say. “I should really get going, now.”
Ryland chews his lip. “Mhmm,” he hums, disappointed. “Do I get your name now or do I have to keep calling for ‘Squirt’?” He chuckles. He’s half joking, but still hoping he can get your real name.
You laugh alongside him. “Not yet. I don’t really mind the nickname when you say it.” Your sultry tone throws Ryland for a loop. He chokes on air and falls into a coughing fit. You chortle on the other end. “Sorry, sorry. That was so bad, don’t know why I said that.”
Ryland tries to catch his breath, but he’s laughing between his coughs. He finally gasps a deep breath, filling his lungs with air. “‘s okay,” he mumbles. You can hear the smile on his face over the phone.
“Though,” you continue, “I figure it would be a lot easier to reach me if you have my number. Do you have a pen nearby?”
“Y-yes!” Ryland leans over his desk to reach towards his cup of pens. He fumbles around and misses the cup before finally grabbing one. “Got one, got a pen.” He mutters, prepared to write on the nearest piece of paper to him (it’s one of the worksheets he planned to assign tomorrow. He’ll just reprint this copy.)
You slowly say your phone number, digit by digit. “Got all that?”
Ryland nods even though you can’t see him. “Got it… I’ll text you?”
“You better. I need to go now, or the Lieutenant will kill me- Yes!? I’m coming, Bennie! Give me a second, damn!”
Ryland hears a barely muttered “bye” before the line drops. He sighs dreamily. The sun is slowly inching closer to the horizon in the west, shining perfectly through the large windows in Mr Grace’s classroom. He thinks the kids will like you, just a feeling.
The teacher was swamped in the next week; between prepping for Career Day, fixing up the damage to his classroom, and teaching 5 periods a day, he barely had time to daydream about you. Well, that was at school. Outside of work, he still had plenty of thoughts about your face, and your scent, and your touch. That being said, Career Day came faster than anyone had expected. Next thing Ryland knew, it was Wednesday and you were walking into his classroom with a guest pass, your full uniform, and a duffle bag full of other firefighter stuff.
You give him a heartstopping smile as you walk into the classroom, stopping to lean against the doorframe. “I see your room’s good as new”
Ryland nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks over his shoulder to see you giving him that signature smirk. He rolls his eyes. “You’re early. I said 8:00.”
You shrug as you casually stride into the classroom. “I like to be punctual.”
The blonde sighs. He’d been getting all the worksheets about “What I Want To Be When I Grow Up” ready for his students. His glasses had been pulled beneath his chin, where he usually wore them. You point to the frames. “Do you ever wear those things correctly? Kind of takes away the purpose of glasses, you know.”
Ryland walks closer. Despite your jeers, he’s still smiling. “I didn’t invite you here to tease me,” he says, fixing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “I invited you to do a career presentation. Speaking of which-” his voice softens to a gentle murmur as he casts his gaze aside. “Thank you for coming. You really didn’t have to clear your whole day to be here… I appreciate- and I’m sure the kids will appreciate it…” He trails off.
You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. His eyes find yours again. “No problem. I love teaching kids about what I do, it’s a passion of mine. Thank you for having me.” There’s a subtle tone in your voice that makes Ryland’s heartbeat quicken ever so much.
“Also.. I just want to say I’m sorry again for how much of a jerk I was when we first met. I’m not going to make any excuses. I was just… I was being a dick for lack of better words.” The curse sounds foreign and forced on Ryland’s tongue.
You wave your hand dismissively. “Stop it! You already apologized on the phone. You weren’t even being a dick last time.”
Ryland raises an incredulous brow. You laugh at the look on his face.
“Okay, yeah. You were being a little bit of a dick. But I understand you were having a bad day. I forgive you, for what it’s worth.” You grin.
“I’m glad you came back.” Ryland admits. The words slip out before he really thinks about their implications.
“I am too.”
The rest of the day Ryland watches you repeatedly give an interactive presentation on firefighting (including having a “Stop, Drop, & Roll Contest” where you time how fast students can flop to the ground and start rolling like a log.) You really were good with presenting, and good with kids. Ryland can tell you’ve done this before. It was also incredibly attractive to get to lay back and watch you talk about heroic fire fighting. Every block, a new group of kids come into the room to be impressed by you. You even let some kids try on your firefighting gear.
It was easily a successful day. Not only did Ryland get to stare at you shamelessly for 6 hours, but you decided to spend lunch with him as well. That time was filled with getting to know each other, joking, and (not-so) subtle flirting. Notably, you had leaned over to wipe the crumbs of a sub sandwich off of Ryland’s lips, which he’ll be thinking about for days, if not weeks.
By the day’s end, you are both pooped from dealing with rowdy kids. Still, you’re slow to pack your things, clearly not wanting to leave quite yet. As you carefully pack your duffle bag, you continuously glance up at the other man, who is always looking back at you.
“Not so bad, huh?” you ask. “The kids seemed pretty entertained.”
“You did great.” Ryland replies.
“High praise coming from you, Mr. Teacher.”
Ryland shrugs. “What can I say, you deserve it.” Then he says your name, your full name.
Your head whips around at him to see him pointing at your name and id number on your helmet. You sigh with a smile. “It was only a matter of time before you found my name, or until I simply told you.”
Ryland smiles smugly. You roll your eyes. “Are you proud of yourself? For figuring it out without me telling you?”
Ryland laughs, his cheeks dusted in pink. “A little bit. I can keep calling you Squirt if you’d like. I don’t know if you reserve your first name for people… closer to you.”
You shake your head. “You can call me whatever you want to,” you say lowly.
It gets quiet in Ryland’s classroom. You zip up your bag and it seems to hit the both of you at once that this could very likely be the last time you see each other. Ryland’s brain is whirring, thinking of ways to not have to let you go so soon. There’s no way he can start another fire at school without definitely being fired. Maybe he could start one in his apartment, just a little one. It wouldn’t even be that hard, he’s set the smoke detector off multiple times from his own terrible cooking. But he doesn’t think his landlord or the other tenants would appreciate that very much. Maybe he could get a cat stuck in a tree. He’d have to get a cat first. Maybe he could get stuck in a tree.
While Ryland’s making up ridiculous ways to get to see you again and abuse your personal phone number, you’re just admiring his thinking face and wondering how long it'll take from him to break from this daze. He doesn’t notice you coming closer until you brush a stray strand of hair out of his face behind his ear.
“Ryland,” you repeat for what must be the tenth time.
You startle him a bit. His eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t back away. “H-huh?” He gasps.
“I asked if you wanted to have dinner sometime.”
“Dinner?! With me?”
Gosh, he’s so dumb. You snicker, “who else could I possibly be talking to?”
Ryland’s face heats up. “I just- I don’t- yes.”
“Yes?” You cock your brow, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Yes, I want to have dinner with you,” Ryland finally spits out. The words slur together with the speed of his speech, but the meaning is still clear.
You thread your fingers into the man’s blonde locks. His impossibly blue eyes gaze straight into yours. He seems to be holding his breath in anticipation of your next move.
One of your hands slides down to pinch his chin and angle it towards you. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”
He breathes out a confused, “Wha-” before it registers that you’re leaning in. You hover right over his lips where you’re able to breathe in each other’s air. He shudders, breath fanning against your face. You give him plenty of time to pull away, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to. In fact, he leans in quickly, crashing your lips together.
It’s a very clumsy crushing of mouths for the first few seconds. Spit and teeth and lips clash. You smile into it all the same, tilting your head to find the right angle. Ryland’s hands stiffen by his side before he’s able to ground himself by pressing his palms against your hip bones. He grips your waist like a lifeline, slowly melting into the kiss.
He tastes like coffee and that sandwich he had for lunch. The gentle scent of his soap and cologne feels heightened. You can feel his heated skin against your own.
Ryland whines as you slowly pull away, but the need for air outweighs his want for the kiss to continue forever. His eyes blink open, pupils blown out in icy blue irises. His expression is a mix of dazed happiness and confusion. Nothing is said for a few moments as you both just bask in each other’s warmth, your faces staying inches apart.
“Hi,” Ryland whispers.
“Hi,” you whisper back. A breathless laugh is shared between you. “Are we still on for that dinner?”
Ryland nods enthusiastically. “Defenitelly… I, uhh, didn’t know… I- I wasn’t even sure you were into guys like me… or guys at all…”
“We’re in San Francisco, all the firefighters are gay.” You say matter-of-factly. “I can name like 4 gay guys in my crew- 5 if you count lesbians.”
Ryland laughs. “San Fran firefighters are gay, good information to know I guess. I’ll tuck that away for later.”
You jokingly shove him away lightly. “You’ve got other gay firemen you’re flirting with? Wooowww.”
“You know I don’t,” Ryland says with a scoff. “I didn’t even know you’ve been flirting with me, honestly,” he mumbles.
You try to fight the laugh coming out of your mouth, you really do. But you can’t help it. You shudder with laughter and let your head drop against the other man’s shoulder. “You’re joking right?” You finally let out between chuckles.
You can feel Ryland’s face heating up as you tuck yourself in the crook of his neck. “I couldn’t tell! I mean, it seems more obvious now, but how was I supposed to know you’re into me?” The science teacher sounds like he genuinely didn’t pick up on your overly apparent flirting.
Another laugh escapes your lips. You press a kiss to his neck and slowly work your way up his jaw before kissing the corner of his mouth. “For an incredibly smart man, you can be insanely dense at times.”
Ryland punches you softly in the shoulder while covering his red face with his other hand. “Shut up.”
“Gladly,” you reply, pulling his hand away from his face and leaning in to steal another kiss.
white tumblr liberals if this site existed in 1800s america: idkkkkk i know slavery is bad but like uh i dont like when slaves say they want to kill plantation owners thats kinda icky like….uhh wheres ur empathy..? they are giving you a job…no seriously i know slavery is bad but like if you do a revolt and kill them for raping your women and using your children as alligator bait and skinning people alive to use their body as furniture you will just continue the cycle like you’ll be even worse than them! you cant hate them! wheres ur compassion dude they probably feel rlly bad about whipping you it probably gives them bad vibes
Had the thought of chubby Ben Grimm, and it won't leave, so i figured I'd spread the idea. It doesn't even make sense with him being made of rock, and yet...
Chubby Ben Grimm who chuckles as he turns in the suit that he’s supposed to wear for Johnny and Peter’s wedding. Who looks as sheepish as a face carved from jagged rock can make.
As he turns to you and scrapes a corrugated hand against the span of his head and grumbles, “Well, didn’t know a rock could expand but I guess if there’s anyone thick enough to do it, it’s me.”
He watches you, watching him, silent as the grave—a moment of palpable apprehension flits across his face. All the while, you take in the sloping curves that the extra weight has relegated to his massive frame, that has put such exertion on the seams of the suit, made his sleeves stretch and the buttons over his belly string tight.
“You, uh,” he ventures cautiously, “Think I still look good?”
All you can do is walk over to your boyfriend who seems as close to fidgeting as a cliffside can. Who radiates unease as you take in the change. As you skirt your hand up the broad, firm chest that has a little extra cushion now.
“You know how they say ‘climb like a tree,’ Ben Grimm?” You ask. He arches a wry brow ridge, a ghost of a smile on his face.
“Yeah?” He asks.
“Think I’m gonna scale you like fucking Everest,” you grin—he can’t contain the explosive laugh that comes out of him. His hands find you in abject relief, pulling you flush against him.
“Alright,” he grins, his grip becoming more possessive, “I like the sounda that.”
a/n: something I wrote for me and maybe you too. Enjoy! :)
cw: flirting, Ben is awkward and can’t believe you’re into him, gn!reader (no description of features/clothing)
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Ben realizes that he likes Sue’s book club friend much, much more than he expected.
Ben Grimm/Reader
"A friend from your bookclub?" Ben asks from where he's poised at the corner with a magazine. He's framed in a rather picturesque manner at the wall-length window. Beyond him, there's a dashing view of the New York skyline draped with a thick layer of snow. Sue gives him a dubious look, her voice wry as she speaks.
"Are you more surprised at the fact that I read," she asks primly, "Or that I have a friend?"
"Can't it be both?" He asks with a good-natured grin that make his face look more craggily-detailed in the suffused kitchen lighting. He flips a page with a practiced ease in his rather blocky fingers, something that he's taken great deliberation to learn how to do so. Sue makes a semi-insulted chuckle as she walks over to the island to confirm the contents of her purse.
"If you can have poker nights here every Wednesday," Sue returns, "I can have a friend come and meet me at the Baxter Building."
"Some friend," Ben jokes back as he looks up from the page, "Makin' em climb all those stairs."
"Elevators exist for people who don't exceed the 800 pound limit." Sue returns back with practiced ease. Ben shrugs as though he's not miffed at the prospect of the daily thirty-floor climb.
"Gotta keep my girlish physique," Ben snipes back. "They some kind of superhero too?"
"I have non-superhero friends," Sue grins, "They happen to be a civilian."
"They gonna pass out if they see me?" Ben asks with a joking slant to his voice, but it's not entirely a joke. There's something that's caught in his vulnerable gaze as she looks up from the abyss of her pocket, up to those blue eyes that are shining through.
"No," Sue reassures him in a manner that makes it clear that she's speaking the truth, "I don't think they will. They like us."
There's something in Sue's voice that seems a little layered but she doesn't quite say it—Ben can read between the lines.
"Oh," Ben says, "They a cape chaser?"
"I wouldn't say that," Sue returns in a more sing-song voice.
"Is it Johnny?" Ben cracks back. Sue laughs as though this is a very amusing concept.
"Is it Reed?" Ben ventures again. Sue gives him a warning glare as she walks in the opposite direction of the penthouse.
"They're going to be here any minute, but I have to get something from the bathroom." Sue says, fixing a coiffed lock of hair over her shoulder. "Can you let them in if they get here before I'm back?"
"Sure," Ben returns cavalierly, and aims at Sue's back, "Is it Parker?"
"Just get the door," Sue laughs, and then she's gone. Ben obliges and returns back to reading about good housekeeping in the magazine. He makes it to an obituary about a famous artist and almost forgets about the favor he promised when there's the melodic chime of the doorbell. He looks up with his eyes to the door that awaits his responsibility.
"Here goes nothing," He mutters under his breath, and makes those deliberate, plodding steps to the door. Ben's taken care for years now to walk with a particular gait that doesn't make all the fine china tremble when he walks, so it's almost like he's light on his feet. Almost.
He's certain that Sue's friend can hear the jolting tremors from the other side of the door as he swallows up the distance in easy strides. As he turns the doorknob that disappears entirely in his hand with a jerk of the wrist.
He decides it's of the better offensive maneuever to announce himself as he opens the door, so that her friend isn't alarmed or taken aback.
He begins with what he thinks is a good introduction. "So, you're Sue's friend?"
Well, he would if he was able to completely articulate the sentence. But, in later recollection, he thinks that he made it to 'you're' and then something in the transmission from firing neuron to vocal chord must have died, because all he does is stare.
"Hi," You look up at Ben with a sweet smile, a slight chatter to your voice that must be from the chill outside, "You must be Ben."
He stares a tad longer than he should, looking you up and down in the layers of jackets and coats that do nothing to disguise the shape of your figure, the shape of your face as you smile up at him. It's warm in the hall, and perhaps this is what wafts over the scent that you're wearing to him from the small distance elapsed between you—he likes it. He thinks it suits you quite well.
He realizes that he's ogling you, and perhaps a giant rocky behemoth filling up the massive doorway, eyes boring into you, is setting a terrible impression. He supposes he should speak.
"Uh," He begins, and wishes he was wearing more than just his alma mater's sweatshirt and 10XXXXL sweatpants, "I am. You—wanna come in?"
"Sure do," You respond cheerily. "Sue waiting in there for me?"
Speaking words difficult. Saying thing hard. Ben Grimm, for all of his vaunted abilities, manages.
"Yeah. She said she was grabbin' somethin' from the back. Said she'd—"—He thinks about what sounds roguishly charismatic and settles upon—"—Be back soon."
Nailed the landing, he thinks. You grin up at him. "That's fine. I don't mind waiting for her."
He realizes he's yet to let you in, and moves back in a slow manner that he hopes won't scare you—usually, most people get frightened when the landslide tends to move with more alacrity than they expected. "Come on in, make yourself at home."
"Kind of you to offer," You reply jauntily, and walk in through the doorway, past him. You're much smaller than him—well, everyone is, but you don't hug the other side of the wall to get past him. He thinks that your sleeve actually brushes past him and he has to fight a shiver, barely cognizant of the door he's closing. All he's doing is watching the way that you raise your arms above your head to unwind the red scarf around your neck, staring at the crook of your arms as you do so.
"Wow," You declare breathlessly, "That's a beautiful sight."
You're looking in the direction of the skyline, something admirative and soft on your face—he has to swallow as he takes a step closer to you. Something feels odd in the depths of his stomach—he realizes that he's still holding the magazine, as he looks down to see it crumple in his fist. He makes way to hastily stuff it in his pocket as you turn back to him, that bright look in your eyes. You're actually looking at him, engaging in conversation—most people tend to avert their eyes to the ground or keep a healthy distance.
But you're pretty close. Close enough that he can take the time to look at your cute face and once again, find himself stymied for words.
"Yeah, it is." He says as he stares down at you, and then realizes he's lost the plot. His voice is gruff as he says, "What is?"
You laugh—and something soars in him as you tilt your head back. "The skyline. You guys just get to enjoy it every day."
"Oh, that." Ben has the good grace to be a little sheepish, but he's on the recovery quick enough. "You get used to it eventually."
"I don't think I could," You say with a wistful sigh. "There's just something so far up and removed and beautiful about it."
"Gimme a floor view on Yancy Street with a window," Ben grouses back, letting some real quality leach into his voice at this.
"Oh, Yancy Street with Seigel's Delicatessen?" You ask him, and he finds himself in for another surprise.
"You know about that hole in the wall?" He asks with something curious and stunned in his voice—you chuckle knowingly.
"Hole in the wall with the best Reubens in the city," You reply back knowingly, "Also, I used to work there for a few years."
"When was that?" Ben asks coarsely, immediately, "Feel like I would've remembered a face like yours."
He realizes belatedly that this is something that should've remained an inside thought—there's no way that you'd be receptive to that compliment. But then, he finds to his surprise, that you laugh again, your smile growing wider, a hand going to press over your lips as you look pleased.
"That's sweet of you to say," You respond, "I think I would've remembered you, too."
"'Cause of the rocky demeanor?" He asks with a sarcastic tilt to his voice, never one to lose an opportunity for self-deprecation. "Or the stunning sense a'humor?"
"Mmmm," You say, tilting your head as you look at him, as if appraising something more than just the surface—he feels something thrill up his spine as you watch him, "Probably the jawline. Or the shoulders."
He barely has time to process this, or the way that it makes his heart race, as you add on for good measure, "Or maybe those eyes. Something nice about them."
"Uh," He says, because this is the very opposite of how he expected this interaction to go, "What's your name again?"
There's a gleam of something mischievous in your eyes as you open your mouth to answer—but your name is spoken on someone else's tongue. Ben has never been less appreciative of Sue emerging in the nick of time, making you turn away from him, to your book club friend who is interrupting this cozy moment.
"Sue!" You exclaim, going to her open arms for a warm embrace. "Good to see you."
"Good to see you too," Sue says, pulling back to give you an admiratory smile, "Has Ben been keeping you company?"
At this, you pause, looking back with a shy smile at him that makes his heart do a quadruple flip.
"Oh, yes," you smile, "He's an excellent conversationalist."
He thinks he's no such thing, especially with how much you've flummoxed him. But he'll take the compliment on the chin.
"You know me," Ben says, and Sue does know him—which is why she gives him a fleeting look over your shoulder, when you're not looking.
"Well," Sue says, ever the interloper in a conversation he desperately wants to keep going, "We should get going before our reservation goes to someone else."
"Oh, let's," You say with a grin. "I'm starving."
Ben realizes that he is, too, but not for food, as he watches with some forlorn degree of longing as the two of you get ready to leave. He steps back as the two of you walk past him, but then realizes that you're turning to him with something in your hand.
"Ben, this fell out of your magazine," You inform him, pressing a crumpled piece of paper into his large hand—your fingers are so tiny against his, so miniature. He wants to know what it's like to hold them in his. "Thought you might want it back."
"Thanks," He says, trying to memorize every part of you, his fingers closing around it. "Nice meetin' you."
"Nice meeting you too," You say, but Sue is calling your name. "Maybe I'll see you around."
"Yeah, I sure hope so," Ben says—you duck your face in pleasure, as he watches you go. It's not until he hears the door shut in the jamb, and stares at it for a long while, that he decides to open his palm up again. Then, he can finally take the time to look at the shred of paper you chose to gave him.
It's a number. And written next to it—your name, with a looping script that says Call me!
"Holy shit," Ben mutters, and doesn't realize until Sue gets back from lunch that he's had a dopey smile on his face for the longest time.
Dividers provided by the delightful @strangergraphics
how to get your boyfriend to feel you up at the beach
Ben Grimm/Reader, 2.1K
a/n: a request for beloved mutual @wackular that uhhhh hehehhe
cw: consensual groping, flirting, Ben is very shy, reader is wearing two-piece swimsuit but no description is given, gn!reader
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…all in three easy steps! ;)
Ben Grimm/Reader
It's called Baxter Beach, the place that the two of you are going to. No apparent relation between the eponymous building that the Fantastic Four takes residence in. And yes, the two of you are going together, but, well, it's not that the two of you are necessarily going alone. You're going with the rest of the Fantastic Four.
Sue, you already are familiar with, being that the two of you are friends. You're familiar with Johnny on a passing 'how-do-you-do,' kind of basis, in the sense that you're friends with his sister and that firmly puts you in the to be politely interacted with an no more, no less unless you wish for death territory.
Reed, you're fairly certain that he knows of you, as he's said your name incorrectly no less than thrice every time he's stepped out of the lab to peck Sue on the cheek.
And Ben? Well, isn't that the million dollar question—most people wouldn't rank a beach date as an ideal fourth date, but the two of you are far past the body sensitivity issues, being that he's entirely made out of rock.
And, for the small, infestiminal fact that every time the two of you have met up for a date, he looks at you the way a blind man sees the sunrise for the first time. This makes you fairly certain that you could show up in a barrel and he'd be stumbling over compliments to pay your way.
All this to say, when he almost bashfully invites you along to this 'family rendezvous' to the beach, you're all too happy to agree, trailing behind him on the soft white sand. Ahead of you both, the other three of the fabulous foursome zip off ahead in their various directions.
Johnny takes to the sky in a hot fireball of light to extinguish his flames in the water. Reed carries Sue off in giant strides in those rather malleable limbs to the water's edge. This means that the two of you get exclusive time to saunter down the beaten path to the water, together.
He's carrying the lion's share of the weight—the volleyballs and nets are tucked under one rather massive arm, the trio of self-standing umbrellas hefted over the other shoulder. You can't help but admire the impressive landscape of that rocky chest, bare and exposed for the occasion.
You're staring more than necessary—something in you thrills up your spine, races under your cheeks, to realize that he's staring back. Well, at least it's reciprocated, under such a clear, beautiful sky.
You decide to break the proverbial ice with, "It's nice that you wanted to have me go with you all to the beach."
"Well, I can't pass up a free trip." He returns gruffly—he's admiring the rather tasteful swimsuit that you wore. You had racier options—but you figure that that would be for later opportunities.
"And it's kinda cold in New York right now, you know?" He grumbles, looking back in the direction of the city that took mere minutes for the hovercraft to dart away from in jagged blur. You have to suppress a smirk as you find him turning back to you, his eyes lingering on the shape of your figure.
"You spoil everyone that you take on a date?" You ask him with a grin.
"Only for the people I really like." He cracks back. You can see a glimpse of those teeth through the cragginess of his face, something that looks rather charming. Paired with the pink flamingo swim trunks, you think it makes him look downright dashing.
"Oh, you really like me?" You play along; he wasn't so brave over the phone. Not that you've talked much—only every night since the first date. And Johnny told him he was hogging the line after the first week, so you've had to limit your calls to about an hour and a half.
"Does it show?" He asks. "Thought I was bein' pretty slick with how I've been makin' you chase after me."
"Kinda hard to do it with your whole family here," You add back slyly—said family is drawing closer into view as the two of you continue to trail down the perfect, warm sand that feels rather nice underneath your bare feet. The cold, snowy landscape of New York seems but a distant memory.
It seems like the only thing he can devote his attention to is you—his eyes are the sterling quality of the sky that hangs perfectly above you both.
"I can ignore them if you can." He returns back. It's spoken with that characteristic shy gruffness that you've heard when he wishes you 'goodnight' in that gentlemanly manner over the phone.
"That makes two of us." You give him a close-lipped smile.
"It's cause I'm so easy on the eyes, ain't it?" He aims back your way.
"That and more," You say with all the sincerity that you can muster. The gravity of your statement is so steadfast, that it seems to take a moment for it to truly sink in. You burst into a good-natured laugh as he nearly trips over a piece of refuse ejected from the sea in his distraction.
In order to play off the near-avalanche he causes (and most likely his embarrassment), he decides now is as good as any time to set up camp. It's a bit of a marvel to watch him do so.
As you neatly roll out your respective towels, he easily spikes each of the umbrellas deep into the ground with an eruption of sand. The power of those hands—the raw strength in each coiled muscle—you can't help but sit on your knees, agape with the casual might he wields without a care.
You shift the backpack that you brought with you around to the front of you, settling it down in small indentation to the front of the towel. It's small task, unpacking the few possessions that you brought with relative ease. Time to enact the first part of your plan.
You produce a bottle of sunscreen as Ben finishes setting up the final umbrella, fanning great shade over the two of you.
"Ben," You look at him under the guise of your lashes as he ducks beneath the cover, "You mind putting some lotion on me?"
It seems that with you, it's no great task of unmooring him. He freezes mid-squat, knee poised over the towel that he was ready to sigh into. He gawks at the bottle with the trepidation one would a bomb ready to detonate, before his gaze squares up to yours.
"Oh." It's a flat delivery of a hollow syllable; his hand goes to palm around the base of his neck. "Well, I dunno—"
"Oh," You say, giving false airs of surprise, "Why not?"
The reticence gives way to bashful reluctance as he finally eases his weight into the sand with a great oomph—he lowers his hands to regard the width of his palms, the grooves that are etched into them. It's a long second that he spends contemplating them before he looks back up to you, just as lost as he was earlier.
"I, uh—"—His words are broken, nervous, almost—"—I don't want to hurt you."
You shift closer to him across the protection of the towels, feeling the crosshatching of the sunbeams that bleed through the gaps of the umbrellas on your skin. He watches, almost stymied, as you near him, eyes widening fractionally with the distance that you eat up between the two of you. It's endearing, the way that this gentle giant acts around you—which is why you decide to pursue your advances.
"I've held your hand before." You inform him sweetly, and you swear you almost see that rocky Adam's apple bob in a swallow. "I think that would've told me if it hurt."
"Well, I—"—He begins, because it's clear to him that having the privilege of holding your hand is altogether a different matter of lathering lotion all over your body. You hold out the bottle to him, silencing the rest of his sentence. As you nudge your knuckles into him, he doesn't seem to have realized his is already rising to meet yours.
"Why don't we experiment?" You ask in a hushed whisper that is reserved only for his ears. His mouth seems to draw open at this—you have to resist a laugh if this means that you'll get your way. And it seems like his resolve is crumbling, as you inch the bottle into that hand that is tempting itself open for you.
Finally, he speaks, though his eyes have never wavered from you. "You sure?"
You allow your smile to grow, to reassure him, in victory of your conquest. "Sure I'm sure. Usually I have to keep guys from putting their hands all over me."
It seems that this brash admission finally coaxes a laugh out of him, that summons the characteristic Ben Grimm that you've seen before. Though you are rather enjoying this sweet, off-guard Ben Grimm just as much.
"Well—"—He seems to be returning to good form—"I guess I'm just a gentleman like that."
He clears his throat, a rather static noise, looking at the bottle that is dwarfed in his hand, up to you. "Don't wanna scare off my date with my rough hands."
It's a statement but a question of confirmation, giving you one final opportunity to back out. You turn yourself face-down to the ground, holding his stare that is growing wide-eyed as he takes in the sight of you making way to all fours.
"Maybe," You assert as you sink down to the ground, "I like a few bumps in the road."
"Alright—"—He has to clear his throat again, a disruption of air in the suddenly taut, heady silence between you both—"—You asked for it."
And you do—he pulls up the hem of your shirt with utmost gentility, a care that you think people with normal capabilities would not normally possess. You hear the squeeze of the tube, the careful scrape of those hands against each other as he gathers what he must assume is a respectable amount of sunscreen.
There's the elapsing of a second where you feel your heart in your throat, as he considers the best plan of attack. And then, where there was once nothing but the kiss of a fresh sea breeze, you feel the rasp of a bumpy, rough palm up your bare back.
Oh, and he was selling himself short: the texture is glorious. You knew from the moment you first held his hand crossing a crowded New York street clogged with pedestrian traffic. If it felt that good interlacing across your naked fingers, your exposed palm—feeling it on your back, up and down your body, would be even better.
One hand is enough to cover the span of your back. He's so, so cautious, as he runs that corrugated width up and down the small of your back, taking care to work the cream into your skin. He's deliberate with the pressure he uses, so that it doesn't hurt—instead, it soothes. Rather than rend, it relaxes. Rather than harm—it practically heals.
"Well, how'm I doin'?" He asks, because he must think that your uncharacteristic silence is an indicator of pain, rather than pleasure. You realize it's up to you to verbalize how much you're enjoying this. How much you never want it to end.
You moan quietly—that hand stutters on your skin, and you giggle under his touch. This makes his fingers hiccup up you, though he continues to do his due diligence.
"I think you're good, Mr. Grimm." You reply. He must be getting sick—what with how he's clearing his throat so often. "I think I could stay here forever."
"Don't threaten me with a good time." He replies gruffly. This only makes the heat that's broliing you with each continued second his hand remains on you inflame you all-the-more greatly.
"Guess I'll have to return the favor," You turn your head to look at him—his eyes finally dart away from your body to meet you.
"I don't need lotion—"—He insists. You note with satisfaction that as you rise back up to a sitting position, he removes his hand from you with supreme reluctance.
"No, but you might have some sand in the cracks." You comment—you see one of those brow ridges of his arch in wry amusement.
"Gotta doctor for that back in the city," He shoots back dryly. You giggle as you turn back to your bag, feeling the burn of his eyes on the tacky surface of your back. Time to execute the second part of your plan.
"I think I could use this," You comment, and produce a brush. It's a paintbrush you purchased specifically for the occasion.
"Whatcha gonna do with that?" He asks warily, though there's still good humor in his voice. "I don't do so good with watercolors."
You regale him with another chuckle, but refuse to give clarification. "Turn around and you'll find out."
"Whatever ya say," He says, and it seems that he's fighting his good manners to not turn around with the alacrity of someone much faster. You note how he tenses as you run a hand over the great length of his back, worry your fingers down the grooves, and search for adequate spot to begin. You decide, hand poised over the indentation of his nape, that you'll start there.
When you draw the brush down the dint, working the bristles into one of the many hollowed craters that compose his skin, he makes a low, deep noise that shudders through you. Another one, quieter, coarser—perhaps for your benefit—thrums through you in succession. You're openly smiling now—good thing he can't see.
"Ooh." This noise is of deep, deep satisfaction, your fingers easing through an extensive notch. "You gotta be careful with where you put your hands."
"Didn't think I could hurt the big, strong Ben Grimm." You tease—his head turns, and you can see the raw heat in his eyes.
"Ain't hurtin', sweetheart." He reassures you. "Just the opposite."
"Good to know." you reply. "'Cause I'm not stopping."
He chuckles, and you have to fight a sharp intake of breath—the look in his eyes is hungry.
"Good." He returns, roughly, gratefully. "Let me know when I wake up from this nice dream I'm havin'."
"Sure thing, Mr. Grimm," You chuckle—you think this is definitely the start of a beautiful relationship.
got done watching the backrooms movie. i really liked it actually like oh my god clark and mary make me crazy. but anyways i come on here, look the movie up, only to find people making x reader fics of the white stoner guy who had like 8 minutes of screentime. You people really would fuck a fence if it was white don't fucking piss me off
Bro imagine Holland and reader are in college when they have Holly. Holland taking her to class with him, reader staying up all night if Holland is working because Holly wont sleep without her Daddy.
Holland coming back after a shift at whatever shitty restaurant hes working at in college and putting Holly to bed before tending to his other best girl, who is absolutely exhausted.
Imagine him talking to his friends and being like "I gotta get home I have plans with my girls" and they don't know about Holly so theyre all like "hehe yeah i bet you do 😉" and they think he's a total bachelor and Holland is just sitting there like "fuck yeah Mickey Mouse time".
Also this would mean that Holly could be the flower girl at their wedding! (Or even better I can 100% see Holland having her as his best man because she's his baby but shes also his Number 1 Bro of all time).
Yeah thats all I got today I just need some fluffy Holland March :)
-🦈
THIS IS SOOOO CUTE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
I always imagine Holland as a pretty young dad since he clearly looks pretty young, I imagine him like 18-20 when they had Holly so this makes a lot of sense
Like them getting an apartment through the university so the rent is sort of controlled so it's easier to make ends meet since they've got a baby
Holly not being able to go to sleep without him 😭😭😭😭
Like cramming for an exam and trying to get Holly to go down but Holland isn't there and for some reason he has the magic touch that whenever he steps into the room Holly just instantly calms down and is soothed
But he's working a graveyard shift as the cook at some shitty diner, on his short break as he smokes a cigarette and his coworker asks if he wants to go get a beer or something after and he's like "can't, I've got two girls waiting on me at home."
And his coworker doesn't realize he literally has the two most precious girls ever waiting for him and not just some random girls he picked up to sleep with 😭
Holland would catch himself singing the hot dog song all the time he would genuinely walk around or be flipping pancakes at work like "hot dog hot dog hot diggity dog"
And none of them even realize that he has a baby until either one of two things happen
1- he comes in with spit up all over his shirt and a binky clipped to it
Or 2- she like rushes in with Holly one night and is terrified that something is wrong because she won't stop crying and she's done everything only for her to quiet down almost instantly once she's in Hollands arms and everyone is like
"You've got a fucking baby????"
"And a fiancée!"
Holland taking baby Holly to classes with him and obviously he's studying to become a P.I. so they have to go over some messed up stuff to as she's like strapped to his chest he just covers her ears 😭😭😭
The wedding bit is so cute 😭😭 my parents were young when they had me and my sisters so we got to be the flowers girls, and maids of honor and then they did like a little ceremony with us where they also gave us little rings and it was so cute 😭😭😭
She would totally be Holland's best man that is SO CUTEEE I imagine Holland would propose when she's pregnant and then they would actually get married once Holly is maybe a year old just so they aren't so exhausted from all the newborn stuff
So he's standing there holding her or she wants to be independent but just sits by his feet so he has to bend and hold her hand the whole time 😭😭😭
pairing: Bruce Wayne x Batmom
warning: Y/N used, Jason cameo, Oliver Queen mention, Superbat mention, nicknames (honey, my love), this is just cute Bruce & batmom, if you see grammar mistakes...no you don't
wordcount: 2,293
author's notes: Surprise, you get this earlier than I intended. Thank you all for the support with the first part. I'm so glad everyone is enjoying. As always likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated :)
[Batfamily Interviews Masterlist] | <- previous - next ->
The video opens up with a clip of a moment later in time. Bruce Wayne is in the hot seat with you asking the questions.
"I feel like this is going to be boring because you generally don't really lie." you say.
"What? I lie to the press all the time…and our children." Bruce states.
"Truth." the operator, Judd says.
You stare at him with wide eyes, "Honey, you can't say that."
The video cuts to both you and Bruce sitting next to one another. Both of your hands are clasp on the table while Bruce's are hidden under. One of them of which is on your thigh though the camera doesn't see it. A female crew member from Vanity Fair sits just off camera on the other side of the table.
"Y/N, Bruce, you were both brought here today to take a lie detector test. One of you will be hooked up onto the machine and the other will interview. Then you switch." She tells you. Both you and Bruce nod in understatement. "This is Judd, our polygraph operator." she introduce the man sitting off to the side.
You and Bruce both turn to him. Bruce gave him a greeting nod, you smiled and gave a small 'hello.'
"Who wants to be in the hot seat first?" the crew member asked.
You laugh nervously and turn to look at your husband and he looks at you.
"Is the hot seat the lying seat or the other one?" Bruce asked.
"This side is the test and also it's the truth seat." you tell him.
"Well then ladies first." Bruce says, which you gasp in shock.
You are getting hooked to the machine and are suddenly getting nervous. Judd, the lie detector operator, places your right arm on the table.
"Try not to move this arm too much." he told you.
A montage of setting up the lie detector starts to roll before the camera is on Bruce, now sitting opposite of you.
"My love…to calibrate the machine, I'm going to ask you some straight forward questions. Please answer honestly. Is your full name Y/N M/N Wayne?"
"Yes." you say.
"Are you 39 years old?"
Once again your eyes widen, "Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to ask a women her age?" Bruce just gives you a smug smile. "Yes." you finally answer with an eye roll.
"Are you about to take a polygraph exam?"
"Yes…everything I say feels like is a lie." you say then looked over at Judd. "Is it registering than I am?"
Judd shakes his head, "No, you're doing fine."
Bruce raised an eyebrow at you, "Are you nervous?"
"Well I wasn't before we arrived, but now being hooked up, I am. I guess I never realize how much I lie in life. Now I'm actively trying not to and it just feels wrong." you say.
"You lie more times than you think you do." Bruce stated.
Y/N Wayne Tells The Truth
Bruce reads off the first prompt, "You once told the Gotham Gazette that you feel like everyone hates you." you nod your head. "Do you still believe that?"
You nod your head again, "Yeah."
The camera switches back to Bruce, whose face had nothing but concern written on it.
"Why?" he said so quietly that it also didn't get picked up by audio.
"Um…I mean I don't know why anyone wouldn't have like some resentment towards me. You are like Gotham's baby, the prince of Gotham City. The city loved your parents and by extension you. Then here I come, a low-middle class girl from Star City, somehow got the playboy to settle down. I was living most Gotham girls fantasy and different from everyone else. So yeah I knew people hated me and I think some still do."
"I wouldn't trade you for anyone." Bruce stated.
"Awe you sap."
"Is the real reason you took the job to be my assistant because you secretly wanted to date me?"
"Really? That's the next question, even after what I just said?" you rolled your eyes, "No."
"She's telling the truth." Judd said.
"I truly had no idea who you were. I'm from the west coast, we didn't care about what was happening in the east. Which also if we are being honest…I think Alfred was looking for someone who didn't care who you were."
Judd nods, "Truth."
"Am I a good husband?" Bruce ask with a straight face.
You take a moment to answer, "Yes."
Judd shakes his head and Bruce tilts his head at you.
"What? No! You are you're a great husband…I will say though that you weren't a very good boyfriend, but I've had worst."
"That's the truth." Judd says.
"Okay so then follow up, what made me not that good of a boyfriend?"
"Well, there are two big things, but for legal reason…I can't say." you say.
"You went to the same high school as this person." Bruce slides over a picture of Oliver Queen.
You knit your eyebrows in confusion before realizing who it was, "Oh Ollie."
"Don't like how you said that…" Bruce mumble. "You dated during your senior year. Would you say that he was one of your worst that you were talking about?"
Your mouth twist as you looked at the picture, thinking hard. You opened your mouth to speak, but then retracted it.
"No." you finally say.
"That's a lie." spoke Judd.
Your jaw dropped as Bruce laughs a little, "What? I didn't lie. Sure he wasn't the best and he owns up to that…now at least. The ones in college though…" You make a face.
"Ones? Plural?"
"Oh, don't act like that…you practically had a new girlfriend every month according to Alfred."
"I already know the answer to this one," Bruce says and you give an offended look, "Do you look at fan accounts dedicated to you?"
You laugh, "I look at fan accounts dedicated to all of us. Especially ones about Dami."
Judd nods, "She's telling the truth."
You look into the camera, "I gotta make sure everyone is being respectful and appropriate about my baby."
"We see it all." Bruce comments.
"You make me watch a lot of reality TV." Bruce says.
"I don't make you, you enjoy it."
"Do you think we should have our own reality TV?"
You shake your head, "God no. We are kind of public enough, I don't need the world seeing into our home life."
"Truthful."
"If I asked to with hold information from a super villain to cover for me, would you?" Bruce makes a face.
"No." you say equally making the same face.
"I would never ask you to do that."
"I don't even think our kids would cover for you." you and Bruce both laugh. "Also, I've done that before…wouldn't recommend."
"Did you lie at any point of this interview and we didn't catch you?" Bruce asked.
"I think I was pretty truthful consider that fact that I felt what I was saying was all lies."
"My turn I guess." Bruce said tossing what he was reading off of behind him.
The camera cuts to now Bruce getting hooked up to the polygraph machine.
"Bruce, to calibrate the machine, I'm going to ask you some straight forward questions. Please answer honestly." you read off of a note pad. Bruce nods. "Is your full name Bruce Thomas Wayne?" you asked.
Bruce nods, "Yes."
"Are you from Gotham, New Jersey?"
"Yes."
"Are you about to take a lie detector test?"
Bruce smiles at you, "I suppose that I am. Yes."
You look toward Judd, the lie detector operator, "Good?"
"All good." Judd says back to you, and you turn your attention back to your husband.
Bruce Wayne Tells The Truth
"I feel like this is going to be boring because you generally don't really lie." you say.
"What? I lie to the press all the time…and our children." Bruce states.
"He's telling the truth." Judd says.
You look at him with wide eyes, "Honey, you can't say that."
Bruce shrugs, clearly not caring.
You look down at the paper the crew gave you. Pre-reading the first one, it makes you laugh.
"I'm already not liking this." Bruce admits.
"How often are you faking that you remember people at Galas from when you were a kid?" you ask.
Bruce doesn't hesitate to answer, "Oh, all the time."
"That's so bad." you say, "You're horrible."
Bruce shrugs again.
"The family group chat often talks about how hot this person is " you slide a picture of Clark Kent in front of Bruce.
"Oh no…" Bruce says already knowing where this was going.
"There is a part of the internet that is very dedicated on shipping you two together..,"
"Shipping?"
You gave your husband a deadpan look, "Don't try to act like you don't know what that is. I know Stephanie's explained it to you before."
Bruce chuckles.
"The two of you are seen pretty close with each other. So the question is would you leave me if Clark Kent declared his love for you?"
Bruce draws his lips into a thin line. Staring a the photo of Clark on the table, contemplating. Five minutes go by and you, on the other side of the table, look at your so call lover with with shock.
"Bruce this is a long time, goodness!"
Bruce shakes his head, "No, no I wouldn't leave you." You turn your head to Judd.
"Truth." said Judd, but you shake your head.
"I don't believe you. Would you leave me for Clark Kent?" you ask again.
"No." He said it clear with a stern voice.
You are narrowing your eyes at him as Judd tells you that Bruce was telling the truth.
"Before dropping out of Gotham University, you were dorm mates with Former District Attorney, Harvey Dent. Was he a good roommate?"
"I think we were both equally bad roommates…" Bruce said.
"Would you say that you are or were more successful than him?"
"Ohhh." Bruce made a face like that question psychically hurt him. You laugh at his reaction, "No absolutely not."
"Deceptive." Judd said, causing both you and Bruce to laugh.
"Oh well I already know the answer to this, but when was the last time you made a dinner reservation?" you laugh. Bruce makes a face that you couldn't describe. "Never." you said as you shook your head. "I don't think you ever have, Alfred does it for you."
"If I did and this was before you, I would just call and pretend to be my own assistant…" Bruce revealed.
"Well, you didn't have to," you told him laughing, "It was just something you chose to do."
"You're quite well know for your physique. What's your secret for staying so fit and or hydrated?"
Bruce thinks on how to answer, "I get wet when I…"
The camera cuts back to you. You are slightly shaking your head, trying not to laugh.
"No…say something else." you say. Bruce breaks into silent laughter. "Please say something else."
"What was the question again?" Bruce asked.
"What's your secret to staying so hydrated or fit?"
"I get wet when I-"
"NO!" you yell, "Bruce say it another way…" you tell him.
"I drink water? I work out almost everyday?" Bruce responds.
"There you go. Oh my god, Bruce." you say.
Bruce laughs at your panic expression.
"Moving on from whatever that was-"
"What I was trying to say-" Bruce began, cutting you off.
"NO! Honey, we're done." you say.
"We have a lot of kids." You state reading of the card, "Out of all of them, who is your favorite?"
"Are you trying to start a war?" Bruce ask.
"Not me, Vanity Fair."
"I don't have a favorite." Bruce claims.
"That's a lie." Judd tells you. You burst into laughter
"It varies week to week. Who ever runs my patients the least that week the is favorite."
"Truth." Judd says.
"So then who gets on your nerves the least?" Jason's voice said from somewhere off camera.
"Cassandra…and Duke."
Judd nods, "Truth."
"Are you the crime fighting vigilante known as Batman?"
Bruce sighs, "Am I going to get asked this every interview we do?"
"Answer the question, honey."
"No." Bruce declared.
Judd's face twitch a little, "Ask him again."
You let out a little surprise noise, "Did it not pick up?"
You lean forward looking into your husband's eyes. He was staring back at you, with a shit eating grin on his face.
"Are you Batman?" you ask again.
Bruce leans forward too, leaning into your eyes. You're enjoying this, he could tell.
"No." Bruce answered.
"He's telling the truth." Judd announced.
You fell back into the chairs, "We almost had him guys." you say referring to the people of the internet.
"Okay that was all the question. Did you lie at any point during this interview and we didn't catch you?"
Bruce nods, "Yes."
"True." Judd said.
You looked wide eye at your husband, "Are you serious?" Bruce smiles and nods. Mouth open with shock, "When?"
"I'm not going to say."
"Can I say what I think you lied about?" you smiled.
"What?"
"Leaving me for Clark Kent." you laughed.
1,1010 Comments
@ shootingforthestars
Bruce knew exactly what he was saying
@ littleotter13
"Is that the lying seat' bruce for you every seat is the lying seat
@ FemboyJackie1
She looks at the camera like she's in The Office
@ noname-kA17
the concept of the industry's biggest pathological liar taking a lie detector test.
@ DCalc12
Y/N Wayne taking about Blark was not on my checklist for 2026
@ harleendefender09
Whose out here hating on our queen???
more notes: can you guys guess what three lie detector test videos inspire this??
When you first joined, they welcomed you handshakes, nods, smiles. You thought you’d earned your place. You worked harder than anyone. You stayed later. You listened more. You helped because that’s what heroes were supposed to do.
hell even Superman gave you a hug and a hand shake telling you “welcome”
But something shifted.
And you felt it.
and then you saw it..
Wonder Woman stopped asking your opinion during strategy sessions. Superman thanked everyone except you. Aquaman spoke over you like you weren’t there. Green Lantern barely hid his annoyance, rolling his eyes when you spoke, scoffing when you corrected him.
Batman stopped meeting your gaze entirely.
That one hurt the most.
Lunch made it obvious.
A table full of heros, gods, and your idols. and somehow you were always alone. Not because there weren’t seats—because no one wanted to sit next to you. Conversations died when you approached. Barry laughed loudly with others, then went awkwardly quiet when you passed, like your presence ruined the mood.
If you were late to a meeting, no one saved you notes.
They just said “sorry didn’t bring any notes”
During briefings, you could feel it—eyes narrowing when you spoke, tension tightening the room. When you pointed out legal consequences or civilian risk, batmans jaw clenched.
Once, he said it aloud.
That—that hurt the most.
“Y/N,” Batman said flatly, “you could’ve helped if you’d been paying attention.”
You had been paying attention.
But no one backed you up.
Wonder Woman looked away. Superman stared at the table. Aquaman crossed his arms. Guy smirked like he’d been waiting for this. Even Barry didn’t joke—just scratched the back of his neck and avoided your eyes.
Only shazam looked at you.
That awful, knowing pitying look.
You hated that look.
You noticed how they talked to Guy more than you. How they laughed at his jokes, tolerated his temper, forgave his mistakes!
You noticed how your name never made it into press releases. How there were figures and plushies and posters of everyone else—even alternates, even temporary members.
You searched once.
Nothing.
Again—nothing
You weren’t any kids favorite hero.
That realization settled deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating.
You dont even think people like you.
On patrols, your voice was ignored on comms. You warned them about risks they brushed you off. You suggested alternatives they dismissed you. if anything bad happens its on you.
Once—just once—you stopped talking altogether.
No one noticed.
You helped Barry with science. Helped shazam with homework. Wonder woman research old laws. Helped batman refine protocols.
And they hated you for it.
Maybe you made them uncomfortable. Maybe you reminded them that justice wasn’t just punching harder. Maybe you were proof that you didn’t need to be chosen by magic or born powerful to belong.
Or maybe they just didn’t like you.
or maybe they found something out?
Maybe this will all just blow over
You loved them once.
God—you loved the Justice League as a kid. You believed in justice. In fairness. In heroes who protected people because it was right, not because it looked good.
You loved justice you always wanted to be a hero or a lawyer.
Now you saw the truth.
Heroes were still people.
And people could be cruel.
You were drowning in the thought—heavy, spiraling, familiar—when a voice cut through it.
“Y/N.”
Nothing registered.
“Y/N?”
Suddenly—
CLAP
Right by your ears.
“Ow!” You flinched, jerking back as your phone nearly slipped from your hands as you almost got up your chair scraping the floor.
Flash stood there, hands raised, a forced grin on his face. “Uh… you okay?”
