Summary: There's more that meets the eye when Nathan has his weekly hospital visit with his favorite doctor, whom he may or may not have a crush on
a/n: request for @r0bynsblogins ; mentions of hospital terms, past medical trauma
You were studying a patient’s chart while walking down the hallway, squinting at the notes scribbled across the page. Your nose scrunched unconsciously as the sharp scent of lemon cleaner drifted through the air.
"Cleaning day," you muttered.
You hugged the wall, carefully avoiding the freshly mopped floor. The caution signs were impossible to miss, but that didn't stop one of the nurses from nearly planting face-first onto the tiles. Your hand shot out on instinct.
The nurse stumbled forward before you caught her elbow.
"Everything okay?" You asked.
Kelcie straightened herself and exhaled sharply. "I'm fine. Guess I didn't see the giant yellow sign directly in front of me. Thanks for the save." She replied.
"Well, if you did crack your head open, you're already in the right building. Efficient, really."
“If that happens, at least I’ll get my 15-minute break.” The two of you laughed.
Kelcie glanced at the chart in your hands.
"Speaking of repeat customers, your favorite patient checked in."
You rolled your eyes. "Be nice."
"Oh, come on. He has the hospital record for checking in every week,” she claimed.
You place your hand on your hip. “He technically handles our paychecks since he works for the bank that owns this hospital.”
Kelcie gasped dramatically. "You're right. We should protect him at all costs."
You pointed at her warningly. "Exactly."
She stuck her tongue out before heading toward the nurses' station.
The infamous patient she was referring to was Nathan Caine, the strangest man who was delivered to the ER in bandages and handcuffs a few years ago. You were a major part of his recovery, and you two had a professional relationship, but a slow friendship was forming.
Just a friendship, and nothing else.
With a small smile, you turned toward Nathan Caine's room. As soon as you opened the door, you immediately froze.
Nate was standing beside the supply cabinet, its door open. His arms were full of gauze, tape, tongue depressors, and enough medical supplies to stock a small apocalypse shelter.
His eyes widened.
"I can explain." He said
"Can you?" You ask, crossing your chest with your chart.
"Maybe."
You can only shake your head, closing the door.
"If you're going to steal medical supplies, Mr. Caine, at least take the bulk packs from the bottom drawer. Easier to hide."
Nate stared, then laughed, and quickly returned everything to its proper place before sitting on the exam table. "Thanks for the tip."
"You're welcome." You said.
"And I told you to call me Nate,” he said, sitting down on the examination bed.
You pulled on a pair of gloves. "Fine. Nate."
His grin immediately returned.
You remembered the first time you'd opened his chart.
A list long enough to make most physicians sit down and reconsider their career choices.
Nathan Caine somehow collected injuries the way other people collected loyalty cards.
The worst part was that he never seemed bothered by any of it.
One time, he'd arrived at the hospital because a stranger informed him there was a knife sticking out of his shoulder.
Not because he'd noticed it.
A stranger.
On the sidewalk.
You still thought about that sometimes.
"Alright," you said. "Standard questions. Then you can refill your secret emergency stash."
"Whatever you say, Doc,” he replied, smirking.
You shone a penlight into his eyes. He followed obediently.
"What happened this time?" you ask.
"A brick. My apartment building is under construction, and it fell 20 stories. I’m glad I was the only one who got hit and no one else.”
You inspected the cut on his scalp.
"I'd be demanding six months of free rent." You commented that seeing a bruise was already darkening around his eye.
"I've considered it,” he said, lightly kicking his feet casually like he was on a swing.
"I thought maybe you got inside a Home Depot,” you said.
Nate looked offended. "What?"
"You smell like wet cement." You said, disinfecting the wound.
He blinked. "You can smell that?"
"You're basically a walking construction site."
His eyebrows rose. "Wait. Hyperosmia?" He asked, trying to look back at you.
You nodded. Nate looked fascinated.
"I thought I was the only one with weird medical superpowers,” he said.
You laughed. "You make it sound way cooler than it is."
"No, I didn't mean—" His face immediately turned red. "I mean, not cool because nerve damage is cool. That's horrible. Obviously."
You bit back a smile. Nate continued digging himself deeper.
"I just meant—"
"Nate," you interrupted.
"Yeah?"
"Stop talking."
He groaned and covered his face. You couldn’t help but laugh more.
“Just lie down."
He obeyed. You dabbed alcohol against the cut. A second later, he hissed dramatically.
You nearly jumped. Then saw the smug grin.
"Well, at least I can rule out that your sense of humor is still intact." You commented.
"Sorry, couldn't help myself. Guess I'm getting too comfortable with you. But don't let me stop you from telling me how you got your diagnosis." He said, eyes wide, as you started stitching on him with ease.
"I had a tumor in my nasal passages in college. After surgery and recovery, I got some irreversible nerve damage. I was smelling everything: detergent on a sweater I haven't washed in days, or the scent of bleach I could smell two hallways away from here."
"Whoa, I can't imagine being in a hospital and smelling everything on steroids," Nate said, making you chuckle more.
"I'm surprised my nostrils aren't fried from smelling ammonia all the time. But it has its perks. Like baking at home, I love to make cookies. or passing by my patients' rooms and smelling the fresh flowers they get from family and friends. Those are worth it." You finished your last stitch on Nate as he got up. You turned away, throwing away your gloves and disinfecting your tools.
For a moment, he looked thoughtful.
"You know," he said quietly, "you make it sound easy."
"What?" You asked, turning back to him.
"Living. You... adapt,” he said, looking down.
You leaned against the counter. "Nate."
He looked up to you.
"You've walked into this hospital with injuries that would send most people into therapy. And every time, you still manage to make somebody smile."
His expression softened. "Maybe because I don't know what I'm missing,” he whispered.
"Maybe." You folded your arms. "But you've got a good heart. You can have a rebar sticking out of your ribcage and still ask the nurses how their day is. But professionally speaking? Don't test that."
His laugh echoed through the room.
The sound made your chest feel unexpectedly warm.
Then your pager went off.
You sighed.
"That's my cue." You started putting your instruments away. "It was good seeing you again, Nate."
"Wait."
You turned.
Nate had already stood up. His hands fidgeted nervously, taking out a small flyer from his pocket.
"I was wondering..." He swallowed. "There’s this cooking class this Saturday.”
You blinked. "A cooking class?"
"Yeah." His voice got faster. "Italian cooking. Pasta. Sauces. Probably setting things on fire accidentally." Nate took a breath. "I need a partner. And I thought maybe...if you wanted..."
The words completely abandoned him. "I mean—not because you're my doctor." He groaned. "It just seemed like something you'd enjoy."
Your eyes slowly widen, shocked.
"Wait, no- I'm sorry. This is insane: me, asking out my doctor..." Nate mutters to himself as he steps away from you.
Before you could even reply, Nate grabbed his things and left without saying goodbye, too flustered by his brave attempt to ask you out.
You were about to go after him if it weren't for your pager, alerting you again.
"Duty calls." You said to yourself, as you walked out of the room you were in alone.
+
Saturday arrived faster than expected. The cooking class was held inside a newly opened Italian restaurant. Couples filled the room, from newlyweds to longtime partners.
Nate stood alone at his station. All the courage he mustered to ask you out just shattered within seconds. He can’t even recall if he gave you the other info to go to this thing. You had better things to do than attend a cooking class with the human embodiment of a workplace safety violation.
The instructor clapped, smiling brightly as every person paid a pretty penny and a dime.
"If you don't have a partner, we have alternate recipes available—" she said, staring Nate down with slight sympathy.
Nate sighed. Yeah. That sounded about right. He took his cue and started cleaning up. A tap landed on his shoulder.
"Hey, sorry, I'm actually heading out—"
He turned and forgot every word in English.
You stood there in casual clothes.
No white coat or pager.
Just you.
Nate stared. "What?" he asks out loud
You raised an eyebrow. "You look like you’re expecting someone else.”
Nate coughs in his fist, almost choking on his words as he looks up to you, “I mean, what are you doing here?"
You lift a folded paper for his view. “You left the flyer before you left.”
Nate blinked. "You kept it?" He asked.
“Of course I did, it’s not every day your past patient asks you out on a date like this. Although you might wanna change doctors after tonight, conflict of interest and all that. Only if you want to see each other outside the hospital,” You said, your cheeks blushing with a hopeful gaze at Nate.
He shared the same features, looking smitten like a cartoon.
“Shall we?” he asked, emphasizing the counter filled with ingredients and kitchenware.
You agreed, as you two cooked all night, leaving minimal food stains on your clothes and ending the class with a Tupperware full of pasta. When the two of you started walking down the sidewalk together, neither of you seemed in any hurry to say goodnight.
Summary: Something is haunting Ned and he tries to learn why
A/n: based on Ghost of You by 5SOS
Warnings: Spoilers for No Way Home. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. LIKE SERIOUSLY, DON'T HATE ME IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED THE FILM AND YOU READ ALL THE EASTER EGGS.
Here I am waking up
Still can't sleep on your side
There's your coffee cup
The lipstick stain fades with time
If I can dream long enough
You'd tell me I'd be just fine
I'll be just fine
Ned wakes up with a head ache. He tries to find a discarded water bottle near his nightstand but instead is met with a coffee mug. He squints his eyes, realizing that it was a used cup with a smudge of lipstick. Ned knows he hasn't brought anyone to his room for the longest time so tries to think back.
"I know it, Ned. You're going to get into MIT." You said, sitting on Ned's bed as you both were working on applications for college. He rolls his eyes and lays next to your figure.
"Let's not jinx it. As far as I know, you'll have more of a chance to get into Mass Art." Ned said, eyes beaming.
You took a sip of coffee that Ned made in the kitchen, then placing it by his nightstand. "I think we should take a break about college. Why don't we watch something?" You said, switching tabs on your laptop and going on youtube. Suddenly, you see a live video that was posted that titled "Breaking News."
"Seriously? What type of news is it now? We thought the world was about to end a few weeks ago." Ned said, recalling the time in Venice.
You were about to talk until a voice abrubted from the video. The news anchor talks about Mysterio, and one last message he left before his passing.
"Spiderman... is....
PETER PARKER!"
Mysterio shouted as you see your friend's face filling the screen.
"Oh my god." you muttered under your breath, frigtened that your boyfriend's best friend is being claimed to be a menace.
"He's with MJ." You swing your head to Ned, who's already pulling out his phone to alert Peter on the news.
"Calling him now." He says, freaking out.
You hold his hand while Ned screams through the video chat, scared to death as Peter had to hang up so he could find a safe place with MJ.
Once he hangs up, he shows his puppy eyes to you, scared to death.
"Hey, it's fine... Okay? Peter is going to be fine, MJ is going to be fine. You're going to be fine." You said, kneeling next to Ned on the bed, hugging him tightly.
So I drown it out like I always do
Dancing through our house
With the ghost of you
And I chase it down
With a shot of truth
Dancing through our house
With the ghost of you
He dismisses the thought and goes downstairs to the living space. For some reason, he's humming a familiar tune in the back of his mind. It was almost like he remembered the song but he can't remember when.
"C'mon Leeds, you're telling me you never danced before?" You tease at your school's dance.
"It's not that, I... never danced with anyone like that." He says shyly.
"Oh." you respond guilty.
"Why don't I be your first?" you get up from your chair, offering your hand.
"I might step on your toes." he warns, but jokes a bit.
"That's a risk I'm willing to take." you smile at him.
He hesitantly grabs your hand as both of you walk to the dance floor. The pop song that was playing in the background slowly turned into a slow love song. Ned blushes lightly as he realizes he doesn't know what to do.
You take the liberty of wrapping your arms around his neck. You see a change in him as he finds the courage to wrap his hands around your waist.
"You're not so bad, Ned." you compliment him as he's trying so hard not to step on your shoes.
"Since when have you called me by my first name?" he questions as you always called your classmates by their last names.
"Since I realized I have a liking to you." you said out loud.
You see Ned fluster under the dimmed lights. You didn't know if he needed to scream or run, but he just stayed in your arms.
"Wha..what do you mean by like? Like 'you're such a good friend' or like 'a crush'?"
You smile at his nervousness as you place a light, sweet kiss on his cheek. "Like 'I really want to go on a date with you'." He pulls you closer to his body as he tries to stay in this moment, treasuring the song that was playing in the background.
"I would love nothing more."
Cleaning up today
Found that old Zeppelin shirt
You wore when you ran away
And no one could feel your hurt
We're too young, too dumb
To know things like love
But I know better now
(Better now)
Ned decided to do his laundry so he goes up to his room to start a load. He looks under his bed just in case and finds a sort of clothing. One he grabs it, he unravels it to reveal a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that looked like it might have gone through a spiderweb. "Wait, I don't even listen to this band." Ned muttered to himself. He takes notice of a perfume that lingered as he closely examines it. He remembers this smell, like he was once addicted to it.
"Who has been in my room?" he asks out, hoping the universe could answer it for him.
Once the news leaked and the whole world knew who Peter was, everyone's lives were miserable.
Peter was taken into custody and were talking to feds nonstop. He even had to call in a blind lawyer to help him through this troubling time.
MJ and Ned hardly see him as he couldn't disclose his new living situation. All you knew was that he was living with a guy who... had a fling with Aunt May? Or a security guard that worked for Tony Stark and Peter? You didn't know what to call him, but you were glad Peter had an ally and friend.
Your parents, on the other hand, forbid you to hang out with Peter and the rest of the gang. They even wanted you to break up with Ned. You had fights every day as you refused to, saying that none of them did anything wrong and that you loved Ned with all of your heart.
Your folks tried to reason with you, saying that there are more people to meet in life. But you couldn't be known for dating an accomplice.
After another fight, you slam your door shut, crying your eyes out.
"How could you possibly know what love is? You're only seventeen." Their words echoed in your head.
You feel a buzz in your jeans and see that Peter was asking for help, leaving a time and address to meet up in secret.
You dry your eyes and catch your breath, realizing that your friends need you.
You change from your top as it was soaked with your tears and wore your favorite Zeppelin shirt. You sneak out from your bedroom window and meet up with the rest at a building.
After you ran a few blocks, you see MJ and Ned at the entrance.
"Ned!" You screamed out loud, happily.
A huge smile decorates his face as he races to you, hugging you tightly.
"I missed you so much." You whisper in his ear as your parents told him that if he tried to see you, they'll call the cops.
He lets go and firmly holds your arms. "What will your parents think if you sneaked out?" He says worringly.
"I don't care about my parents. Right now, I want to clear Peter's name and help you all in any way I can."
Ned nods his head and holds your hands into his. "You can stay at my place tonight. My grandma won't mind, she loves you." He says, as you often cook things like adobo with her when you're invited for dinner.
You smile as both of you lean for a kiss. Unfortunately, that kiss was short lived as you see a tall man with a red cape opening the entrance door.
"Why, why does it have to be kids?" He asks himself before he reluctantly invites you all in.
So I drown it out like I always do
Dancing through our house
With the ghost of you
And I chase it down
With a shot of truth
Dancing through our house
With the ghost of you
While his clothes were being dealt with, Ned was sort of waltzing around his space. He tries to remember that song he was humming earlier but he had no luck. Once the timer went off, he takes out the clothes and divides it again. The one shirt that was still anonymous to him was lying on his bed. He realizes he needs to wake himself up as the cold winter was probably fogging his brain. He then places it in the pocket of his coat and sets out near the block for a small coffee place.
You were crying nonstop. You, Ned, and MJ were watching the news that Aunt May passed away. You all loved her so much. She believed in the good in people, she believed that kids your age could save the world.
Now, she's gone.
"Has he answered yet?" MJ asked Ned who was still ringing Peter.
He shakes his head no and you move closer to him, rubbing his shoulder.
"He needs us right now." You mutter under your breath.
Ned grunts and moves his hands in frustration.
"God, I wish we could find him." He says, not noticing a spark he created in mid air.
MJ and you jolt your head to where the golden light showed up.
"Babe, are you still wearing that sorcerer's ring?" you ask out loud.
Ned gasps as he realizes what he did and stands up to open a portal to where Peter was.
You see Peter in his spiderman costume in an alley way and usher him to come to all of you.
But, you all backed up when you realize it wasn't your Peter.
"Hey" he says, unmasking himself.
You all freaked out and after MJ throwing a lot of bread, Ned decides to open another portal.
"Great, it's just some random dude." Ned acclaims as another man walks through the portal.
"Wait... it's another..." You whispered, realizing it's another Peter Parker. Once the older one makes notice of the other Peter, they shoot their web at one another. MJ and Ned were fast to get out of the cross fires, but you weren't so lucky as you got hit on the shoulder.
"Dudes!" you yelled out loud, making the other Peters apologize quickly.
Ned goes up to you while MJ tries to figure out where her Peter is.
"I don't want you to come with us. It's too dangerous and I can't forgive myself if something were to happen."
You shake your head no as you grab ahold of Ned.
"That's a risk I'm willing to take." You say again from your dance together a few years ago.
"I know where Peter is." MJ said out loud, saying it's at the roof of the school. Ned looks back to you, knowing that if he leaves you here in the comfort of his home, you'll still find him.
"Go upstairs and change quickly, I'll open a portal for you once we find Peter."
"You promise?" you ask him, lifting your pinky finger.
"I promise." he says, as you two pinky swore before you head upstairs.
Too young, too dumb
To know things like love
Too young, too dumb
"You know, you've been humming that song since you came in here." MJ, the barista, said as he starts paying at the register. Ned gives a shy smile. "It's funny cause I don't even know the song I'm humming to." Ned replies.
MJ ponders for a bit and looks at him. "You could go out to the record store down a few shops from here. I bet you could find what you're looking for." She says, giving Ned his receipt.
"I'll see you at orientation!" Ned says out loud as he found out that MJ is going to MIT as well.
Once he arrives, he feels a bit eerie, but pushes that feeling aside as he pushes the door open.
"Let's go home." you said out of breath as the battle finally ended.
Peter shares all of you a guilty look, as if he's staring at you one last time.
"We are going home, right, or are we stopping at a shawarma place?" you jokingly said.
"There's something you need to know." Peter said, tears falling on his face.
Once he explains that Doctor Strange has to cast a spell in order to keep the multiverse at bay, it would mean that everyone will forget who Peter Parker was.
"But that would mean we won't have met." Ned said.
"There has to be another way. Peter, there's always another way." MJ said, trying to reason with him.
"You guys were the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you, for staying at my side."
You hug Peter tightly, trying not to cry.
"You better take care of yourself, Parker. Don't make anymore dumb decisions" You said in his chest, making Peter laugh.
You let go so he could say his farewells to Ned, doing their last handshake. Once he finishes and goes up to MJ, Ned makes his way to you.
"Who knew we'd be living in a new reality?" Ned quipped. You give a bitter laugh.
"It makes me wonder if we'll be together." You said, with your eyes wet with tears. "Hey..." he coos, drying your tears.
"No matter where we are, I'll find you. Even if we are young, I know deep down that you're my soul mate." Ned said before a flash of light filled the sky.
You take one look at your friends then took one final look at each other, kissing as if there was no tomorrow.
So I drown it out like I always do
Dancing through our house
With the ghost of you
And I chase it down
With a shot of truth
That my feet don't dance
Like they did with you
"How can I help you?" a voice asked behind Ned.
He looks behind and sees a really pretty girl who appeared as an employee for the record shop as you had a name label on a lanyard.
"I-uh-" he mumbles as he didn't quite figure out why he was here.
Suddenly, he hears the song that's been stuck in his head all morning and looks at the girl in front of her.
"What song is playing right now on the speaker?" he questions.
She hesitates as she wasn't paying attention to the song as she felt a bit nostalgic with the customer in front of her.
"It's Ghost of You by 5 Seconds of Summer." Ned nods his head as she responded.
"Would you happen to have the album for it?" He asks her.
She nods her head as she motions him to where the music was held.
"You have a record player at your house?" You questioned Ned to make small talk.
"Yeah, my grandma bought me one when she came back from the Phillipines." He responded as you two arrived at the cashier.
"Ah cool! I'm planning to go there before I head out to school in Boston."
Ned's eyes brighten as he gives you cash. "I'm going to MIT next fall!"
"No way! I'll be attending Mass Art! Small world, huh?" You said as you finalized Ned's purchase.
"Well, I hope that you enjoy your music..." you hesitate as you didn't know his name.
"Ned. It's nice to meet you." He says as you give him his bag.
"You too." You waived at him as he exited from the store.
He didn't feel like he was satisfied even though he knew what song was stuck in his head all day. His groove disappeared. He was an idiot for leaving without asking you for your number.
"Ned!" your voice cries out.
He whips his head and sees you out of breath, shivering a bit.
"You dropped this when you left." You said, holding out the t-shirt he found.
"Oh my god. I'm so sorry you had to run to find me in the snow." Ned replies, as he notices your just wearing a corset top and a light sweater.
"Wear it, you need it more than I do." He says kindly.
You were a bit hesitant as you would never use anything from a stranger but it was very cold outside. You huff as you place it over your corset top, then wearing your sweater.
"You know what's funny? I lost a shirt like this awhile ago. But thank you." you say to Ned.
"Any time. I'm glad you found me." he says, as he became lost in your eyes.
You hesitate for a bit and pull out your phone.
"If you don't mind, maybe we could exchange snaps? I find it comfortable to know that I know one person in my area when school starts."
Ned nods as he pulls out his phone as both of you added each other.
"I gotta head back to work, but don't be a stranger... Okay?" you said as you smile at him.
"I'll see you soon!" he hollers back.
Ned smiles to himself as he moves on from his day, excited for the future.
It was like the universe was telling him he was destined to be with you.
A/N: Last part of the series!!! seriously love Novocaine and my manz Jack Quaid. Enjoy reading!!
You woke up in the middle of the night, breath hitched. Your hands pat around your body, trying to find the physical wounds you got from the car accident.
But you were in your bedroom with the moon light that crept in your window. You regulate your breathing, trying to ground yourself in the present.
“Nate?” You say out loud.
No response.
Right, he wasn’t there.
Since you walked away from him (again), your night tremors crept back while you slept. Some were of your car accident, feeling the car flip over as shards of glass pierced your skin. Others were the time Nate saw your notes of his life and mannerisms, trying to apologize as his face was reddened with betrayal.
You get out of bed, thinking some water can calm you down. You go out to your kitchen and sink into your couch, your light only coming from the dim lights of your block and the moon. Your head turns, noticing the small drawer by your couch was slightly open. Leaning over, you open it and see the completed transcript you completed all those months ago.
Then, you see a slightly folded crease on the right side corner of the title page. You hated creased pages, Nate would always tease you when you two entered a book store. That's when you realized he must have found it the first night he took care of you.
You couldn't believe how he didn't say word about it at that time. After everything you did, he still took care of you. That's when you knew in that moment you had to do one last thing before you let go of him.
Even if it meant putting your career on hold.
+
“Bro,” Roscoe said through the headset, disbelief obvious in his voice. “You just let a level-three goblin take you out. On easy.”
Nate blinked at the screen like he’d forgotten it was there. “Did it?”
“Yes. Repeatedly. You good, man?”
He rolled his shoulders, the motion stiff. “Yeah.”
“That was not a convincing ‘yeah.’ That was a hostage ‘yeah.’”
Nate exhaled slowly, staring at the paused menu. “I just… don’t really feel like playing.”
Roscoe muted his mic for a second, then came back quieter. “You’ve been like this for weeks.”
“Have I?”
“You forget to eat, you log on at three in the morning, and your avatar stares at walls like you’re waiting for them to apologize. So yeah. You’ve been like this.”
Nate swallowed. “She left, again.”
“Oh,” Roscoe said, immediately. “The writer?”
“Yeah.”
Silence sat between them, through the headsets. Roscoe finally spoke up. “You wanna talk about it, or do you want me to tell you why you’re an idiot?”
Nathan huffed a humorless laugh. “Dealer’s choice.”
“I'm no therapist or anything, but you took care of an ex-girlfriend who wrote an entire book out of your medical condition. It was either pretty selfless of you or just plainly ridiculous. And yeah, maybe she had good intentions when she did it. But are you gonna beat yourself up because you felt used or because your pride got in the way when you saw her with someone else?” Roscoe asked plainly.
“I don't know,” Nathan snapped, then softer, “I've been thinking back on everything since I got that call from the hospital. Losing her like that, it- It warped everything I thought about us.”
“Guess that's what love does to you I guess,” Roscoe replied. “You either wanna tear your hair or your heart out.”
"You're weirdly putting a lot of things in perspective," Nate said.
"Well, I do have a gorgeous girlfriend in Pereu, so I know what it's like to long for someone out of reach."
"Yeah, and I can cast flaming fireballs out of my hands." Nate joked as he could only hear a small whatever at the end of the line.
Suddenly, Nate heard a knock on the door.
“Hold on,” Nate muttered, pulling the headset off. He got up, headed to the door, and opened it, revealing no one. He was about to close the door until he saw an envelope packet on the ground as he picked it up.
The package was thin but heavy, addressed in handwriting that punched the air out of his lungs. It was your handwriting.
He didn’t open it right away. He just stared at it like it might explode as he brought it over to his counter. He called Roscoe, saying he had to rain check, and just looked at the orange packet as it was mockingly staring back at him for the past hour.
He finally grabbed it after summoning the courage and sat down to free whatever was inside. He knew his suspicions were true as he saw it was the manuscript he found all those weeks ago, but had a handwritten note on the first page.
Dedicated to the person who's sketched the ink of his soul in my heart, I hope you get to see everything I see in you.
His throat closed. “Damn it,” he whispered.
He tried not to read it. He lasted maybe ninety seconds.
The story pulled him under fast. It was about a knight cursed to feel no pain. Swords embedded in skin without consequence. Battles survived without flinching. Applause without connection.
Nathan scoffed softly. “Figures.”
As he read, his chest tightened. The knight wandered alone, praised and feared, misunderstood and untouched. Then the maiden appeared—not delicate, not saved—but sharp-eyed and relentless.
“You’re not unbreakable,” she told him on the page. “You’re just avoiding the places that hurt.”
Nathan’s vision blurred. “You always did that,” he murmured. “Said things like that.”
Suddenly, the ending hit him hard. The knight lost her. Not because of failure. Because some things couldn’t be fought. And only then realizing he’d always felt pain—just not in ways that bled.
Nathan shut the manuscript abruptly, breath shaking. “No,” he said aloud. “That’s not how this ends.”
He grabbed his phone and dialed your number.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
He stared at the dedication, then the manuscript, then stood so fast he nearly tripped over the coffee table.
Nate looked at his screen again and went to your socials for any indication of where you were. He saw a post you were tagged in and pressed the new link, revealing the publication readings of your English Department at the school you taught at that day, happening within 2 hours.
“Okay,” he muttered, grabbing his keys and placed the papers neatly in a nearby bag. “Fine. We’re doing this the hard way.”
The college campus buzzed with voices and footsteps as he hurried through, clutching the transcript like a lifeline. Posters lined the walls announcing live readings. Names were listed. Yours was missing.
“Of course,” he muttered. “Of course you wouldn’t put yourself on the list.”
After walking about a mile on campus, he finally spotted you near the auditorium doors, laughing with a group of students, one hand gesturing animatedly. You looked healthy. Happy. That hurt more than he expected. He rushed forward—
and promptly missed a step.
The sound echoed. Bone. Concrete. Regret.
Everyone on the ground level looked up to see a guy tumbling down the stairs with a tossle of curled brown hair and tattoo sleeves on both arms.
You turned, eyes wide. “Nate!”
He hit the floor hard, trying to get ahold of his breathing. You were beside him instantly, hands hovering like you didn’t know where to touch.
“Don’t move,” you said, panicked. “Oh my God, why are you here, what happened—”
Nate tries sitting up, almost confused until his eyes fell on you, your face etched with worry. He tried sitting up, but looked at his right ankle, which looked too loose for his liking.
“It’s my ankle,” he said simply. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
Before you could stop him, he grabbed his ankle and yanked.
The sound made several nearby students gasp. One professor fainted dramatically.
You stared at him, horrified. “You just— you just popped it back in!”
“Yeah,” he panted. “Sorry. Reflex.”
“You’re terrifying.”
“Noted.”
You still couldn't believe Nate was right here, sitting with an injury at your department's book event. Campus security hovered awkwardly as you helped him sit on a chair they brought over. After they assessed he didn't have a concussion (he said he felt fine, but again, he wouldn't have known if his skull cracked for the life of him), you two went by a corner for some privacy as you held onto his things.
“Why are you here?” you demanded, voice shaking.
He pointed to his bag that lay on your lap. “Because your ending is wrong.”
Your expression hardened. "You read the book?" You asked.
Nate nodded yes.
"You wrote the truth about me: how I get scared living my own life, and I keep to myself. But I never saw myself as... brave. Like I could survive a dragon breathing fire on me or a thousand arrows targeting my back. But after everything that the knight went through, he couldn't be with the woman who changed his life. Why?" He demands.
You slowly rise to your feet, leaving the bag on your chair as you hold yourself. “Because she worried she led the knight astray, that her choices were selfish. Life doesn’t always give us the ending we want: whether in fiction or real life.”
“I know,” he said. “But this isn’t life. This is you deciding we don’t get one.”
You crossed your arms. “You don’t get to rewrite my work.”
“I’m not asking to rewrite it,” he said quietly. “I’m asking you to finish it honestly.”
You faltered. “Honestly doesn’t mean happily.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t mean hopeless either.”
Nate swallowed. “You taught me that pain isn’t weakness. So don’t turn it into your punishment.”
Your eyes glistened.
"We keep on hurting each other, probably more from me than you. I can't be doing the same things-"
“I love you,” he said simply. “And I’m not losing you to an ending that pretends we didn’t matter.”
You slowly circle back to him as you carefully sit in his lap, caressing his face tenderly as you two connect your foreheads closely.
"You really think the maiden can go back to the knight, after everything she's done?"
"I do, or else the knight wouldn't have trappled over a flight of stairs like an idiot."
You laughed, tryingto wipe away the tears from your eyes as Nate wiped them away from your cheeks. Then, you two kissed softly, feeling like a thousand flowers bloomed around you. You two part, feeling the same bubbly feeling you had when you kissed for the very first time.
"What can I do to make things right?" You ask.
"You can start off by requesting your board to read your book. I want others to know what it took for you to write it. After all, I did break an ankle to get here."
You playfully roll your eyes as you grabbed his bag. “Fine,” you said. “I’ll read.”
Moments later, you stood before the audience, hands trembling.
“This work isn’t finished,” you said. “Because I realized today that endings aren’t conclusions. They’re choices.”
You began to read in front of your students and professors, voice steadying as you went. The story of the knight and the curse he carried. The truth about pain and how it wasn't just the physical type that made you bleed, but the form that could make your heart from something deep inside you.
You glanced at Nathan, leaning awkwardly against the back wall, ankle wrapped, smiling like an idiot.
“This knight,” you said, voice soft, “treaded towards the unknown where trolls, dragons, and darker entities awaited to test his limits. But little they had known, he carried himself with no armor or shield, but a sword he carried like a quill and a handwritten note of a maiden that took his heart, saying that her love will always, always, protect him wherever he roamed.”
Applause thundered as your students cheered on and your coworkers looked impressed with your anticipated work. Nate cheered the loudest, almost losing balance, but he looked so proud of you.
Later, as you helped Nathan into his car, you sighed.
“Hospital,” you demanded as you walked to the driver's side.
“Fair.” he said, calmly.
As you drove, you looked over at Nate, who had a lovesick smile that was staring back at you
“You scared me today. I thought I almost lost you.”
“It was worth it.” he replied.
You shook your head, smiling. “You’re lucky I love you.” You said as you placed your hand on his lap
He looks down as he wraps his hand in your own.
“I know.”
5 YEARS LATER
You were in your study, typing loudly at your computer. You were writing the third installment of your fantasy book about Nate, which was critically acclaimed as one of the best fictional series of the past decade. You were proud of your creation and even had Nate draw the covers of your books.
Outside of writing, you were a full-time professor of English Literature at an esteemed university in San Diego. Nate quit his job at the bank and opened his own tattoo studio, and became a part-time art teacher for all ages.
Speaking of Nate, you heard padded feet coming towards you.
"Mama!" a baby gurgled, eyes brightening as they were attached to Nate's hip as he carried your 3-year-old son.
"Dinner's about done, had little rascal here be my assistant. How's your last chapter?" Nate asked, walking towards you as he placed his left hand on your back, feeling his wedding ring soothing your spine.
"Just need to write this sentence, and I'm all... done!" you exclaimed, smiling as your toddler clapped at your excitement.
"Yay, mommy! Now let's get you standing up, you know what the doctor said about sitting too long." Nate warned playfully.
"Hey, I was writing a chapter, not cayaking the Mississippi River." You teased as you got out of your chair slowly with your 7th-month belly in the way.
You look at Nate, who had the same smile he wore the day you gave your first reading all those years ago.
"What?" You ask him as your finished tatted arm was resting above your belly as you soothed your baby that was kicking.
"I'm just... in awe of you. You've worked so hard for this, for us. I just love you." Nate said, holding you close with his free hand.
You smiled, combing back his untamed curls away from his face.
"I'm in awe of you too, especially since you've my muse for the past... two book installments?" You say as Nate gave a chuckle before kissing you tenderly.
"C'mon, let's go eat." He whispered.
You walked hand in hand with your son, Nate, to your kitchen, where you ate together as a family. No dragons need to be slain or trolls to silence, but a knight who sat with his maiden, continuing their story with no end.
Summary: Although you achieved your dream of being a designer, you never considered meeting a man who's also a father.
A/N: this is the final installation of this series as well as a short epilogue of "The Blood Within Us" thank you to everyone who's been reading this for almost 5 years. Now, on with our story...
Alfred’s hands were gentle — but firm in that old military medic way — as he dabbed antiseptic across the small cut on your temple. The sting made you wince, and his frown deepened.
“Hold still, dear,” he murmured, voice soft yet steady. “It’s only a scratch, though it could’ve been far worse.”
You gave a shaky laugh, sitting on one of the cave’s medical cots as he worked. “You can say that again. I didn’t exactly plan on playing human shield today.”
Alfred sighed quietly. “You’ve been part of this family long enough to know plans seldom survive contact with a Wayne.”
That earned him a small smile — one you couldn’t quite hold. Your hands were trembling slightly in your lap. The adrenaline had finally worn off, leaving only exhaustion and that faint echo of fear.
Alfred noticed. He always did. He placed a hand on your shoulder. “You saved Master Damian’s life. You’ve no idea what that means — not only to him, but to Master Bruce.”
You looked down at your bandaged hands. “I just reacted. Anyone would have.”
“Not anyone,” Alfred replied softly. “You did.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The hum of the Batcomputer echoed through the cave as Bruce stood several feet away, still in partial armor, his cowl off, face dark with focus. Tim was beside him, gloves on, carefully placing a small evidence bag on the scanner pad.
“Sample came from one of the mercs we took down,” Tim explained, typing rapidly. “Looks like some sedimentary residue — possibly linked to a compound I found in the system.”
Bruce’s jaw tensed. “Clayface? He doesn’t have that much staffing.”
Tim shook his head. “No, different signature. But whoever it is… they wanted chaos, not casualties. That bomb wasn’t meant for you. Or Mom.”
Bruce’s eyes flicked briefly toward you at that word — Mom. It still hit him like an ache in the chest.
He looks over to your hunched figure as Alfred is wrapping you up. Bruce prided himself on never getting into harm’s way when he was Batman, but won’t hide how he hurt you himself.
Today, he accomplished both with precision at its finest
He approached, the shift in his armor catching the faint light. “You should stay here tonight,” he said, voice low but filled with that mix of concern and command you've known for years. “It’s not safe at the hotel. Dick and Jason can grab your things. You’re exhausted. Please.”
It was funny how he asked you to stay at the house you’ve grown to call home. You were too tired to argue. You nodded, rubbing your temple gently.
“Fine. One night.”
He nodded once, relieved.
Before you could get up, a smaller voice cut through the cavern.
“…Thank you.”
You turned and saw Damian standing there — arms at his sides, his usual arrogance stripped away. His tone was hesitant, but real.
“For saving me,” he added, eyes shifting to the floor. “You didn’t have to.”
Your heart softened instantly. You crossed the few steps to him, lowering to his level. “Of course I did,” you said, gently touching his shoulder. “You’re family, Damian. No matter who or what I am to you.”
For a second, he froze — uncertain — then, slowly, he allowed you to hug him. It was brief, awkward in that preteen way, but genuine.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” you whispered.
“…I’m glad you are too,” he muttered back before pulling away, cheeks faintly red.
Alfred smiled faintly from the shadows. Bruce, for a brief moment, looked like he could breathe again.
Hours later, Bruce faced his sons after you’d gone upstairs to rest. The four of them were lined up in varying degrees of guilt — Dick trying to look casual, Jason smirking like it was worth it, Tim fidgeting, and Damian just confused.
Bruce crossed his arms. “So,” he started, tone dangerously calm. “You all just happened to be near the Monarch Hotel when the bomb went off?”
Jason shrugged. “Define ‘happened.’”
“Try again.”
Dick stepped forward, raising a hand like a mediator. “Okay, look, before you get all ‘Terror of Night’ on us — we were trying to help. You and Mom weren’t talking. She’s miserable, you’re miserable, and—”
“You thought meddling in our personal lives was the best solution?”
Tim sighed. “Technically, Dick thought of it. I just hacked your schedule.”
Bruce turned his gaze to him. “That’s not better, Tim.”
Jason grinned. “In our defense, it worked. You two were in the same room, and no one died— oh, wait.”
“Jason,” Dick warned.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re all grounded.”
“Can’t ground adults,” Jason countered.
“Try me.”
The tension broke when Dick stepped forward again, his tone softening.
“We just wanted to help you make things right, Bruce. She loves you. We all do. We’re tired of the silence.”
Bruce looked at his eldest — then at all of them. Their faces weren’t just stubborn; they were scared. No matter how many deaths, agony, torture they went through, nothing could hold a candle to them losing you forever.
His voice lowered. “I appreciate that you care. But fixing what I broke… isn’t something you can engineer. I have to earn it. The right way.”
Damian frowned. “Then do it. Stop talking about honor and do it.”
That startled Bruce — but he nodded. “You’re right.”
After a while, he dismissed them to their rooms, exhaustion finally settling over his shoulders. Right when he was going to retire, there was a ping on his monitor. The residue found on the sample was dirt found in the Himalayas. Bruce typed a few keywords and realized where it exactly originated from:
Nanda Parbat is the headquarters for Ra’s al Ghul.
Bruce flexed his neck. Talia leaving her son here and the sudden bomb attack could be no coincidence. But he decided to keep this to himself, not ready to open the can of worms yet.
When Bruce walked upstairs, Wayne Manor had fallen quiet again. The chaos of the night — the bomb scare, the shouting, the boys’ confessions — all melted into silence. Only the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock echoed faintly through the dark halls.
He paused outside his bedroom door, the faintest light spilling through the crack. He hesitated momentarily, uncertain if he had the right to go in.
But then he did.
You were there — asleep in his bed. Or perhaps, your shared bed, though it hadn’t felt like that in a long time. His shirt was draped loosely over your frame, the sleeves swallowed your hands. Your breathing was slow and even, peaceful for the first time in days. The bruise at your temple was cleaned and wrapped neatly, evidence of Alfred’s gentle care.
Bruce stood there, motionless, as though afraid to break the fragile stillness of the room. His heart tightened painfully in his chest. You looked so small against the vastness of the bed, yet somehow, the space around you finally felt full again.
He approached quietly, brushed a strand of hair from your face, and exhaled shakily. The warmth of your skin beneath his calloused fingertips nearly undid him. He slipped beside you with careful restraint, his body curving naturally around yours. For once, he allowed himself to hold you — not as Batman or Gotham’s guardian — but as a man terrified of losing the one person who reminded him he was still human.
You stirred faintly, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Bruce?”
He smiled softly. “Go back to sleep.”
“Don’t wanna.” Your voice was heavy with drowsiness as you turned, eyes fluttering open enough to find his face in the dim light. “You look tired.”
He gave a low, weary chuckle. “I’m feeling my age.”
You chuckled, a sound that broke through his walls like sunlight through fog. You reached up, tracing the strong line of his jaw with your finger.
“I have a feeling I know why the boys were there today,” you murmured.
“Your findings,” he replied, voice low, “will be accurate.”
You rolled closer, head resting against his chest as you breathed him in — smoke, leather, and the faint metallic scent that clung to him after patrols.
“I’m still upset,” you whispered. “But I don’t know if it’s at you… or this life.”
Bruce wrapped his arm around you, his thumb brushing slowly against your back. “It can be both.”
You looked up at him then, seeing in his eyes the quiet sorrow of a man who’d carried too much for too long — the weight of the city, the guilt of his secrets, the fear of failing the ones he loved. You rested your head against his heartbeat, steady and grounding, letting it lull you into sleep.
“Just hold me tonight,” you murmured.
“I won’t let go,” he whispered.
When morning came, it wasn’t rest that greeted you — it was motion.
You blinked awake to the sound of fabric folding. Bruce stood by the window, sleeves rolled, methodically packing clothes into a suitcase. The sunlight cut through the curtains, painting him in warm tones that made your chest ache.
“What are you doing?” you asked, still thick with sleep.
He looked up, smiled faintly. “You have a meeting in Japan. You shouldn’t miss it.”
You frowned, rubbing your eyes. “What—?”
“I called your secretary,” he said, calm as ever. “She arranged a remote meeting with one of the Kyoto executives who stayed behind after the others cancelled because of the bombing. Your flight leaves this afternoon.”
You pushed yourself up, confusion giving way to disbelief. “Bruce, that wasn’t your fault.”
He looked at you then — really looked — and said quietly, “But it is. You deserve the chance to finish what you started, without my chaos in your way. Build what you’ve dreamed of. I’ll be here when you come back… if you’ll still have me.”
You stared at him, realizing what he was doing. The world’s most stubborn man finally let go — not because he wanted to, but because he respected you enough.
A slow smile curved your lips. “You’re really letting me go?”
He shook his head gently. “No. I’m letting you choose.”
You crossed the room, fingertips brushing his cheek, your thumb grazing the faint stubble there. “Then come with me, Bruce Wayne.”
He blinked. “Come with you?”
“Yes,” you said softly. “Distance won’t fix us. You said you’d be here when I got back, but maybe… maybe we both need to step away from Gotham. Together. Even if you do the wrong things for the right reasons, I still love you. So what do you say, Mr. Wayne? Run away with me?”
He caught your hand, kissed your knuckles. “That’s quite a proposal.”
“Well,” you teased, “one of us has to make the first move.”
He smiled — a real, unguarded smile — before leaning in to kiss you, slow and tender.
“Oh, wait until you see what I have planned,” he murmured, making you laugh as you both finished packing.
Alfred drove you both to the airport, hands steady on the wheel. The morning air smelled of last night’s rain.
Bruce leaned forward. “And no parties, I still have sword piercings on my desk.”
“Just send some pictures to the group chat!” Dick’s voice came through the car speaker. “See you soon!”
You laughed, shaking your head. “They have no idea we’re leaving.”
At the terminal, Alfred stood in front of the plane, slightly puzzled. “Here we are, sir. I hope you and Madame have an exceptional trip.”
“Oh, no,” Bruce said with that sly tone that meant something was coming.
“We’re taking the later flight. This one’s for you.”
Alfred blinked. “Sir?”
Bruce handed him a neatly packed envelope. “Round trip. Two weeks. Food tours and sightseeing are all expenses paid. You’ve carried this family more than anyone, Alfred. It’s time you carried yourself for once.”
You stepped forward, tears glinting in your eyes. “It’s our way of saying thank you… for never giving up on us.”
Alfred’s lips parted, his composure faltering as he hugged you tightly.
“You’re far too good to me, miss.”
He turned to Bruce, murmuring with a knowing smirk, “Please tell me she’ll be a Mrs. Wayne when you return.”
Bruce chuckled, patting his chest where the ring rested against his heart. “I never leave home without it.”
You both waved as Alfred boarded, your heart swelling at the sight of the man who’d raised your family disappearing down the runway.
+
Japan greeted you with the hum of city lights and the scent of cherry blossoms in the breeze. Bruce was at your side — your bodyguard, confidant, and translator.
He was also your biggest distraction.
You spoke Japanese fluently, but you asked him to order for you anyway, to hear how he switched tongues so effortlessly. He indulged you, amused, especially when you dragged him into a 7-Eleven at midnight, insisting he had to try the chicken cutlet sandwiches. He did — and his expression of delight nearly made you choke on laughter.
Despite the laughter, you both felt the weight of what this trip meant. You were days away from presenting the biggest deal of your career — expanding your fashion empire’s reach across Asia, creating jobs, and reshaping your future. And Bruce was… waiting, supporting, and learning how to be with you again.
On the morning of your presentation, Bruce paced the suite like a restless sentinel until he heard the door unlock. You stood there, unreadable for a moment — and then your lips curved into a wide, radiant grin.
He crossed the room in two strides, scooping you into his arms and spinning you around. You laughed, breathless.
“I take it that means it went well,” he said.
“It’s official,” you whispered. “We’re expanding to Asia.”
He kissed you — fierce and proud.
That evening, the two of you walked beneath a canopy of cherry blossoms, the petals drifting like pink snow. You leaned into his arm, watching the sun bleed gold into the horizon.
“I had the best time here,” you said quietly. “I’m delighted you came with me.”
“Not as much as I’m happy to be with you,” he said, kissing your temple.
For a moment, everything was still—the years of pain, the distance, and the heartbreak dissolved into that quiet peace.
Then Bruce stopped walking.
“I know we promised no more secrets,” he began, voice heavy. “But there’s something I need to tell you.”
You frowned. “That’s never a good start.”
He exhaled, steadying himself. “The life I’ve lived has been… complicated. I’ve always prepared for the worst, for not coming home. But somewhere along the way, I realized that every time I did come back, it wasn’t Gotham I was fighting for. It was you. And the boys. You made me want to be more than the mask.”
He said your full name, then dropped to one knee, fishing something from his pocket — the same ring you’d once almost worn.
“Will you marry me?”
Your hand flew to your mouth. “Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He slipped the ring onto your finger and rose to kiss you, the cherry blossoms swirling around you like confetti.
“You know,” you murmured, laughing through your tears, “I guess this means I’m officially part of the family now.”
Bruce smiled against your lips. “You always were, darling. You always were.”
Years Later
“That’s how you and Mama got engaged?” your five-year-old daughter, Lily, asked from her bed, eyes wide with wonder.
“Yes and no,” Bruce said, smiling. “I had to ask her a second time.”
“Why?” she giggled, her sleek raven hair glowing in the fairy lights above her bed.
“Because your daddy is a silly man!” you teased, entering the room and tickling her sides until she laughed.
“I can’t wait to find someone like Daddy,” she said dreamily.
“Not until you’re thirty,” Bruce replied sternly, earning a swat from you and a fit of giggles from Lily. You kissed her forehead, whispering,
“Goodnight, my Lily pad,” before she drifted to sleep.
The manor has been peaceful in the past five years, but it was a bit quiet compared to the chaos you were constantly around.
Dick officially became a fully pledged detective, wanting to raise his family with Kori. Bruce overdid the whole ‘I’m gonna be a grandpa’ thing and may have spent a lifetime supply of plushies and diapers. You, Bruce, and the kids visit his family in San Francisco whenever possible.
Jason was shocked, to say the least, when he was offered the chance to become Batman. He accepted Bruce’s proposal until the right person took the position. During his daytime job, he started a foundation for troubled teens in foster care, helping the community center where he was found all those years ago.
Tim graduated from high school and went to MIT, joining many clubs and getting into an honor society. Once he graduated, he joined Wayne Enterprise again to help create better job opportunities for working families and accessibility to health care. He even established the Dent Fellowship before age 21, a thriving program where high school, college, and stopouts can pursue a school of their choosing to help shape their goals and form a better Gotham.
Damian was finishing high school soon. During the summers, he traveled to San Francisco to lead the new group of Titans. As a child, he thought he only had one choice in life: to bring his family to power. But, learning the compassion you taught him, he discovered some talents he never thought he had and saw a world with endless possibilities. But he knew that when he got older, Jason would pass down the cowl to Damian if Gotham ever needed the true heir of the night.
Alfred, still living in the manor, is retired. But old habits die hard when he wanted to make a late night snack for everyone. He was a full time grandpa, as he would always entertain Lily when she wanted tea time at the manor. You have printed polaroids of the two, as they were almost inseparable.
Your father, Harvey Dent, lived with his first wife in the country. He’s been getting better every single day, and you and your family visit him every month to strengthen your bond. He loves your daughter and wants to give her the childhood he wished he had given you.
As for you and Bruce, things finally fell into place. Your Japan branch was successful, and you were featured on Forbes as one of the most successful women to break the record of the highest hiring company on an international level. New artists, designers, marketers, and others were eager to work with your company worldwide. You still make clothes, but you also create the suits of future heroes, just like you did for your sons.
Bruce, now retired from the cowl, is enjoying his free time giving back to the city and helping families. There was a rumor that he wanted to run for Governor, and he almost laughed at the idea. There was still work to be done, and he wanted to bring those who did wrong to justice. But he still had to ask your permission if he ever thought of doing a job like that again.
Later, in your shared bedroom, you slipped into a silky nightgown — one Bruce instantly recognized. He paused mid-sentence, brow raised. “Why are you wearing your maternity gown?”
You smiled softly, hand brushing your stomach. “Because I’m going to be needing it soon.”
Bruce blinked. “You mean—?”
“I found out last night,” you said shyly. “Been feeling nauseous like I did with Lily. I took a test.” You hesitated. “Are you mad?”
He crossed the room instantly, cupping your face, his eyes wet. “After fifteen years, you still can’t read me,” he murmured, voice trembling.
“Bruce—”
He cut you off with a deep, shaking kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “You keep finding ways to make me the happiest man alive.”
You laughed softly as he placed a hand over your stomach. “Another round of sleepless nights.”
“Worth it,” he whispered.
That night, wrapped in his arms, you realized that after everything — the heartbreak, the distance, the rebuilding- all it took was choosing each other, again and again, through all of it.
From the bird’s eye view, perfection couldn’t even be compared to the life Bruce Wayne built with you.
Summary: Although you achieved your dream of being a designer, you never considered meeting a man who's also a father.
Bruce woke up at seven in the morning.
The sunlight crept into the bedroom like an intruder, slanting through the curtains and landing across the empty half of the bed. He sat up slowly, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes before instinctively reaching out — only to find cold sheets where warmth used to be.
You weren’t there.
He let out a quiet breath, sitting at the edge of the bed with his hands folded loosely. For a moment, he tried to remember what it felt like when things were simple. But then again, nothing about the Wayne family had ever been simple.
Just a month ago, he’d been ready to propose. The ring still sat in its box, locked away in his drawer. The night he’d planned everything: the dinner, the words, the quiet moment that was supposed to change both your lives for the better, had been the same night his biological son appeared in the cave.
Damian.
The revelation had torn through the house like a storm.
Bruce had no memory of fathering a child with Talia al Ghul, not until the truth surfaced. Damian was the result of a mission nearly a decade ago, one that ended in betrayal. Talia had drugged him, stolen his DNA, and used it to create what she called the perfect heir.
Anger wasn’t a strong enough word for what Bruce felt. Not toward the boy, but toward Talia. She had always been cold, calculating, and dangerous. But there had been something almost tragic in her parting words, delivered through a letter Damian carried with him.
Give him something I couldn’t.
So Bruce did what he could. He brought his son into his life, tried to teach him the difference of what’s righteous and what’s ethically right. In doing so, found himself confronted with the child’s impossible blend of arrogance and brilliance.
Damian believed he was bred for greatness. He made no effort to hide his disdain for Gotham, or the idea of going to a “common” private school.
“Because I said so,” Bruce told him one morning, his voice firm. “You’re legally required to attend an accredited school until you’re sixteen.”
Damian crossed his arms, unamused.
“Then I shall endure this prison until I am of age.”
Bruce had to turn away to hide his frustration, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, a small flicker of amusement.
But the humor faded as quickly as it came.
The house felt heavier these days. The boys tiptoed around him, careful but resentful. Dick was trying to keep the peace as he made his annual visit, Jason was teaching Tim some unorthodox field maneuvers, and Alfred kept giving him that lectured look.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said one morning as he handed him a cup of coffee, “you can’t mend a heart that’s chosen to step away. Give her the time she needs. But don’t let that time turn into distance.”
Bruce didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Alfred had been there long enough to read his silence.
Because no matter how much Bruce tried to focus on Damian’s adjustment, or Tim’s training, or the fragile peace in the house, everything came back to the same absence.
The empty side of the bed.
The missing laugh in the kitchen.
The space at the dinner table no one dared to fill.
You weren’t living at the manor anymore. You said you needed space to think, breathe, and understand the chaos you hadn’t chosen but still found yourself in.
You’ve seen Dick walk out of your life so he could be outside of Bruce’s shadow, you’ve mourned the death of Jason and helped him find his peace when he came back home, you made sure that Tim has found his place in the family and not feel like a replacement, and seen your biological father imprisoned by Bruce as he murdered Tim’s dad.
It was a lot to cope, and Damian’s prescence was the icing of the cake.
And though you told him you didn’t blame him, that none of this was his fault, Bruce couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d lost something irreplaceable.
Something he’d spent ten years building.
Something he might never get back.
+
You’d been living out of a suite at the Monarch Hotel for nearly three weeks. The place was beautiful in a detached way with all glass, marble, and silence. You told everyone it was because of your meetings with the executives opening your Japan branch, and technically, that wasn’t a lie.
Work made for a good alibi.
You were still a mother first, checking in with the boys every night. Texts with Dick, calls with Jason between missions, and afternoons where you’d pick Tim up from school to grab dinner and talk. They tried not to show it, but you could feel the tension in each conversation. There was worry hidden beneath their jokes.
And then there was Damian.
You tried, God, you tried. You showed up at the manor with small gestures: breakfast pastries, questions about his day, even a few books you thought he’d like. But he’d meet you with that same cold, unblinking stare every time.
“I already have a mother,” he’d said once, voice sharp as a blade.
And Bruce hadn’t corrected him.
That silence hurt more than any argument could have. So you stopped trying. Stopped showing up. Stopped waiting for Bruce to call first.
Which was how you found yourself on a rooftop that night, staring out over Gotham’s restless skyline. The city was breathing beneath you like a beast you once knew by heart. You weren’t in a gown or heels tonight, just jeans, a coat, and exhaustion clinging to your bones.
A familiar voice cut through the hum of traffic below.
“I wasn’t expecting you here tonight.”
You didn’t turn around right away. You didn’t need to.
“Hey, Selina.”
Selina Kyle’s footsteps were soft, deliberate like a cat’s rhythm. She came to stand beside you, the glow of the city lights catching the edges of her black leather suit.
“Thought Bruce would be here tonight. Texted there was a criminal matching my rapport. I couldn’t let that happen.” She said coyly, leaning by a wall as she removed her mask.
“That was me. I stole one of his burner phones that had your contact.”
“Naughty, naughty. What’s it been?” she asked, smirking. “Two, three years?”
“Try six.”
“Huh.” She gave a low whistle. “Time flies when you’re on the run.”
You smiled faintly, but it didn’t last.
“But you’re not here to reminisce, are you?” she added, glancing sidelong at you.
You shook your head, looking down at your shoes.
“No. I need your advice.”
She laughed. That smooth, amused, dangerous sound you remembered from long ago with those nights when Selina would toy with Bruce in public, your veins boiling with rage. She was dangerous, but in the sense that Bruce still loved her in some way that you couldn’t.
But Bruce proved to you that she was in the past, and you were his present and future.
That answer should have been enough for you.
“From your boyfriend’s ex? Honey, I don’t—”
“He has a son,” you interrupted. “With Talia al Ghul. He didn’t know. And it… it happened around the time we started dating.”
The smirk faded. Silence slipped between you like fog.
“Tell me everything,” she said quietly.
You both sank down by the fire escape, the cold metal biting through your coat. You told her everything: Damian’s arrival, Talia’s letter, the way Bruce’s entire world tilted overnight. You told her how you tried to be understanding, how the house grew quieter, colder, more divided.
“It hurts,” you said softly. “Because the night we found out, he was supposed to—”
You stopped yourself, eyes falling to your bare left hand.
Selina noticed. Of course she did. She gave a low, sympathetic whistle.
“Bruce Wayne and his impeccable timing.”
“Yeah.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Guess it’s one of his many talents.”
Selina rose, stretching her arms above her head before looking back down at you.
“So what do you want from me, really? To tell you to kick him to the curb? To curse his name? Or to tell you to forgive him, the man with more baggage than a luxury airline?”
You managed a weak laugh.
“I wanted to ask you something else.”
“Shoot.”
“Was it worth it?” you asked quietly. “Loving him. Knowing he’d either break your heart or lock it away for safekeeping.”
For once, Selina didn’t have a quip ready. She leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawl of Gotham, her expression softer than you remembered.
“Bruce was different then,” she said finally. “He was still chasing ghosts. Vengeance was all he had, whether it wore a cape or not.”
She gave a wistful laugh. “Maybe I loved him because he was something I could never keep. And maybe he loved me because I was something he was supposed to stop.”
You stayed quiet, listening.
“When he adopted Dick,” she went on, “he asked if I wanted to be part of that life. To try. But I’m not the maternal type. And I think that’s when he realized I wasn’t the woman he wanted to build a home with.”
Her eyes flicked to you. The gaze was sharp, but not unkind.
“You were.”
You swallowed hard. “Doesn’t feel like it anymore.”
Selina tilted her head, a small smirk returning.
“Then make him prove it. Bruce Wayne doesn’t fight for much outside that mask of his. But if he wants you — really wants you — make him step out of it.”
You looked away, the city glittering beneath you like a thousand little lies.
“And if he doesn’t?”
Selina shrugged, slipping her gloves back on.
“Then you’ll know you survived Batman. Which means you can survive anything.”
She started toward the shadows, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
“And hey, if you ever decide to run, Japan’s not a bad place to disappear.”
You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “You never change, Selina.”
“Neither do you,” she called back, already gone.
You turned your gaze to the skyline again. Gotham shimmered. Its cold, alive, unforgiving soul the city was. Somewhere across it, Bruce was probably pacing, trying to fix something that couldn’t be fixed in a night.
And for the first time in years, you didn’t know if you wanted to be found.
+
Dick stood near the giant holographic map, arms crossed, while Jason slouched against the console, tossing a batarang in one hand. Tim sat at the computer, typing furiously, eyes flicking between monitors. Damian, meanwhile, stood near the back, his arms folded, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Remind me again,” Damian said, voice laced with disdain, “why I’ve been summoned for this domestic intervention?”
Jason snorted. “Because, little demon, you’re the reason this whole mess started.”
Damian’s glare could have cut glass. “My mother’s decisions are not mine. I did not ask to exist.”
“Yeah, well,” Jason drawled, “neither did this drama, but here we are.”
Dick held up a hand before things could spiral.
Tim didn’t look up from the monitor. “Let’s just stay on task, okay? Before Bruce realizes the Cave’s being used for—”
“Family therapy?” Jason interrupted.
“Mutiny,” Tim corrected.
Dick turned to face the others. “Look, we all know Dad’s been… different. Ever since Mom left for that business trip-slash-emotional exile.”
Jason gave a low whistle. “Yeah, guy’s been brooding harder than usual. I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“She’s not coming home until he earns it,” Dick said, his tone softening.
“And honestly? He hasn’t even tried. He’s just buried himself in work and in trying to train mini-Damian here.”
Dick ignored the laughter from the youngest brother. His tone softened.
“Bruce misses her. They both do. But they’re too stubborn to fix it.”
Tim finally spun his chair around, grinning slightly “Lucky for them, they’ve got us.”
Jason raised a brow.
“You seriously suggesting we Parent Trap the Bat and Mom?”
“Exactly,” Tim said, turning back to the monitor. “And I already have a lead.”
He typed a final command, and the holographic screen shifted to display a schedule — Bruce Wayne’s calendar synced with Wayne Enterprises’ server.
“According to this,” Tim continued, “Bruce has a meeting tomorrow afternoon at the Monarch Hotel. Coincidentally, that’s where Mom’s been staying.”
Jason whistled. “Coincidentally, huh?”
Tim smirked.
“With a little help, it can be.”
Dick grinned, that old spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “Tim, you’re a genius.”
“I know,” Tim said.
Damian frowned, pacing.
“So we deceive Father into attending a fabricated meeting and lure your mother there as well? Dishonorable.”
“Oh, spare me the League code, Damian,” Jason shot back.
Dick clapped his hands together.
“Then it’s settled. Tim handles the logistics. Jason and I will make sure Mom shows up. Damian—”
“What?”
“A word?”
Tim and Jason snickered lightly as Dick walked over to a corner with Damian.
“We may have met briefly, but we need you to join this mission. Whether you choose to be part of this family or not, our mom means everything to us. She’s the one who keeps us united. She’s the type of person who makes you goof around in the kitchen just to make her famous caramel chocolate chip cookies, or who sends you extra money to buy a coffee, even if she could buy a whole cafe. Don’t you understand what that feels like?”
Damian hesitates, looking down in shame.
“My mother and I don’t have those… luxuries.”
Dick’s heart swells with slight guilt as he looks over to Jason. He was the only one who knew Damian’s heritage, as the League of Assassins trained him. Jason mentioned that Damian didn’t have a conventional childhood, but when did the Waynes ever?
“If you give our mom the chance, you can finally see what type of person she is. Okay?”
Damian nodded slowly. Dick raised his hand eagerly for a high five, but Damian gave him a cold stare as Dick lowered his hand.
“Not there yet, got it.”
The eldest and youngest walk over to the console, ready to finalize their plans.
“Also, what is the Parent Trap? Some form of entrapement?” Damian asks innocently.
Tim gasped, whipping his head towards the group. “Oh, we’re definitely having a movie marathon when Mom comes back,”
+
Your phone buzzed as you sat in the Monarch Hotel’s restaurant, a cup of coffee cooling beside your tablet. Sketches filled the screen with new designs for the Japan branch presentation, but your focus kept slipping to the empty seat.
A message appeared.
DICK: Hey, I’m in town! Want to grab lunch? My treat. I promise no Bat-business.
You smiled despite yourself. It had been a while since you’d seen him in person. Dick always had that rare ability to make Gotham feel normal again.
YOU: Sure. Monarch Hotel? I’m already here.
DICK: Perfect. See you soon, Mom.
You slipped the tablet back into your bag and ordered a glass of water. A few minutes later, movement caught your eye — your eldest son, walking toward you with his usual effortless charm and that look that said I’m off duty, but not really.
But then another figure followed.
Bruce.
Your heart sank before your mind could catch up.
The host’s smile was polite and oblivious.
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne — right this way.”
You blinked.
“Oh—”
But Dick was already grinning.
“Thanks, we’ll take that table by the window.”
You shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve cut Kevlar. The little traitor only gave you two thumbs up before mumbling something about a “quick errand” and disappearing faster than the Flash.
You rubbed your face, exhausted. You didn’t have the energy to leave, not when the person you’d spent weeks avoiding was already sitting across from you.
Bruce cleared his throat, equally thrown off.
“I didn’t—uh—know you’d be here.”
“Likewise,” you said coolly, taking a sip of water.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Both of you studied the menu like it held the secrets of the universe.
Finally, Bruce spoke.
“You look… good.”
You forced a small smile.
“Hotel living agrees with me.”
“The boys said you’ve been keeping busy.”
“Someone has to.”
The words came out sharper than intended, but you didn’t take them back.
“How’s Alfred? And the boys?” you asked, softening your tone.
Bruce leaned back, exhaling slowly.
“Alfred’s… fine. Been fixing the vintage cars again. He’s not talking to me much either.”
You almost smiled.
“Classic Alfred.”
“Jason stopped by the other night. Dick’s… well, Dick. Tim’s overworking himself again. And Damian…” Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Still adjusting. But he’ll come around.”
You set your menu down and looked him directly in the eyes.
“He resents me, Bruce. He thinks I’m trying to replace his mother.”
Bruce’s expression hardened.
“You’re not.”
“I know that. But he needs to hear it from you.”
He lowered his gaze, fingers tightening around his napkin.
You studied him quietly before speaking again, voice barely above a whisper.
“You didn’t fight for me.”
The words landed heavy.
“I didn’t know how,” he said finally. “I thought giving you space—”
“—wasn’t the same as trying.”
You crossed your arms, eyes dropping to your lap.
“It’s always been cat and mouse with us. When you pull away, I start wondering if it’s my fault. I don’t talk much about my past but I’d hoped you wouldn’t look me up like one of your suspects.”
Bruce swallowed hard, guilt flickering across his face.
“I never—”
“Didn’t you?” you asked gently, meeting his eyes again. “When will we ever be enough for each other, Bruce?”
Before he could answer, a thunderous boom shook the restaurant. Windows rattled. Screams echoed from the street below.
Bruce turned immediately toward the sound. Every muscle in his body shifting into instinct.
You saw that look. You’d seen it a hundred times before, the battle between duty and love.
You steadied your voice.
“Go.”
He hesitated, guilt shadowing his face.
“Go, Bruce,” you repeated firmly. “They need you.”
He nodded once and was gone out the door and into the chaos before you could blink.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and followed the sound of panic outside. Smoke curled upward, debris scattered across the street. A section of a nearby building had collapsed, leaving a crater of twisted steel and concrete.
People were crying, coughing, calling out for help.
You rushed forward, helping a woman to her feet, then tore a strip from your scarf to make a makeshift tourniquet for a man’s leg. The training Bruce had drilled into all of you kicked in without thought. Keep calm, assess, stabilize.
Then a glint of steel caught your eye.
Through the smoke, a small figure darted between the wreckage, a sword flashing under the sun. Your heart stopped.
“Damian?”
Across the street, Batman was already in the fight. The air crackled with noise and heat with a second explosion somewhere close. As he scanned the area, three shadows dropped down beside him.
“What the—”
Jason grinned beneath his helmet. “You didn’t think we’d let you have all the fun, did ya?”
“We were in the neighborhood,” Dick added, twirling his escrima sticks.
Tim tapped his earpiece, focused.
“Smoke density at forty percent. Two hostiles moving east.”
Bruce didn’t have time to scold them. The fight erupted of fists, smoke, shrapnel. The boys moved in perfect sync: Dick flipping an assailant into a wall, Jason disarming another with brutal precision, Tim calling out tactical data.
Then Bruce froze mid-strike as a flash of movement caught his eye. It was Damian, leaping toward a masked figure with his sword drawn.
“You brought him here?” Bruce barked into the comm.
Tim’s voice crackled in his ear.
“We didn’t! He followed us and apparently brought his own katana!”
Before Bruce could respond, the ground trembled. The weakened structure above groaned as it collapsed.
“Damian!” Bruce shouted.
The boy looked up, startled, just as concrete rained from above. He raised his arms instinctively, off-balance and then a blur moved faster than his reflexes.
Someone tackled him out of the way.
The impact was deafening. Dust filled the air.
Bruce sprinted forward, heart hammering. His foot hit something soft — a familiar satchel. His eyes widened. He knew that bag. The one he’d bought you last Christmas, embossed with your initials.
“No…”
He ripped at the debris, muscles screaming. Jason and Dick rushed over, helping lift the heavy slabs.
You were lying beneath a broken beam, your body curved protectively around Damian’s small frame. He was coughing, dazed but alive.
“Grab him,” you croaked, voice weak.
Bruce knelt, scooping his son into his arms. Damian blinked up, shocked and silent.
Bruce turned back to you, brushing the dust from your hair, one gloved hand cradling your head.
“You’re hurt.”
You winced. “Just a scratch. I’m fine.”
You weren’t fine, but this wasn’t the time.
Sirens wailed in the distance as emergency crews flooded the scene. Whoever planted the bomb was long gone.
Bruce’s voice hardened with command.
“We’re going back to the cave.”
No one argued.
As the Batmobile sped through Gotham’s night, the world blurred past smoke, lights, sirens. Damian leaned against you in the back seat, silent but shaken. Bruce glanced at you in the rearview mirror every few seconds, his jaw tight.
He didn’t say it aloud, but you saw it in his eyes.
Nathan had started coming by more often than he expected. First, make sure you are eating correctly. Then, to carry in groceries or drive you to physical therapy. Soon enough, it was nearly every other day—his presence blending into your life in a way that felt both natural and dangerously domestic.
Almost.
He told himself it was because you still needed help. Because you hadn’t fully recovered.
But then there was the day you tried to reach for a glass on the top shelf. You’d overestimated your strength, and the tremor in your arm made you drop it. The crash brought him running from the other room, barefoot, right onto the scattered shards. He hadn’t even realized he’d cut himself until he saw the blood. You’d apologized until your voice broke, but all he’d said was, “Don’t worry about it. I just don’t want you hurt.”
That night, you ordered two pairs of slippers online—his and hers. It was the only pair of slippers that could have had same day delivery, and the other option was a unicorn horn slippers. You said that he didn’t have to wear it but he wore it everyday, grateful you were thinking about his wellbeing too
He knew, deep down, the truth: he couldn’t stay away.
That afternoon, when Nathan let himself into your apartment, the first thing he heard was your bright voice, something he hadn’t heard in months.
He followed the sound into the living room and froze in the doorway.
You were perched on the couch, laptop open, headset snug over your hair. A grid of small faces filled the screen—your students, hanging on to every word.
“…you don’t always realize it while you’re writing,” you said, gesturing with your uninjured hand. “But your characters are stitched together with pieces of yourself—your fears, your memories, the people you’ve loved and lost. Writers always—always—write what they know, whether they mean to or not.”
A student’s voice crackled through: “So… does that mean everything you write is autobiographical?”
You smiled, tired but warm. “Not everything. You don’t have to be chased by dragons to write about fear. But when a character aches for something they can’t have? That ache usually comes from somewhere real. That’s the part readers connect to.”
Nathan’s throat tightened.
Because he couldn’t help but think of the night he first stayed at your place. The one night where his thoughts were wondering if he should just leave you and save himself from more heartbreak. He’d never brought it up, and you’d never realized he’d seen it.
He lingered in the hall until the class ended. When you finally looked up, you spotted him and smiled faintly, giving a small wave.
“—and with that, I’m wrapping up for today,” you said into the mic. “Don’t forget your reference papers by next week. I’ll see you in person for the book reading.”
A chorus of “thank yous” filled your speakers before you ended the call. You slumped back into the couch and rubbed your face.
“No students using AI for their assignments?” Nathan teased as he stepped in.
“Surprisingly, no,” you said, lowering your hands. “Guess they actually want me to read their stories. You cannot imagine the fanfic I’ve had to sit through.”
He raised a brow. “That’s… concerning.”
You laughed. “Oh, it was so bad. Someone literally wrote a romance between Edgar Allan Poe and his pet raven.”
He snorted, then you both broke into laughter—real, unguarded.
The moment lingered.
“So,” Nathan said, settling beside you, “what was that book reading thing you mentioned?”
“Oh, the English department’s doing a live showcase of their new authors. I have a slot, but…” You exhaled, eyes down. “I’m not happy with what I’ve been writing lately. It doesn’t feel right.”
He didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He was still recovering from the manuscript he found on your sofa.
You shifted the topic quickly. “Anyway, you ready for grocery shopping? I’ve been craving those dumplings from H-Mart.”
You stood and threw on your cardigan, wincing as your shoulder tensed.
“Hey, hey,” Nathan said immediately, catching your elbow. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you murmured through clenched teeth. “Just a muscle spasm. It’ll pass.”
Before you could protest, he guided you back down onto the couch, his hand steady on your back. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt as he pulled you closer, instinctively.
For a moment, everything went still—just his breath, your pulse, and the faint hum of the city outside.
When you finally met his eyes, something wordless passed between you.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
“Any time,” he stammered, his voice cracking just slightly.
You smiled faintly, your hand finding its way to his chest. You could feel his heart pounding—louder than yours.
“Nate, I—”
But before you could finish, he leaned in, closing the space between you. His lips found yours—briefly, softly, like testing a memory he wasn’t sure he was allowed to keep.
When you finally broke apart, neither of you spoke. You both knew something had shifted.
+
You and Nathan pushed a grocery cart through the market a few days later. You two weren't a couple by any means, but there was still that light that flickered between you, and if one of you got too close, the fire would vanish. So, you both decided to just take each moment with ease and not push labels.
But let's just say things have been more intimate than usual.
“You realize you’re building a fortress for those eggs, right?” you teased, leaning over the handle.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s adorable. Annoying. But adorable.”
He smirked. “You used to toss everything into one bag and hope gravity worked in your favor.”
You grinned. “And yet somehow, I survived.”
“Barely,” he said, shaking his head.
You told him you’d grab ice cream while he finished the list. When he found you again, you weren’t alone.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood by the freezer, smiling warmly. You laughed at something he said, then hugged him before parting.
Nathan froze, hand tightening on the cart’s handle.
When you rejoined him, he tried for casual. “Friend of yours?”
“Something like that,” you said lightly, steering him toward checkout.
The answer shouldn’t have bothered him. But it did.
And it dragged him back—to that day.
“Almost done,” Nate said, tongue between his teeth as he shaded the last bit of ink.
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah, but now I mean it.”
You were in his apartment, lying facedown as he worked carefully on the tattoo you’d begged him to design. You’d been together a year, talking about moving in together.
“There,” he said finally, wiping the last trace of ink. “All done.”
You sat up gingerly, peeking in the mirror. “It’s amazing, Nate. You should open your own studio.”
“What’s stopping you?” he asked, wrapping your shoulder. You smirked. “Maybe I don’t want anyone else falling for their artist.”
“Never,” he said, kissing your cheek. “You’re my favorite canvas.”
You grinned and kissed him back—until you shifted wrong and hissed in pain.
“I’m out of Aquaphor,” he muttered, glancing at his supply table.
“There’s some in my bag. Bedroom,” you said.
He kissed your temple and went to grab it. But when he rifled through your bag, something else slipped free—a small notebook, pages spread open.
At first, it looked like class notes. Until he read the lines.
#4 can’t eat solid food for the majority of his life.
#5 covered in tattoos—each one a story he’s forgotten.
#29 hospitalized last Christmas, trying to save a coworker during a bank heist.
Nathan froze. His stomach dropped.
You appeared in the doorway. “Babe, everything okay?”
He looked up, holding the notebook as if it burned. “What is this?”
You froze. “Nate, let me—”
“You’ve been analyzing me?” His voice was low, hurt. “You’ve been writing about me this whole time?”
You couldn’t find words.
Nate closed his eyes, dropping the book by your purse where your contents were scattered by the edge of his bed.
"I think you need to leave," Jack whispered, his vision blurred by his tears.
You stood there a second longer, trying to muster a sentence, but you knew he had made up his mind. You grabbed everything you could and got out of his apartment, your guilt eating you alive. Nate sat down by his bed, crying in his hands. The person he trusted most, the person he poured his heart into... she just trampled on it like a piece of paper.
He wouldn't know what to do if he ever saw you again.
Now, sitting alongside him at a park bench with your ice cream melting in the heat, you could feel the distance again—the quiet, unspoken ache between you.
He hadn’t said much since. Just one-word answers, half-hearted smiles.
“Okay,” you said finally, setting down your spoon. “You’ve barely said two sentences since we sat down. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Nathan.” You leaned forward. “Don’t do that thing where you go silent and expect me not to notice. What’s wrong?”
He leaned back, jaw tight. “Who was that guy at the store?”
Your brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“The one by the freezer. You seemed pretty… comfortable with him.”
You stared at him, disbelief turning to laughter. “Oh my God. You’re jealous?”
“I’m asking a question.”
“You’re interrogating me,” you shot back. “Which is rich, considering—”
He cut you off, eyes dark. “Considering what?”
“Considering you still don’t trust me. After everything.”
His voice rose. “Well maybe I’m just tired of being used when it’s convenient!”
Your eyes widened. “Used? Nate, what are you talking about?”
He stood abruptly. “Why don’t you publish another book about your new boyfriend? Maybe you’ll make fun of his pain too, like you did with me.”
You stared, stunned. “I never published that book, Nate.”
The words hung in the air.
He blinked. “…What?”
“It wasn’t right, I admit that,” you said softly. “You don’t know how many times I tried to say that. But I wrote it for you. For your eyes only. Because you are constantly afraid of what this life throws at you, but I didn't see that. You've overcome more shit than what I've been through, and I thought I'd never see you again if I died in that accident.”
The silence was heavy.
You swallowed. “That man you saw? He’s the EMT who pulled me out of the car wreck. Who kept me breathing until I got to the hospital. That’s why I smiled at him. Because when someone literally saves your life, maybe you owe them a thank you.”
Nathan’s expression crumpled. “I didn’t know.”
“No, you didn’t,” you said, your voice trembling as you quickly rubbed your eyes.
You slowly got up, grabbed your bag, and turned to Nate.
"Thank you, for taking care of me. You don't need to anymore, I've caused enough hurt for the both of us to feel."
Nate gets up, loosely holding your waist.
"Look, maybe I didn't- see the whole picture but-"
"Nate, please... don't do this to yourself." You placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart pound like it was trying to escape from his ribs.
"You had a life before and after me; it's time you go back to getting to your happy ending. I'm just the conflict that gets in your way. Now I did some good for you, and that's me taking out this page of whatever this is. Goodbye."
You slowly slip out of his arms as he sees you walk away. He wants to scream and run after you, but he can't. His feet are planted on the sidewalk like he is some statue. Once you are out of sight, he sits back on the bench, feeling as if the world is crashing on him.
If this was the feeling hurt, he couldn't compare it to you running away from his life again.
Summary: Aramis and the reader are changed forever by three joyous surprises.
Notes: I write a lot of angst for him, but dammit, this man deserves to be happy. And I wanted to write him actually being able to spend time with his kids. Also, the title is ‘Three Surprises’ in French, I just didn’t know ‘surprises’ is spelled the same way. At least that’s what translate said. Please don’t come for me. This also doesn’t follow any plots from the show, so ignore the timeline haha.
More Musketeers HERE
-
I
The garrison greeted you with metal clashing and the smell of sweat. Men shouted at each other across the way with language that was far from proper. It didn’t bother you, of course. In your time frequenting the training area, you’d grown used to its oddities and eccentricities.
A few of the men cheered to greet you and asked how you were or what brought you to the garrison, though they already had an idea. You were here for Aramis. You were always here for Aramis. Or for shooting lessons, which the captain had approved since you lived alone and association with the musketeers often led to trouble.
“Y/N!” A boisterous voice called. Porthos hopped up from the table he sat at and crossed the courtyard. Not one for propriety, he pulled you into a hug without a second thought. You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “What brings you here?”
He led you back to the table and brushed off the bench for you to sit.
Athos tilted his hat. Unlike his companion, he enjoyed upholding some of the rules of society. “Mademoiselle Y/L/N.”
“How many times must I tell you to call me Y/N?” You teased.
“If I did, you wouldn’t have to tell me any more,” he smirked. “I assume you’re looking for Aramis.”
You nodded. “I have important matters to discuss with him and Captain Treville.”
The two exchanged a look.
“Sounds serious,” Porthos said. “Anything we should know about?”
“All in good time, boys,” you beamed. “I promise I won’t leave you in the dark for too long.”
D'Artagnan eyed you curiously. Perhaps your closest friend among Aramis’ companions, it was unusual for you not to share something with him. You gave him a reassuring nod and he trusted he’d find out what all this was about in due time. It didn’t stop his mind from searching the possibilities, though.
The imploring silence only lasted a moment longer.
“Y/N?”
And just like that, at the sound of his voice, your knees turned soft and your heart stopped beating. Every nerve in your body seemed to bunch and twist in your belly. You turned, Aramis’s eyes sparkling at you in the morning light as a smile crept onto his face.
“I had no idea you’d be here,” he grinned, kissing your cheek.
“I had something I wanted to share with you before you galavanted off into danger somewhere.” The tremble in your voice made his face darken with worry. His gaze flicked to his companions and they took the hint, hurrying off to the side to give the two of you some privacy. You began to fidget with your cloak. “I hope my coming on short notice isn’t a nuisance.”
“No, please.” He took your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “You are my favorite kind of surprise, darling.” His dark eyes looked deeply into yours. “Is something the matter?”
“Not exactly…” You’d rehearsed the words numerous times and it was completely in vain. You might as well have been mute, standing before him with a blank, panicked expression, which of course only made him look more concerned.
“My love, you’re starting to frighten me,” he laughed nervously and tucked a hair behind your ear. “You can tell me anything.”
You took a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Porthos whispered. The three, having been observing from afar, watched on as you stared down at the dirt and Aramis lifted your chin with his finger.
“That’s between the two of them,” Athos said. “It’s none of our business.” However, he did not, nor did the other two, turn away.
You said something none of them could hear. Aramis’s arms fell to his sides, face turned white as a sheet. His mouth floundered open and closed, unable to say anything.
“You don’t think she’s broken things off, do you?” D’Artagnan asked.
After a moment of this awkward, anxious tension that even they could feel from across the courtyard, Aramis seemed to snap to his senses. He lifted you off the ground and spun around, a smile as wide as the Seine spread across his face. Your laugh rang throughout the space and when he set you down, your arms hooked around his neck, lips locking together for longer than what was probably publicly acceptable.
Athos turned to the youngest member of their group. “I take that as a no.”
Aramis kissed you one… two… three… more times before you said something about going to the market and left, holding his hand until the last possible moment.
When the marksman returned, his friends stood with brows raised and curious smiles. Porthos patted him on the back.
“What to share what that was all about?”
Still, with a starstruck grin, Aramis gazed around in a daze. Like before, his mouth fell open and nothing came out. He was sure his heart had stopped beating. Or perhaps it wasn’t there anymore. It was with you, as it always had been. Now more than ever.
He looked up at his companions- his friends- the men he trusted with his life and the words simply fell from his lips.
“Y/N’s pregnant.”
-
“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” you whined, breathing slowly and deeply as you took a seat at the table.
Constance smiled. “You only have, what, a month or so to go?”
“Yes, and I feel like I’m the size of Notre Dame.” You laid a hand on your bulbous belly and laughed. “I look the size of Notre Dame.”
“Nonsense,” she chuckled along with you, setting a plate of bread and bowl of stew in front of you. Constance peeked out the door and shook her head. “They’re late. Again.” Despite the playful annoyance in her voice, there was a sparkle in her eye. One you recognized well.
“You know… D’Artagnan has been speaking of you more and more since I became pregnant. I dare say he even sounds hopeful.”
“Don’t start,” she swallowed. She took a rag and started to wipe down the table in order to avoid your gaze. “I, in case you’ve forgotten, am married to the man who supplies your fabrics. D’Artagnan and I are merely friends.” The younger woman glanced up at you with a kind of admiration. “It isn’t like what you and Aramis have.”
You scoffed. “I’m his mistress.”
Her eyes softened with sincerity. She put a hand on your arm. “You’re a great deal more than that.”
You averted your eyes, feeling the hint of tears begin in them and focused on the meal before you. Despite his adoration and his devotion, you knew not to hope for more than what you were given. And you had no complaints, of course, Aramis was the light of your life and to have his child was more than you ever imagined. But he was a hero. You were a seamstress.
As if summoned by your brief sorrow, the door to the cottage opened and you heard two pairs of thundering steps coming down the hall. While not banished completely, your doubts were pushed to the back of your mind upon the sight of Aramis’s grinning face.
“Sorry we’re late, ladies,” he said, removing his hat with a smug flare. “Paris needed saving.”
“When doesn’t it?” You laughed. He leaned to place a kiss on your forehead, hand falling lovingly to your belly.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. Aramis basked at the sight of you in the setting sun, golden rays streaming through the window. “Like an angel in heaven’s light.”
A lovely pink color crept onto your cheeks. “You flatter me too much.”
“My love, my words will never be enough.” Aramis brought your lips to his with passion and sweetness, despite the other two in the room. He set his weapons aside, his coat along with them, and sat next to you. Seeing the billowing sleeves of his shirt reminded you of your work earlier in the day.
“I almost forgot, I repaired the tear in your shirt. I’ll have to go fetch it.” You started to stand- with more than a little effort- and he laid a hand on your shoulder to set you back down.
“Please, don’t trouble yourself, darling.” He kissed you again. “I’ll get it.” As he sauntered into the other room, Constance gave you a knowing look you did your best to ignore.
“Any news on the Red Guard?” D’Artagnan asked. You were glad of the change in subject, though Constance rolled her eyes at his abruptness.
“Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be the favorite to stitch their uniforms ever since-” You motioned to the rather obvious reason at your middle.
“Ah,” D’Artagnan nodded. “Right.”
Having made a reputation as having the most reliable repairs of any affordable seamstress in Paris, you’d often had members of the Red Guard come to you, as they were ‘too above’ mending anything themselves. It did, however, allow you to overhear things here and there, which you took to the musketeers. But keeping your relationship with Aramis a secret was hard enough. Now, with such a drastic change in your appearance, they’d kept their distance, though whether it was because you were unmarried or if they suspected you to be somewhat of a spy for your child’s father, you couldn’t tell.
The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you couldn’t contain your laughter. D’Artagnan sat beside you and asked you questions of a lighter variety while you pleaded to hear of the day’s adventures. Aramis always worried he’d distress you, so you received all the juicy details from the youngest musketeer. Through your friendship with Constance, D’Artagnan had become one of your closest friends as well.
A lull fell upon your conversation and you couldn't help but note how his eyes drifted back to your mutual companion by the fire.
One day, you thought…
A sudden movement within you forced a gasp from your lips. Aramis returned to the room in seconds.
“Love, what is it? Did something happen?” He knelt by your side with loving, concerned eyes.
“Yes,” you beamed, placing a hand where the movement was. You looked into his beautiful gaze and felt yourself overtaken by the excitement. “I believe he just kicked.” Gently, you took his hand and guided it to where you’d felt it.
“He?” Aramis awed, raising a brow.
You shrugged. “Just a feeling.”
Another motion fluttered against Aramis’s hand, this one stronger and almost more aggressive than the last. Aramis chuckled.
“I think she may disagree with your feeling.”
“Oh, a girl then, is it?” You smirked.
He shrugged, mocking you affectionately. “Just a feeling.”
-
II
He’d come as soon as he heard. All of them had. The four musketeers stood in the lobby of your shop, none of them able to sit down. Athos leaned against the wall, he and Porthos watching the windows as if for some dastardly foe. D’Artagnan tried to distract himself by sharpening his sword. Aramis paced at the foot of the stairs leading up to your rooms.
The midwife wouldn’t allow him to be with you, despite his protests. Only Constance was permitted to accompany her in tending to you. It took all three men to hold him back when your screaming began.
Hours of this hell passed. He paced until he was sure the soles of his boots would scuff clean off.
“Can I ask you something?” Porthos asked. He hoped to distract his friend from his pain but, in truth, it was something they’d all been wondering for months. Aramis stopped his hurried steps and turned with a nod. Porthos swallowed. “Why haven’t you married her?”
“Porthos now is hardly the occasion,” Athos scolded.
“We have to talk about something, else we’ll all go mad with her up there.”
Aramis held up a hand to silence them both. The three waited with bated breath as he looked up, wishing to float through the ceiling and be by your side.
“Because she doubts me,” he said with an unexpected sadness in his voice. He looked back at them. “She doesn’t believe that my love for her is genuine. I can feel it when her smile falters or when her hand falls from mine.” He turned away. “To ask her for her hand because of the child… it would only prove what she believes.” Aramis clenched his fist at his side, then relaxed it again. This idleness would destroy him if this was not soon over. “I could not force her to marry a man that she doubts.”
The others nodded in understanding, though none of them truly understood, especially D’Artagnan.
He’d never seen two people who loved each other more than you and Aramis. He wanted to scream at both of them until his throat was sore if he thought it would help. Seeing the two of you so clouded with your own doubts hurt him more than he could say. The younger man just couldn’t fathom it. He’d give anything to have the opportunity to marry the woman he loved.
The matter of your reputation, of course, had already been discussed. You told anyone who discovered your condition that you’d married while away in Gascony and that your husband was a merchant who traveled often and you always met with him back in Gascony. Most people didn’t care enough to gossip about an orphaned woman with little prospects to begin with. It’d been your idea to lie and Aramis accepted it as you being as unsure of him as you thought he was of you.
What killed him the most, despite his charming demeanor and always knowing the right words for the right people, was that he had no idea how to convey to you how he truly felt. He reminded you of his love every moment he had with you, and yet he knew you didn’t fully believe it. What else could he do but keep trying?
Another aching shriek echoed through the chamber, followed by a silence, and then… cries. An infant’s wailing filled the house.
Aramis raced up the stairs before the others could stop him.
The door to your bedroom opened and Constance stepped out, quickly closing it behind her. She had a bundle in her arms. The auburn-haired woman beamed at him.
“Would you like to meet your son?”
Suddenly, he couldn’t move. He just stared at Constance, stunned, as the baby continued to cry. It was as if he’d forgotten how to use his limbs, everything numb with a strange mix of disbelief and utter joy.
A son.
He stepped forward and spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-yes.” He felt like a child himself, standing before her with arms outstretched.
Constance, still grinning, gently placed the wriggling bundle into his awaiting embrace.
He couldn’t believe how small he was. His son. A tiny fist reached out. Aramis gave him his pinky to grasp onto, his little fingers not even able to wrap all the way around the digit. He rocked the baby in his arms, cooing slightly. The boy stopped crying.
“I have a son,” he gasped. He turned to the stairs, where his three friends had gathered at the bottom. His tone raised to a cheer. “I have a son!”
A chorus of joyous hollers and applause filled the stairwell.
The celebration, however, was cut short as another round of your screaming cries The boy in his arms began wailing again. He held him a little closer to soothe him, but Aramis had gone white.
“What’s happening?” He asked.
Constance shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I thought everything was fine.”
A guttural grunt. Another scream.
Aramis passed his son back to Constance and started toward your door. The three men had already climbed the stairs with worried expressions.
“You aren’t supposed to-” Constance started, but she stopped as soon as she saw Aramis’s look of absolute panic.
He burst through the door.
“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Aramis rushed to your side, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from your cheek.
“Aramis?” You muttered, almost dreamily.
“You shouldn’t be in here monsieur,” the midwife scolded.
Your knees were pulled up before her. He tried not to look, for the bed sheets were slick with blood and it only made him panic even more. He, instead, looked into your eyes and you looked into his, the comfort of those dark brown irises grounding you through the pain.
“Something’s… happening…” You took heaving breaths in between your words. His hand found yours and you held onto it with a near-crushing grip.
“There’s another,” the midwife said.
Both of your heads snapped up to look at her and you spoke at the same time.
“What?!”
She peered up at you, cast a disapproving look at the father, but decided it was too late to force him out of the room.
“Just as we did before,” she instructed. “Ready? Three… two…”
-
For the first time, there was quiet.
The midwife had gone, having gathered the soiled blankets and bowls of water. Aramis sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, your son blinking up at both of you from your embrace. With the other arm, he held your daughter.
“I doubt I’ll ever understand what I’ve done in my life,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, “to deserve all of this.”
You turned your head to kiss his lips lightly, reaching a hand to caress your daughter’s soft cheek.
“It seems impossible for two things so perfect to come into my life at once,” you mused, bringing your hand up to his face. “And you… to have you for as long as I have. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to be so blessed.”
Aramis leaned into your touch, the hair of his beard tickling your palm as he nuzzled your skin. Those near-ebony eyes looked into yours with a love more powerful than he’d ever felt before. He wanted, right there, to ask you to marry him.
A knock at the door was followed by Constance peeking her head into the room with an excited, but exasperated expression.
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off,” she laughed. “I haven’t told them anything, like you asked, other than that everything is alright, but I don’t think they’ll believe me until they see you.”
Aramis chuckled, the vibration rumbling against you. Your daughter stirred against his chest, stretching her tiny arms toward him. He leaned to kiss her forehead.
You beamed. “Let them in.”
Constance nodded, smile growing, and turned back to the door.
“Be quiet, all of you,” she ordered. “I don’t want you scaring them.”
D’Artagnan’s brows drew together as he stepped in first.
“Them?”
As the two others piled in behind him, all halted abruptly, their eyes darting between you and Aramis and the not one, but two infants in your arms. Confusion turned to shock and finally to unbridled excitement.
“Twins!” Athos exclaimed with one of the first real smiles you’d ever seen on his face.
Porthos was still glancing between the two. “Twins?”
It was D’Artagnan who stepped forward first and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his joy for you clear in his dark eyes.
“It’s incredible,” he said. He glanced up at Aramis with the same warm kinship. “I can’t begin to say how happy I am. For both of you.”
The other two gathered on Aramis’s side of the bed and shared similar congratulations.
“Have you thought of names?” Porthos asked.
“Actually, we thought we’d get your thoughts,” Aramis said, glancing over at you with a smirk. He touched a finger to your daughter’s nose. “For her, we were thinking of Christine.” She swatted at his finger lightly, making her father laugh again. “She’s quite the fighter already, hm?”
“I wonder where she gets that from,” Porthos smiled and patted him on the back.
“For our son,” you took a deep breath and looked up at your friend beside you. “We thought Charles would be fitting.”
D’Artagnan’s mouth fell open and his eyes filled with even more admiration and feeling than before, which didn’t seem possible.
“C-Charles?” He asked, as if he’d heard you wrong.
Aramis nodded. “Charles.”
“But only if you’ll allow it,” you said, reaching for his hand. “You’ve just been such a good friend to me- to us- and I hoped you would be his godfather as well, but if-”
He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “I would be honored.” His voice was heavy with emotion, tears of joy welling in his eyes.
“We’ve already asked Constance to be godmother to them both,” Aramis said. He turned to his best friend. “I was hoping, Porthos, that-”
“Do you even have to ask?” Porthos chuckled. He leaned over your daughter and made a face.
She started to cry.
“Congratulations,” Aramis sighed. “You’ve already frightened off your goddaughter.”
Porthos made another face and she stopped. He raised a brow at Aramis, beaming. You snickered at their antics.
“They are beautiful children,” Athos said, leaning against the dresser. “I can’t say enough how happy I am for the two of you.”
“Oh don’t feel left out, Athos,” Porthos teased. “I’m sure you can be godfather to the next one.”
You snorted. “I think he may have to wait a while for that.” Everyone in the room laughed. D’Artagnan gazed down at your son, still trying to hold back tears.
“Would you like to hold him?”
He gulped. “Can I?”
You smiled and carefully handed your son to his namesake. Aramis did the same with your daughter, slowly putting her in Porthos’s arms. And just like that, you watched the two grown men turn to puppies, all wide eyes and cooing smiles.
A happy tear rolled down your cheek. Aramis pulled you closed and kissed it away. You knew, more than anything in the world, that your children would be safe. And they would be loved.
III
He rocked the child in his arms with the whispers of a lullaby on his lips.
“Lullay, thou little tiny child,” he sang softly, “bye, bye, lully, lullay. Thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay…” Aramis smiled and kissed his sleeping son’s forehead before laying him gently in his crib. Charles’s nose twitched and he stretched his tiny arms but didn’t stir.
Aramis watched him in wonder. Ten months and he still couldn’t quite believe all of this was real. His heart ached from being so full.
A small clattering sound drew his attention away and he felt his heart stop in a panic. Aramis rushed across the nursery and plucked his daughter from the floor before she could pull another one of his swords off of the table where he’d placed them.
“Christine d’Herblay, how many times must I tell you to leave Papa’s things alone?” He scolded, nuzzling her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hurt yourself, darling.”
She leaned into his embrace, looking up at him with those big eyes with a perfectly innocent expression. Quite cunning, he thought, for a toddler. Of course, he melted instantly and began bouncing her up and down. Her bell-like laughter filled the room, as well as his chest.
The door to the nursery opened and you stepped in with messy hair stuck down by sweat from your exhaustive day and a harrowed expression. Your eyes fell upon the sheathed weapon on the floor.
“I tell her to leave them,” Aramis said. “But she doesn’t listen to me.” He tickled her side, earning more laughter. “Just like your mother, aren’t you?”
You didn’t laugh. Instead, you sighed and stooped to pick up his sword from the ground. From there, you began picking up everything you could find, tidying up the room in a flustered hurry. Aramis placed Christine in her crib beside Charles’s and took your hands in his to stop your anxious movements.
“What’s happened?”
You bowed your head. “Nothing.”
“Y/N…” He sighed, laying a hand on your cheek. You pulled away.
“It’s this Rocheforte.” You ran your fingers through your hair, more aware than ever of their lack of ring. “He isn’t like the cardinal- which I thought would be a good thing- but he’s somehow worse. He’s suspicious and- and cunning, and his men are asking more and more questions when I’m called there to repair uniforms.” Your rambling caught in your throat, paired with tired tears.
“What can I do?” Aramis asked. “You know it pains me to see you in distress. Just say the word, and I’ll have the heads of half of the Red Guard by sundown.”
“It isn’t just them.” You shook your head. “I’m just… so tired of lying, Aramis.”
Christine made a cooing sound. Charles yawned.
Aramis stepped toward you. “Then let us make it the truth.”
You paused, making sure you’d heard him correctly. Aramis continued.
“Marry me and none of this will matter. You can stop spying for Treville and the Red Guards will have the whole of the musketeers to face if they bother you again.”
Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wiped them hastily away. At first, he thought they were tears of joy, but the closer Aramis looked, he knew he was wrong.
“I will handle Rochefortes prying myself. He’s likely figured out you are the true father and is just trying to frighten me into admitting it.”
“Y/N, I don’t understand. The solution for this is simple-”
“I will not doom you to a life you don’t want simply because it is the simplest answer!” you said, louder than you’d meant to. Charles awoke with shrieking cries.
“A life I don’t want?” Aramis scoffed, trying to hide his hurt. “What are you talking about?”
“My answer is no, Aramis.” You moved to pick up your screaming son. “Marrying is clearly something you’ve never wanted and I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice anything for me when the children and I have done just fine in the current situation.”
Aramis reached for both of you.
Christine started to cry as well.
“Y/N-”
“I think you should leave.” You didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on your children in order to hide your sorrow from their father. “I’ll watch them now.”
Aramis didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to kick himself for his insensitivity. He’d known of your doubts for so long and yet he sprung marriage on you as if it were nothing more than a way to fix a problem.
“If that is what you wish,” he sighed and left, closing the door behind him while the children’s crying followed him out.
He knew how he felt. He just needed to prove it to you.
-
You saw no one else for the remainder of the evening. Only your children kept you company, and even they seemed more interested in empty spools rolling around on the floor. Not that you minded. With them so distracted, you found it easier to let yourself cry.
He asked you to marry him.
How many times had you dreamt of Aramis saying those words and yet now they felt like musket shots to your heart. He saw you as a burden. A duty to fulfill. You could never live like that, even if it meant being free of the jeers of the Red Guard.
You only wished you could regret ever involving yourself with the musketeer, but your heart forbade it. Whether or not he felt the same, your love for Aramis had given you the world. The proof sat before you with their carefree laughter. Your son and daughter with their smiles just like their father’s. The time you’d gotten with them, with him, was worth all of the heartache.
It was late when you finally got them both to go to sleep. One was always waking the other, but eventually, Charles and Christine laid in their cribs and soundly drifted off.
You tried to finish up some work on a dress order at the table in the nursery,, but found your eyes unable to stay open. You must have fallen asleep as well, for the next time you opened them, the morning sun greeted you.
And the children were gone.
You were awake in an instant, tearing through your small apartment, but finding nothing. It wasn’t until you could hear Charles’ laughter that you hurried down the stairs, finding your son in the lap of his namesake and Christine grasping at a flower that Athos held over her playfully.
“Morning,” Porthos greeted.
You smacked the back of his head. “Don’t do that,” you exasperated, “I thought they’d been taken by miscreants or something.”
“We just didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” D’Artagnan smiled.
“What are you talking about?”
“It seems we are replacing you, for the day,” Athos explained, picking up Christine to give her to you. “The three of us are to deliver your finished orders.”
“While the four of us spend this beautiful day out, as a family,” Aramis said, having appeared in the doorway with a basket in hand and dressed in a casual tunic rather than his uniform.
Your heart fluttered at the thought, but your mind refused to give in so easily. After all, it was only the night before that you’d nearly cried yourself to sleep over the discussion you’d had with the man before you. But the charming smile on his face and the look in his eye made it awfully difficult to argue.
“I don’t know.” You made a point not to look at him. “I have so much still to do and-”
D’Artagnan stood, picking up your son and raising his brow at you. “Take the day, Y/N,” he said. “You deserve to rest.”
“Plus, he’s been going mad all night, which has driven all of us mad, as well,” Porthos muttered, motioning to his nervous friend in the doorway. “Go on,” he encouraged. “What trouble could we get into delivering a bunch of dresses and coats?”
“I don’t really like to think about it,” you frowned.
“I will make sure that everything gets to its proper place,” Athos assured you, making you feel a little bit better.
Aramis stepped inside, taking Charles from D’Artagnan and giving you a pleading glance.
“It’s a beautiful day, my love,” he said. “Let us spend it as a family.”
Any lingering frustration you’d felt from the night before was no match for his soft, wanting tone. And beneath his charisma, you knew that there was something else. Something far more serious. Whatever it was, you knew it was better to talk now than dance around it while the two of you buried yourselves in your work.
“I suppose I can spare one day,” you said.
Porthos and D’Artagnan cheered but were silenced by a look of annoyance from Athos. Aramis just lit up, kissing your cheek.
“You won’t regret it,” he whispered against your skin. But when he turned back to the door, son in his arms and his two girls behind him, he muttered to himself, “I hope.”
-
It was the first moment of peace you’d experienced in months. The only sound- other than the occasional cheer or coo from one of the children- was the slight breeze through the meadow flowers. The morning passed like dandelion seeds floating through the air.
Charles and Christine crawled around and explored the small plot of grass you’d found for them. Christine chased a butterfly and Charles plucked a light blue flower from its stem and brought it back to your lap.
“I see he’s inherited your charm,” you said, taking in the blossom’s sweet scent.
“And she your spirit,” Aramis pointed out, gesturing to the feisty toddler who was nearing the edge of the grass. He rolled onto his side and caught her in his arms before she could get too far. She whined, but only for a moment, before settling against his chest.
Despite the wonder of the morning, there was the crawling under your skin, whispers of your doubts reminding you of the hopes you’d felt had been dashed by your own fear. The fear that all of this would be gone in an instant. That he would finally tire of you and the life you’ve built and he would galavant off into the arms of another woman, into another battle, another fight he could not win.
You understood, then, looking at him under the swaying shadows of the willow tree above you, perhaps that was why you allowed your doubts to persist. Though you cared so deeply for him, you kept him at arm's length because the idea of him leaving of his own will was easier to take than a musket ball piercing his heart or a dagger across his throat.
The realization brought tears to your eyes. You bit your lip to hide the trembling, but Aramis knew in a heartbeat.
“Oh, my love,” he sighed. He set Christine beside her brother, both of whom had fallen asleep on the blanket. Aramis laid a hand on your cheek. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake in the years we’ve spent together.”
You sucked in a breath and bowed your head, preparing for his regrets, his change of heart, and his announcement he was going to leave. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your face back to his.
“I have known you believe me to be with you out of a sense of duty. I have allowed you to believe that you are little more than a distraction grown into an obligation.” Taking your hands in his, his voice softened due to the overwhelming emotion in his tone. Now it was him trying to hide his tears. “I have wished my words of devotion were enough to convince you, but my actions last night have done just the opposite and for that, I deeply apologize.”
“Aramis-” You started, but he stopped you with a squeeze of your hand.
“I love you,” he said. He kissed the inside of your wrist, dark eyes watching you, so full of adoration and care that you held back a sob. Aramis held your palm to his cheek. “Every breath of every day belongs to you. Every beat of my heart is devoted to our family. Not out of any sense of duty. In fact, you’ve tangled my senses all together.” He chuckled, the lovely sound vibrating up your arm. “I can’t tell sunset from sunrise because you are my new sun. I don’t know which way is south because you are my north star.”
You found yourself leaning into him until you were but a few shallow breaths apart. Aramis turned his gaze to the sleeping children beside you.
“You have made me a father,” he beamed. “A dream I’d forgotten I had. You have made me a better man. Better than I thought I was capable of being. You are not an obligation, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours and he drew even closer to you. “You are everything.”
His fingers laced into your hair and pulled your lips to his, silencing any of your cries. You kissed him with a passion like no other, but mostly you kissed him with belief.
When you parted, you both smiled tearfully.
Aramis continued.
“Which is why-” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but it was no use. You left him completely breathless. “I ask you once more, to do me the honor of making me your husband.” He kissed the trail of tears on your cheek. “Y/N, will you marry me?”
“Aramis, I-” Your mind searched your heart for a reason to say no. It warned of loss and heartbreak. But you found that, no matter what, your guarded feelings would only be in vain. Your heart could not be protected by you alone because it did not belong to you. You pressed your lips to Aramis’s and whispered against them. “Yes. My answer is yes.”
-
You spent the rest of the day taking Christine and Charles around the city, proudly walking side by side. A few people whispered as you went by and several Red Guards glared, but quickly looked away with one deadly glance from your fiance.
The sun began to dip in the sky by the time you returned to the shop.
To your surprise- and much to your relief- the other men managed to get through a day without destroying anything, which was a fair accomplishment for them. Any conversation between them ceased when the four of you entered.
“Welcome back,” Athos said.
Three pairs of eyes stared expectantly.
“So…” D’Artagnan needn’t voice his question. He could tell from the light in your eyes what the answer would be.
You merely gave them all a simple nod and they practically leapt with joy.
With the children placed in their chairs, Porthos pulled Aramis into a crushing hug, D’Artagnan kissed your cheek, and Athos smiled brightly at you both, all voicing their congratulations.
“I take it the final part of the plan is still in motion?” Porthos asked with a wink.
“What final part?” You asked.
Aramis ran a hand through his hair, nerves returning.
“Well, now that everything is settled and you haven’t decided that you’ve had enough of me,” he said. “These fine gentlemen have agreed to watch Christine and Charles while you and I partake in a romantic evening together.”
“The picnic in the meadow wasn’t romantic enough for you?” You snickered. “I don’t want to take any more of their time.”
“It’s no trouble, at all,” D’Artagnan said. “Constance will be joining us as well.”
You gave him a suggestive smile. “I see.”
He rolled his eyes. “I think you’d better just find out what your last surprise is for today and let us take care of everything else.”
“We’ll take very good care of them,” Athos promised. “And I’ll make sure these two don’t get into any trouble while you’re gone.”
“As if you’re one to talk.” Porthos slapped him on the back. He quirked a brow at the couple before him. “Go enjoy your evening. We’ll drop them off in the morning.”
“But I still don’t understand.” You looked in between the four of them. “You all speak as if we have somewhere else to go. Unless you’re suggesting the garrison…”
Aramis reached for your hand with a smirk. “Just follow me.”
You kissed the children goodnight and thanked the men one more time before allowing Armis to lead you back down the street in the direction of the garrison. He stopped, however, at a building he’d made a point to admire earlier in the day.
“As much as I find the apartment above your shop charming, I thought this may be better suited to fit a family,” he said.
It was a small structure, but there was a cozy feeling to its appearance as well. The potential to become a home.
“It’s the perfect distance between the shop and the garrison, so neither of us would have to travel very far. I know it isn’t much, but Treville gave me an advance on my commission and the others chipped in as well. And I figured I could spend time fixing it up for us in between missions. I think, given some time and effort, it could be-”
You stopped him with a kiss.
“I love it,” you smiled. “And I love you.”
Aramis’s face split with a grin and he scooped you into his arms, kissing you deeply, despite the people passing you by.
“Wait,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. You raised a brow in amusement. “You bought this before you asked me to marry you. What if…”
He chuckled. “I was just really hoping you’d say yes.”
You pulled him into another kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. With your hearts full and the first evening you’d had to yourselves since the children were born, he wasted little time carrying you inside and kicking the door shut behind you.
Nathan: tattoo artist, ex-boyfriend, and now your caretaker. Could this second-chance romance take another heartbreak?
pt. 1
pt. 2
pt. 3
pt. 4
coming soon
Don't You Remember
Sherlock is hired by an old flame that claims that a family heirloom has been stolen, but he has suspicions of why he was hired in the first place
Come To Your Senses
Neither you or Sherlock are honest about your true feelings for each other. But is either one brave enough to admit it before you wed another?
What They Didn't Know Was Missing
It's hard to come to terms with becoming a mother, but Sherlock reassures you that he'll remind you every day that you are worthy of being one to your child.
Enigma
When Sherlock comes at your door seeking help, you two realize you can't deny the pull you have on each other
To Break A Frozen Heart
Sherlock loses the meaning of Christmas since he was a boy, but maybe he just needed a certain warmth to melt his frozen heart.
Never Liked The Taste of Whiskey
Everyone knew that you hated Agent Whiskey as he bothered you with his flirty self. But one day, he doesn't. And that worries you that he's not around.
Not Like Any Guy I Met
You realize that a name doesn't really define a person, especially if their call sign is Hangman.
Best Presents I Could Get
All of his friends think he's just a shy guy who can't ask a girl out, but they're quite wrong.
I Mean It Every Time
Throughout the highs and lows of your life, Bob has been there every step of the way.
Whatever It Takes
You, Nick, and Daryl are in the middle of a crossfire. It is all up to Nick to save you while delivering your baby.
Begging For Blood
When a mission goes wrong, you and four are captured for intel. What Four didn't expect was that you had former ties to your captor.
An Artist & A Hopeless Romantic
Neil is trying to find a particular book for a research paper but suddenly encounters someone more interesting.
At Your Mercy
The only way to save your planet from being destroyed was to pledge your allegiance to Kylo Ren through an arranged marriage. What you didn't expect was to be joined with a man who only sought compassion.
Summary: the reader is a teacher at Professor Xavier's school. All of her students try to play matchmaker for their favorite teachers
Warning: overexertion of mutant powers
It was spring in New York. The soft rays of the sun graced everyone to head outdoors, as well as young lovers to admire the beauty of blooming trees filled with fragrances. It was a beautiful sight indeed, especially at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
All of the children, including the teenagers, loved to spend the day outdoors during this time. They all thanked you, their favorite teacher, for creating such a bright environment when they were filled with seasonal blues. You discovered your powers at a young age where you could grow any type of plant at your will.
From then, you made it your duty to create a loving environment as some of your students didn't have great experiences growing up. So what way to start off the school year with the season of rebirth?
Your older students especially took notice of this, specifically Jean Grey's age group. They were your first students upon being hired by Professor Xavier and you couldn't be blessed by such talented kids.
Now, you were dismissing your class that was held outside. "-and don't forget to read up on the chapter from today!" you called out to the students who were already packing their things. "I guess everyone's excited for tomorrow." a voice said behind you. You smile and turn around to see the professor approaching you.
"Can you blame them? You told the whole school to take a day off for the annual spring picnic," you replied, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "Which you have initiated five years ago. I just wanted to come by and offer my assistance for preparations." You smile brightly ear to ear by his generosity.
Not far from the distance, your older students look at their mentors.
"Yep, they're totally flirting," Jubilee stated. "C'mon, do you really think the professor is capable of flirting? I never even seen him date anyone." Scott replied. "Well, maybe because he's waiting for a particular person." Jean chimed in, smirking.
"You're thinking what I'm thinking?" Jubilee asks eagerly.
"I don't think it's wise to interfere with our teachers' personal lives, friends." Kurt disagreed nervously, but it was too late. The girls started making their plans while the boys had to reason them that this was a bad idea.
You woke up around 5:00 in the morning, eager to start the morning. Using your powers can be very draining, especially when you're decorating the entire campus with breathtaking plants. But you would do anything for your kids, especially if that meant you weren't able to celebrate at full energy.
You wore a lovely yellow spring dress that matched your pale yellow bicycle. You have lived in the greenhouse upon your request working at the school, so using the bike was a great way to transport. You make your way to the outdoor quad, ready to start a wonderful day.
All the teachers and the older students took part in preparing for the Spring Picnic. Hank made catering arrangements for food while the older students set up tables and utensils.
You were high on a ladder, growing Wisterias on a branch. Professor Xavier was below the tree, talking to Jubilee and Alison Blaire to be careful of tonight's fireworks. He started to mention last year's Fourth of July accident that made you chuckle, making him look up and smile at your contagious laugh.
After the girls left, you started to feel your powers weakening. 'Almost... done...' you thought to yourself as your eyes begin to flicker. Before Charles leaves, he looks up to your drained figure that was dangerously swaying back and forth on the ladder.
Charles screamed out your name as he saw you fall. He grabbed Jean's attention to the scene unraveling, allowing enough time for her to use her Psychokinesis to save you in midair. Your body was slowly descending to Charles as he grabbed you tightly in his arms and placed you carefully on his lap, using his telepathic abilities to make sure you were alright.
You regained consciousness, fluttering your eyes open to see Charles in your view. "Are you alright, Luv?" he asks in concern, trying to check if you had any concussions. Your senses start flooding as you realize that he's holding you from your fall.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry," you said quickly, getting out of his chair so you could situate yourself. A group of students ran to you both, concerned about your well-being. The professor thanks Jean for saving your life as she gives you a bone-crushing hug, for the young Grey girl thinks of you as a mother.
"Miss, I think you should rest for a bit. We got it from here." Scott said to you. "Wise words, Mr. Summer. She has indeed worked tirelessly for today's festivities." The professor said.
"I think you both should walk over to the greenhouse, just in case you have a spell again miss," Jean said to you both. You give at each other a puzzling gaze, blushing lightly. "Thank you Ms. Grey for your concern. But I do not wish to make trouble for-" You interrupt him a bit too eagerly. "Please, I insist." you offered the professor. He smiles at you while you grab the handles of your bike as you both start to head over to the pathway.
Jean used her telepathy to reach out to Peter Maximoff. "Okay, they're both heading to the greenhouse. Now's our chance." Peter quickly and runs towards the pathway, setting up a special surprise for the two lovebirds.
"I just want to say thank you... for catching me." You told Charles as you walked beside him with your bike in tow. "Of course, I hope that you're feeling better," Charles replied while looking at you.
Before you could talk, you noticed a little picnic set up a few feet from the greenhouse. "What's this?" you inquired, bending down to see a note attached to a closed basket. "We appreciate all that you have done for us, so please enjoy lunch with the professor. Sincerely, your students." you read out loud, smiling proudly. "These kids... always up to their antics." you laugh out loud.
"Well, we shouldn't let this food go to waste, shall we?" The professor offered as you accepted his proposal, taking out the food from the basket. In there was a variety of fruits, cheeses, crackers, and small cut meats. You settle on the picnic blanket as Charles inched closer, trying to lower himself on it as well. You offered to help him and inched closer to him, as he guided himself out of his chair to lay next to you on the blanket.
The next few minutes were a little awkward as the sudden realization that you were having a romantic meal with your boss. He may have sensed your stiffness so he tried to break the ice. "You really have outdone yourself today, I just have wished you wouldn't push yourself over the limit." He kindly remarked as picks up a cracker.
You look down at your hands and give him a sad smile. "I know, but I love these kids more than everything. If that meant I have to be bedridden in order to see them smile, that's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Please understand, I didn't mean any ill intent by that remark. It's not just the kids who care deeply for you." His eyes glistened. You stop what you were doing as you stare at Charles. "I've crossed a line, I'm sorry." He looks away. You move closer and reach out for his wrist as he looks up at you.
"It seems I am at a cross with myself..." he whispers as he stares deeply into your eyes. "How so?" you questioned lightly, trying not to scare him away.
He coughs in his throat as he props himself up a bit. "Before I initiated the school, I was but a selfish man. I thought that with my abilities, I was able to accomplish peace with everyone alike. Unfortunately, I was too blinded to see that I was wrong. Then it led to a path of pain and loss as I forced everyone in my life to run away from me. But ever since I met you..." Charles said as he puts his hand over yours. "I am utterly in euphoria. You are filled with so much compassion and honesty that I have still yet to master. It comes to you with so much ease and it makes me fall deeply, madly in love with you." He concludes as he catches his breath, not knowing what you are going to say.
The professor may read minds but he would never use his powers against you, not in a million years.
You slowly reach to the sides of his face and lean in, placing a soft and tender kiss on his lips. He holds the back of your head as he wants you closer to him as his body screams for every ounce of yourself.
What felt like an eternity, you both pull away as both of you looked flushed. You slightly turn red as you unknowingly used your powers to grow a whole field of rosebuds around the two of you. Both of you laugh in hysterics from the incident. As the laughter died down, Charles puts a strand of hair away from your face, studying your majestic features.
"Am I allowed to feel this way about you?" He says, more as a question to you.
"Yes... I will never deny you of this feeling," you said as you both kissed again as an abundance of flowers grew around you, defining the blossoming relationship you two shall share for years to come.
Somewhere in the distance, a group of teens are high-fiving each other from secretly watching the touching moment, as well as a certain speedster who is crying happy tears.
Reacher never thought the white fence dream could ever happen to him, but you proved him wrong in more ways than possible.
Isaac Mcadoo
Shadow of Himself
Victor Tan
Got Me Smiling More
Tan hasn't felt alive since his divorce, and a light switches when he bumps into an old flame.
The Animal From Within
One look at you, Boorman instantly surrenders
A Treasure I Can't Afford To Lose
As you're badly injured, Boorman takes it upon himself to nurse you back to help, and soon realizes that you're more than just a friend.
Creatures Like Me Don’t Have Happy Endings
Geralt may look like he can take down the most vicious beasts without fear, but he is most frightened of the aspect of being a father to your unborn baby.
The Worth Of A Flower
When the Witcher visits a kingdom, he stumbles upon a mysterious villager. He soon finds out you're not so ordinary as you appear to be.
The God Who Found His Gold
Before your due date arrives, you begin to worry that your happy ending with the mad god may not be definite.
Wake Up
You get word that Tommy got shot at a deal gone wrong, and you stay at his bedside.
After the events of the Sokovia Accords, Steve is now a fugitive to the U.S. government and has left you in the worst way possible. What happens when fate reunites the two again when you are most vulnerable?
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 5
part 6
part 7
part 8
part 9
part 10
part 11
part 12
part 13
part 14
All I've Ever Known
You and Steve talk through past traumas when the reader comes back from a heartwrenching mission.
The Beauty Within Everything
You think Steve stood her up on their date but realizes he’s very ill
The Art We Create
Steve always stops by a particular art store so he can work up the courage to ask the owner on a date.
Always Had, Always Will
He was supposed to be a hero, so why couldn't he save you out of all the countless people he saved?
Becoming More Whole Again
You and Bucky now live in Wakanda after the events of Civil War and you are having doubts about the future until Bucky reassures you with a surprise
Love You Forever, Doll
Bucky comforts his doll
Wait For You
Bucky is at your door in the pouring rain, telling you that he needs to heal before he commits himself to you.
La Vie En Rose
Bucky takes you to visit an "old friend"
No Page Will Resist The Soul I Fell In Love With
Loki is scared when he is faced with the untold stories of his heritage, specifically revealing his true form to you
Long Series: Cold Illusions & Scorching Lies
Many try to tear you and your prince apart from each other. When Loki lets go of the past that brought him to his doom, you begin to realize you're not the only one who uncovers a forbidden truth.
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 5
part 6
part 7
part 8
part 9
part 10
part 11
part 12
It Was as if the Glooming Moon Kissed the Scorching Sun
The day you told Frank you were pregnant was a day you wouldn’t forget. But it wasn’t a happy day you wanted to remember.
Short Series: Strawberry Boba
Ned Leeds has a special eye on a girl that is sweet as strawberries.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Can I Have This Dance?
Ned comes to the realization that he has loved his childhood best friend all along. How will he be able to share his feelings to her?
b a n n e r
Ned is nervous to meet your dad for the first time, aka, Dr. Banner.
h o m e c o m i n g
who knew you’d be falling for the guy in the chair?
f e r r i s w h e e l
all it takes is a ride on a Ferris wheel and a scary lava monster to get you two to kiss for the first time.
w h a t i f
after Peter’s spell goes awry, he collects his “friends” to help him undo the new reality he has created.
v e n i c e
after taking beautiful pictures around the country, you decide to tell Ned how you truly feel about him.
a f a r
Peter finds out Ned is totally whipped for a girl in his Literature class
m a r r y m e
From buying a ring with his best friend to getting ready for your party, Ned can’t wait to propose
i d o
the people who raised you realize you're no longer their little girl as you get ready to marry Ned
Halloween w/ Ned and the gang
Ghost of You
Something is haunting Ned and he tries to learn why
A Way To A Man's Heart
Ned's Birthday is coming up you're having a hard time to figure out what he'd like for a present
Short Series: In Another Universe
Ned's world turns upside down when his new powers bring a stranger to his world. What's more strange is that she knows who he is.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
See The World Through Your Eyes
After the events of the snap, Peter undergoes the most heartbreaking journey to make peace with himself.
Sixteen
Peter feels a bit out of place when you invite him to your Sweet 16
We Were Just Kids
Trained at a young age and losing everyone you looked up to, you thought you had everything taken away from you. It's not until you met a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and find out you two have a lot in common.
Utterly in Euphoria
You're a teacher at Professor Xavier's school. All of your students try to play matchmaker for their favorite teachers
A King Can't Survive Without His Queen
Charles's past decisions start to creep up on the life he desperately wanted.
Never Like This
After the Deviants attacked the village, Druig is desperate to find you
As You Wish
As your wedding day arrives, you begin to worry that not all of your family will come to celebrate you and your fiance
Mend What's Broken
Druig travels to Australia to relieve Gilgamesh from taking care of Thena. But what he didn't expect was to find you, their daughter.
She Needs To Know
Druig is not ready to tell you the truth about his "college friends". But when they come over, chaos ensues
The Duration of Druig
Druig begins to revisit his past and learns how to love again.
Look At The Sky
Right when all of you try to leave Babylon, you go into labor
Falling For You
You realize that you have to run away to the man who flew too close to the sun
Where We Come From
Your boyfriend admits what's been troubling him these past few weeks.
Will you do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love when tragedy hits the Wayne family? How far will the truth be tested when you realize you're not the only one with secrets of your own?
"Oscar, can you meet the photographers by the front of the venue?"
"On it boss!"
"And where is the guitarist? They should have been rehearsing right now." You said out loud to your team, but everyone was busying themselves prepping the banquet. It was no easy task being a wedding planner, but you found it fulfilling in a way.
Seeing happy couples celebrate their special day and sharing it with family and friends made you happy. But at the same time, you felt a longing to experience that someday with that one special person.
Brie, your employee, looks a bit pale as she went up to you.
"Hey boss? There's a guest asking if he can come in early to the banquet room."
"Tell him that it won't be open to the public until two hours from now." You said, looking down at your clip board to see if everything was complete.
"I think you wanna talk to him." She said, wary.
You look up, knitting your eyebrows.
She never has acted so strange, so you decided to just follow her by the entrance where this so called guest was trying to get in.
His back was facing you until he slightly turned around, standing in a suit much more expensive than his usual paycheck.
"Clark." You whispered under your breath.
He turns around, hearing your voice for the first time in ages, and looks at you softly, his lips parted slightly. He had no idea you'd be here.
You look back at Brie and she was bubbling with excitement.
"Who's the cutie?" She whispers.
Clark laughs lightheartedly and sheepishly looks down, unaware he can hear the entire block from where he stands.
You take a sigh until you force a smile, walking over to Clark as he pushes up his glasses.
"Mr. Kent, how can I help you?" You said, seeing how he reacted with your greeting.
"Sorry to crash the party before it starts. I'm the best man of the groom and he said I'd be able to lie low at the venue after the wedding. Allergy season. I hope it's alright."
Brie couldn't help but giggle. She can be so smitten with anyone over 6 feet that you give her a sharp look, making her cough.
"Of course you are. Brie, I will help our guest here." You said, unwillingly.
She nods quickly and waves goodbye to Clark which he friendly waves back, making her squeal as she left.
"It's Mr. Kent now?" He asks you, smirking.
You look back at him, slightly annoyed.
"Yes, and it's going to stay like that all night. I'd appreciate it if you don't tell my team that we used to date." You said, placing your hand by your hip.
"I'll respect that." He said, raising his arms in surrender.
"And I assume allergy season is a codename for petty crime?" You slightly interrogate Clark as he fidgets in space.
"Jimmy asked me to lay low on saving the world for one day. Didn't want me saying my best man speech covered in soot."
You couldn't help but laugh, but straighten up after the slip.
'Damn him and his Midwest charm,' You thought.
You go back to the venue with Clark hot in your tail as you grabbed your tablet to look over your plans.
"Since you came out of the blue, I do expect you to help out. We're a bit short staffed tonight."
"What type of cheap boss do you have?" Clark sneered.
You scoff, maneuvering your jaw from spite.
"That cheap boss would be me." You replied, smiling tightly at him.
He gulps loudly, realizing how he insulted you. He stammers random words, trying to apologize but you couldn't help but smirk at how ridiculous he looks now.
"Let's get to work, shall we?"
Since then, Clark was trying to say sorry for what he said to you earlier but you just brushed him off. But, you had slight advantage as you made him work all night to do your bidding.
Needed the speakers by the platform? Have Clark carry it up himself, faking an injury so people wouldn't wonder why he didn't break a sweat.
Need wall decorations to be rehung for the thousandth time? Clark was balancing by just a folding chair and a prayer, and sometimes, he flew a foot up when no one was looking.
Needed someone to pour champagne by the greeting table? No, you didn't trust the man with glass so you had the professionals deal with it.
You were double checking the flowers by the vases, admiring how pretty they looked.
"Carnations... your favorite." Clark said as he came up from behind.
"You remembered." You said in slight disbelief.
"You don't forget those things easily." He said, taking a seat by the nearest table next to you.
"And uh, I'm sorry if I accidentally insulted you earlier. I was trying to keep you less tense with all the chaos."
You cross your arms by your chest and sat next to him.
"I'm sorry if I was a bit rude. You know me and tense situations. And on top of that, I'm stuck spending the night with my ex boyfriend."
"Whaaaaaatttt? Where is he?" He gasps, looking back and forth, making you laugh.
You missed this feeling, it was as if nothing has changed between you two. You were always the serious one in the relationship and he was the one to always make you smile.
'No, I shouldn't be feeling like this.' You thought to yourself.
Clark could sense you thinking about something, so he changed the subject.
"How long have you've been an event planner?" He asks.
"About two years now. I did small gigs in Star City occasionally, then I branched out to be my own boss in Metropolis. It has its ups and downs but I'm happy."
Clark smiles at you, knowing how determined you were when you two were dating.
"I'm proud of you." He replies, smiling you softly at you.
You couldn't help but feel your cheeks burn bright red and returned a small smile.
In a split second, one of your staff alerted you that the banquet was ready to be opened up.
"I gotta meet the bride and groom, but uh... it was nice talking to you again."
Clark nods and gives you a small smile.
"Likewise."
Soon, everyone from the wedding came to the festivities, which were a blast. The guests were enjoying their meals and drinks, and you caught a glimpse of Clark talking to a few of his coworkers from the Daily Planet. You saw him talking intensely with one of them, Lois, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy in your chest.
You go outside to catch some fresh air, trying to push your feelings aside as you're at work. You lean against a pillar to collect your thoughts and hear people come outside laughing. You could tell that one of the voices was Jimmy, but you couldn't hear the other two.
"I still can't believe you got married before the two of us, Jimmy. You're barely an adult." Lois, you assumed, slightly slurred.
"I just got more game than the two of you combined. But dude, why didn't you RSVP for a plus one?" Jimmy asked.
"Maybe because he's trying to go after the wedding planner!" Lois said, giggling.
"Who told you that?" the third voice asked, his voice cracking.
Your eyes widen as you realized it was Clark. You couldn't leave now, so you had to stand there and endure this dreadful conversation.
"Word's been going around since you came to the venue; you haven't stopped talking to her all night. I can investigate and get her number for you," Lois suggested.
"I uh... don't think that's gonna happen," Clark said, leaning back to the pillar opposite you, swigging his champagne that had the same effects as sparkling cider.
"And why not?" Lois asked
"Because she's my ex."
Dead silence was only heard apart from the speakers that was blasting music from inside.
"Eve wanted to hire her; said she was the best wedding planner. I'm sorry, Clark." Jimmy apologized.
"No man, it's not a problem. Everything's good."
"If you don't mind, what happened between you? It didn't seem like you guys ended on bad terms." Lois asked.
Clark leans by the pillar you were at and looks outward at the view below him.
"We met when we were 15. It was the usual high school sweetheart stuff; she was in the school band, and I was in football. Defended our Debate Championship title two years in a row together. Got prom king and queen and graduated. But she wanted to go to Star City for a marketing fellowship, and I wanted to pursue journalism in Metropolis. And we called every two weeks on the dot and saw each other for our breaks when they aligned."
He remembers those long nights when he could fly over and hold you in his arms at your apartment. Clark then rubs his chin, grounding him to the present.
"And when I started becoming Superman, I couldn't balance saving the world and placing her in danger like that. I couldn't risk saying goodbye to her if something were to happen. So I wrote a note when she wasn't home to end things. Surprised, she never sold me out for leaving her like that."
You look away, feeling your eyes suddenly prick. You would have never done that to Clark, even if he did hurt you. You are quite thankful that his new friends didn't exploit his identity.
"Let me give you some advice from a married man."
"Jimmy, you've been married for 6 hours." Lois snapped.
"It's my day, I do whatever I want."
Clark laughed as Jimmy placed a hand on his shoulder.
"If you let her go, you wouldn't have remembered everything about her. And maybe your secret was good as hers, because maybe deep down, she loved you too much to hurt you like that." Jimmy said.
Clark could only nod as he saw his friends part from him as they returned to their celebration.
Clark looks down at his drink until he subtly turns his head, picking up a noise.
"How long have you been there?"
You slowly walk out of the shadows and face Clark.
"I was getting some air and didn't wanna make my presence known."
Clark leans on the terrace, not making eye contact.
"I meant what I said, but I deserve it if you want to scream at me or take out a block of Kryptonite."
"Believe me, if I wanted to, I could."
The two of you shared a dry laugh until you walked up beside him, looking down at your hands.
"But as much as you hurt me, it's hard to hate you like that."
You brush your tears away until Clark stops your movements and brushes them with his thumb, his glasses long forgotten as you saw his true self.
"Not a day goes by that I haven't thought of you."
"Yeah? You have a funny way of showing it." You said, slowly backing away.
Clarks try to go after you, but respected your space. "Don't you think I regret letting you go? I wouldn't have forgiven myself if you'd get hurt because of me or worse-"
"But that's my decision to make, Clark! Not you, not Superman, but me. I took the risk of leaving Smallville to make something of myself. We both took a chance, even if a long distance would be hard, and everyone around us thought we were crazy enough to start our lives fresh. But when you started to realize that you were sent to Earth to be its guardian, I lost the person who took risks. And where is he now? Wearing a pair of glasses to fool everyone around him."
Now it was his turn to cry as he placed his hands in his pocket, a habit he did when he felt uncomfortable.
As one of your team members texted you, you got a ping on your phone.
"The maid of honor just started her speech; you need to go get ready for yours, " you said, wiping your face.
Clark nodded slowly before he made his way to the entrance.
"Wait!" You rushed as humanly as possible, holding something small.
"As much as I hate these frames, you have to wear them for now."
You offered his glasses to him as he left them by the terrace. He places them on, sniffing as he looks back at you.
"Thank you."
You give him a sad smile before he rushes to the other side of the room, leaving you to regroup your senses before entering the banquet.
The bridesmaid took forever to get through her speech, accompanied by sobs and spring break trips with the bride, Eve, as they gave each other a bone-crushing hug. The microphone was passed to Clark, who smiled nervously and held a deck of flash cards in front of him.
"H-Hello everyone-"
Strong microphone waves were heard in the room as everyone flinched or groaned from the static. Clark tapped the mic before accidentally spilling all the flash cards on the floor. The guests timidly laughed or murmured at his anxious self, but he saw you beyond the lights, as you truly saw him for himself.
"Love is - scary."
The crowd murmurs again, shocked by his statement.
"But today taught me one thing: when you find the one person, the one genuine person that'll be by your side, all those fears don't seem so scary anymore. But tonight isn’t just about you two. Okay, it mostly is. It’s also about love itself—the messy, wonderful, sometimes infuriating thing that makes life worth risking."
Your heart raced, seeing how Clark never broke his gaze at you until Lois coughed by the corner to hurry Clark's prolonged speech. He smiled sheepishly, which made you laugh even more, as he centered his attention on the married couple.
"And I hope you, Jimbo and Eve, take every chance to love each other unapologetically.
You see Jimmy and Eve intertwine their hands, giving each other a gracious look as they kiss.
"To the happy couple everybody!" Clark said, raising a glass, as everyone cheered.
The music started blaring, and people started flooding the dance floor. You even told your team to take a break, and you saw them enjoying themselves for the night.
"How come you're not dancing?" a voice said.
You look by and see Clark by your side. His hands are behind his back, moving back and forth.
"I just want everyone to enjoy the night." You said.
"That shouldn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it too." He said, stepping in front of you.
"That's quite the risk I'm taking." You say, crossing your hands by your chest, as his glasses twinkled under the chandelier lights.
"Isn't it worth the risk?" He asks, holding his hand out for you.
You couldn't help but smile as you interlocked hands as you two danced throughout the night, jumping and screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs.
And like some cheesy romance, the music ceased as you looked at Clark, who hadn't taken his eye off you. He grabbed you by the waist as you pressed your chest onto his, feeling his racing heartbeat. He leaned forward, his hot breath on your lips, as you two kissed tenderly by the lights that changed color.
It was about afternoon when you got discharged from the hospital. Nathan was your designated driver as you two drove in silence to your apartment.
Since your doctor requested if you could be monitored at home for the next 24 hours, Nate packed a bag for himself to crash on your couch for the night.
You were now bouncing your leg up and down, only hearing the medicine that was being clattered in prescription bottles and numbing cream.
After a very silent (and awkward) drive, you pulled up to your place. Nate helped you up the flight of stairs and unlocked your door with your key. Your place felt stuffy as no one has been in your apartment in a matter of days since your hospitalization.
You walk towards your couch, wincing as you sat down.
"Okay, so I separated all of your meds and creams. Your doctor said to take this blue pill after every meal, the yellow one when you're experiencing immense pain, and the cream after showers. Anything else you need?" Nate asks.
"Yeah, a new car." You remarked, looking at your keychain that had your car key that was no longer useful to you.
Nate sensed your reality was settling in and sat by you.
"I know things aren't looking up right now, but they will. You just need to take a moment, let it all out."
"I think I'm due for a shower... and maybe food."
"I can order us some food? You can take a shower while we wait."
"That doesn't sound so bad. If you'll excuse me..."
You limped your way to your bathroom as you collected all of your necessary items. As you locked yourself in your bathroom, you undressed and gave yourself a good look in the mirror.
It was almost like your reflection was mocking you, like those warped hall of mirrors at a carnival.
Your face was bruised, scratched, and scabbed; not an inch of skin was not untouched of the accident you don't want to relive.
Outside, you hear Nathan calling a sushi place down the street, remembering when you two were still dating.
"So you're telling me you never had sushi?" You ask, already diving into your spicy tuna roll.
"Okay, you don't have to grill me so hard. Raw fish is almost the same consistency as a tongue, I just don't wanna chew mine off."
After another tattoo session, you wanted to treat Nathan to sushi and drinks as you nursed your water as he had a beer. You two were sat by the coffee table by the living room, dining on the floor.
"That's just utter bullshit and you know it. Here, try this." You dipped a piece of raw salmon in soy sauce and wasabi, lifting your chopsticks for him to try. He bends forward for you to feed him, his eyes lighting up.
"That's actually pretty good." He says, then casually popping in a spoonful of wasabi in his mouth, winking at you with no reaction to the powerful paste.
"Now you're just showing off."
He couldn't help but laugh out loud, smiling at you.
Since he told you about his condition, you were bewildered. You were thankful that he confided in you about his condition, but was still curious about the other aspects of him.
"C'mon, let's kick things up a notch." You said, putting down your food.
"How so?" He asks. You two get closer together as you lean by the table.
"Two Truths & A Lie: you go first." You said, criss-crossing your legs. Nathan thinks for a moment he turns to you.
"I wanted to be a Padres Baseball player in the 2nd grade, my guilty pleasure film is Mel Brook's Young Frankenstein film, and... I think I'm falling for you."
You froze up a bit, realizing what he said. You two have been on dates for a while now, but you haven't decided to put labels yet. Now your heart sped faster as you tried to answer.
"Um... the 1st one?"
"No, I did want to be a baseball player when I was a kid and Young Frankenstein is my guilty pleasure."
Your heart sank, hearing that.
"Oh."
In just a beat second, a soft hand cradled the side of your face and you look up, seeing Nate look at you with those deep brown eyes.
"I've already fallen for you."
He leans in closely as you slowly crashed your lips into his and felt his hands cradle your waist.
"You, Nathan Caine, are a smooth fella." You said, slightly smacking his chest for making that cruel lead up.
"I'm sorry. But in all seriousness, I do want to be exclusive with you. If you'd like."
"I'd like that very much." You said, deepening your kiss as you two cuddled together on his carpeted floor.
As you stepped out of the shower, you tried to dry yourself as much as you could and got dressed, later opening the door to release the steam.
Looking at a disinfectant to clean your open wounds by your temple, you dabbed your hand towel in the antibiotic gel and tried applying light pressure to your wound by your temple, not quite reaching the farther parts under your hair.
"You're going to rip your stitches."
You look into the mirror and see Nate standing there, unsure if he'd be welcomed inside.
"Well I only have one arm working so..." You said with a bit of attitude.
You try to attempt again, but you hiss like before, feeling your shoulder ache from maneuvering.
You turn back to Nate, not saying a word, but showed a face of defeat. He didn’t say anything either, but he went up to grab the wet towel in your hand.
He folds his lips inward as he attentively dabs your skin carefully.
"When the hospital called me... I really thought I was being scammed or something. Like it was some cruel joke."
“I told you I forgot to update the emergency contacts, it's not like I didn’t plan on risking my life from a car accident.”
Nathan paused in his accidents, his face frowning.
“Don’t- don’t say that.” He said, almost hurt.
You felt ashamed, looking down at the ground.
"Where were you when they called?" You ask, trying to ease the tension.
His cheeks grew red, trying to avoid your gaze.
"I was on a date."
You froze under his touch, taking a step back from him.
"What? Nate, you didn't have to leave for me." You said, getting angry.
"I chose to. You were hurt."
"And I didn’t ask. Why don't you go back to her?"
"Please, it was hardly a date. She wouldn't stop staring on her phone till I paid for the bill. Why are you making this so difficult?" He asks, matching your tone.
"Because I'm the one that hurt you, Nate!"
He partly opens his mouth, trying to say something, but the words don’t come out.
Your throat tightens and you turn away, leaning onto the sink for support. You were in so much pain, mentally and physically. You tried to calm your anger, and even felt a tear escape your face as you brushed it away.
Suddenly, a ping went off on his phone alerting that the food delivery was here.
"Why don't we eat first, and then we'll talk?" He suggests.
All you could do was nod your head as he lead the way out of your bathroom.
Soon, you didn't realize how hungry you were for real food as you were savoring every bite. You didn't notice how Nate was looking at you, relieved to see you in some capacity of joy. You look up across the table as Nate switched his gaze to his food, picking on it.
"Thank you, for the food. I'll pay you back."
"No worries, it was nothing."
"Nate..."
"Fine, we'll split the bill."
You playfully roll your eyes as you continue red to eat in silence. Once done, you two cleaned the table and sat far apart, ready to talk.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t be here.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on right now.”
“-but you need someone here. Someone who doesn’t mind your stubbornness-“
“I am NOT stubborn.” You clarified.
Nathan shoots you a look, which made you shrink in your seat.
“Is it strange that I still care about you?” He asks, his voice getting thinner.
After everything you put him through? You don't know how he could. But Nate's heart was the size of the freakin' moon.
You could only look aside, trying to not look across the table.
"No. But you shouldn't."
Nate looks down at his jeans, trying to piece another sentence that didn't bear such weight.
"I want us to be okay, and maybe just to move forward. I've been replaying the last memory of us and I guess I need something good to remember us by. Don't you think so?"
You look up to Nate, seeing his guard lower down.
"I guess we owe each other that."
Soon, you two cleaned up the table, later giving Nate some blankets from your bedroom.
"You have enough pillows and stuff?" You ask again, worried he'll be restless for the night.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Trust." He said, now wearing his sweats and his university tshirt.
"Well um, you can help yourself to anything in the fridge. But as you can see, it's barren. There should be a water pitcher-"
Nate slowly goes up to you, giving you a comforting smile.
"Hey, go to bed. You need some rest."
You nod slowly and smile back.
"Goodnight." you said, as you slowly made your way to your room.
"Night." Nate said, standing idly by the doorway until you closed your door.
He then plopped himself on the couch, tossing and turning as he couldn't get comfortable. He reaches for the crease of the cushions and found something bulky.
"What the-" Nate mutters as he fishes it out, realizing it was a printed manuscript.
He held his breath, realizing he held the very thing that broke your relationship.
It had your full name written below the title Novocaine: A Man Who Felt No Pain, the book that you secretly wrote about him.
Paralyzed with emotion, he didn't know what to do.
Nate could read all the data you've collected on him.
Nate could just leave in the middle of the night without warning.
Nate could barge in your room and relive the fight you had all those months ago.
But he looks at your closed door, feeling his heart sink.
You two promised each other you would work out your differences, and he wasn't the type of person inflict hurt. He knew what it felt like.
So, he found a drawer out of view and placed the unopened manuscript inside and laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Even if he wasn't a religious man, Nate prays to himself, hoping he wouldn't repeat the same mistakes with you.
