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mostremote · 3 months ago

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Fic(?) (sort of): "Therapy Sessions"

Hey folks, no "real" fic this week as I'm working on my drafts for We Wild Creatures - Part 2 (also I've had two big academic projects due). But a week without eversnow would be sad indeed, so here is the first part of my unfinished "therapy fic". I've posted a bit of this before, but here's the first piece in full, "Session 1". I'm not posting this on AO3 because it's an insane premise and I'll never finish it, but here we go. I'll post the other sessions (I've written 4-5) in due course.

President Snow and his unwilling wife Katniss attend couples therapy to improve their relationship and her disintegrating mental health. This story details their sessions.

18+: References to sexual violence

Snow has selected a room on the western side of the estate for their sessions. In the mornings the parlor is cool, darkly protected from the sun, but by the afternoon a rich haze of gold seeps through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. It is a pleasant, unpretentious room. Pale carpets, mint-green walls, a wide cream couch. It doesn’t smell like the rest of the house. It doesn’t smell like him.

‘Neutral ground,’ Snow describes it as he walks down the hall. ‘A safe space for you to express yourself. This room will have no other purpose than our sessions.’

Katniss follows, always a step behind him, keeping distance between them. Her hand remains loosely yet readily slung over the hilt of the knife in her belt, which now rings a loose, cornflower-blue silk dress. Snow let her keep the knife, but not her pants. He bestows on her strange mercies.

They reach a door like any other and Snow knocks. It’s his own home; he doesn’t have to knock. This is a gesture of respect for the sanctity of the space.

The door is opened by an unassuming man in his early forties, with a tidy flop of lightly greying hair and a neat pair of bottle glasses. He doesn’t so much smile in greeting as offers an expression of pleasant welcome.

‘Mister President,’ he says by way of greeting. ‘And Mrs Snow. I am Dr Astor. Come on in.’

They enter, and Katniss pauses to assess the flood of sunlight and the huge windows. An escape point, if she needs it. Not that she could get very far. Gardens, then walls, then guards with guns. Her escape attempts have not been successful.

‘Please sit,’ says the therapist, and he seats himself on a low armchair.

Snow takes the middle-left of the vast cream couch, absolutely comfortable, at ease with everything. Katniss sits too, pressed as far away from him as possible, and stares out of the window. If she threw herself into the glass, it might kill her. If it didn’t, she could take a shard and open her throat.

But what would be the point of that? And what would happen to the baby?

The air is soft and quiet. Comfortable, patient. Air without pressure or expectation. There is a coffee table with a pitcher of water and box of tissues, in case she should need to weep. Will she weep? It is hard to say.

‘Welcome, both of you,’ says the therapist. His voice is soft and measured. There is none of the latent threat that always weaves through Snow’s voice. Katniss immediately believes he is good at what he does. ‘Before we start, I’d like to know how you’d both like to be addressed. This is a safe, private space, and we may discuss intimate matters. Many patients prefer to be addressed by their first names, but not all. It’s whatever you’re most comfortable with. You can call me Dr Astor, or Brian.’

Snow smiles. ‘Coriolanus is fine.’ Katniss doesn’t answer. Snow answers for her — as he so often does. ‘You can address my wife as Katniss.’

Dr Astor’s eyes rest on Katniss. ‘Is that alright, Katniss? Would you like me to call you anything else?’

She gives a tiny shake of the head. Her hair glimmers in a fall of golden brown, lit by the sun. Her eyes do not leave the gardens beyond the glass.

‘That’s good,’ says Dr Astor. He says nothing for a moment, breathing calmly, and Katniss realizes she is jiggling her leg with anxiety. She forces herself to stop. ‘So. I like to start by talking to couples what brought them to therapy. Sometimes each person has a different answer. Coriolanus, could we start with you?’

Snow is open-faced, genial, polite. ‘Of course. Well, Katniss and I married at short notice, as you are aware. I would like us to build a strong relationship, but she has seemed… reluctant. I thought therapy could help.’

Dr Astor’s eyes turn next to Katniss. ‘And for you, Katniss? Why do you want to be here?’

She gives a listless shrug. ‘The same reason.’

‘Well, the next thing I would like to ask is what your goals are in therapy. It might not be immediately obvious what those are. Goals could include emotional goals, such as feeling happier, or less anxious. Or they may be more practical, like being able to do a certain activity together.’

‘My goal,’ says Snow, ‘is to work on our relationship. I am sure there are smaller aims that comprise that. Sharing physical intimacy, for example. Katniss doesn’t let me touch her.’ He pauses. There is a spice of resentment in it. ‘Sexual intimacy, too. I would like us to be able to share that. And I would like us to be a strong father and mother for our child.’ He nods, eyes elsewhere. ‘Those are my goals.’

Dr Astor’s eyes turn to Katniss. ‘And for you, Katniss?’

She doesn’t bother with the shrug this time. Her voice is flat, dead static. ‘The same.’

‘Alright,’ says Dr Astor. ‘Katniss, I notice you haven’t spoken very much. Is there anything particularly troubling you?’

Katniss shakes her head. ‘No. I want to be…’ She swallows something bubbling in her throat: a sigh, a scream. ‘I want to be whatever he thinks I have to be. Just help me figure that out so… so I can… keep him happy.’ Her voice drops. ‘So my family can be safe.’

‘That’s an interesting way of phrasing it,’ says Dr Astor, and he sounds genuinely interested. ‘Coriolanus, do you feel the same way? Do you want your wife to be whatever you think she has to be?’

Snow frowns. ‘No, no, of course not. Unless you mean I want her to be happy.’

Katniss feels Dr Astor look at her again. ‘Katniss, can I ask you a question?’

She nods vaguely.

‘Would you describe yourself as a happy person?’

Katniss cannot suppress a smile of insane disbelief, but she tries to bite it away.

‘This is a safe space, Katniss,’ Dr Astor continues. ‘I want you to be honest with me.’

Katniss’ eyes roll with sarcasm and skepticism.

‘Katniss,’ says Snow, and he shifts his body to look at her. She does not look back. ‘He is telling the truth. This therapy won’t work if you’re not going to be honest. You have my word that nothing you say in here will incur any negative reaction from me. No punishment, no repercussion. I want you to feel safe to express yourself.’

Katniss snakes her eyes back around to Snow, her body wary, ready to run like a hare in the field. ‘Seriously?’

Snow smiles. ‘Yes, seriously.’

She stares, then turns her eyes to the therapist. He is so calm, a zen garden of a human being. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘No, I would not describe myself as happy.’

‘How would you describe your emotional state?’

She takes a breath. ‘Terrified. Anxious. Upset.’

‘What terrifies you?’

Katniss tries not to look at her husband next to her. ‘That if I do the wrong thing Snow is going to murder someone I care about. Or the war is going to start again and he’s going to do something awful.’ She pauses, briefly. ‘Or he’s going rape me again.’

Dr Astor, to his credit, is not remotely thrown by any of this. He nods, absorbing this information like the calmest, most certain sponge. ‘That’s a lot of things to be worried about. There are two things I want to tell you. The first is that we can’t control external factors, only our emotional reactions to them. So that is something I want to work with you on.’ His eyes flick to Snow. ‘The second thing is that some of these external factors are within your husband’s control. Now, it is not my place to tell a man how to govern the country.’ His broad smile is ringed with dimples. ‘But in working on your relationship, as a couple, some of those concerns are matters he might be able to help.’

Snow inclines his hand in a gesture of mild, polite defensiveness. ‘I cannot do much about Katniss’ concerns about the war. But I have no wish to murder anyone she cares about, unless they pose a threat.’

Dr Astor nods. ‘These are heavy topics. I’d like to talk about the final one on your list, Katniss, if that’s okay. And if it isn’t, that’s okay too. We don’t have to talk about anything right now that you don’t want to discuss.’ He leans forward. ‘You say your husband raped you. Coriolanus, do you agree with that?’

Snow bends his head in a supplicatory nod. ‘I do. I did rape her.’

‘Okay. That’s really good. It’s a very good thing that you can admit that, and that we’re on the same page. I want to talk about why you did that, Coriolanus, and I want to talk about how it made your wife feel.’

‘Of course,’ says Snow, and he leans forward slightly, legs apart, fingers interlaced. ‘Well, Katniss was married to Peeta Mellark at the time. The two of them needed to have a child, of course, to make their marriage more believable to the Districts. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that Mr Mellark was up to the task.’ In the brief silence that follows, you can just hear Katniss swallow in outrage and disgust. ‘I had to intervene. It is important to me that Katniss understands that the rape was not an act of perversity on my part. It was necessary for the stability of the country.’

‘You felt obligated to rape your wife?’ says Dr Astor, his voice like a calm field of wheat.

‘I did. She wasn’t my wife at the time, of course. I could have hired a man to impregnate her, but what complications would that cause? It’s not like hiring an assassin. A man who makes his living from rape is not a citizen whose existence I wish to endorse. He might have hurt her. And if a baby did result, he might develop feelings for the child. That is not to say anything of potential diseases or genetic disorders that he might pass on. It made much more sense that I carry out the deed. Generally, I prefer not to get my hands dirty. Not out of squeamishness, it is simply more practical for the President to outsource wet-works. But this was a rare instance in which everything was so much simpler if I did it myself. And it allowed me to ensure the experience was as painless for her as possible.’

‘Thank you for being honest with me,’ says Dr Astor. ‘Can I clarify some details? When you raped your wife, she was married to another man, Peeta?’

‘That is correct,’ says Snow. ‘Their child, of course, is really mine.’ He tilts his head. ‘I had intended to let them raise the child together, but… When I saw little Martia again, I fell in love.’ He breaks into a huge, delighted smile. ‘I never had time for my first son, and he’s long grown up. I very much enjoyed the time spent with my granddaughter, and it made me regret not being a better father. With little Martia I have a second chance.’

Dr Astor nods slowly. ‘I see.’ He looks back to Katniss. ‘It sounds like you’ve been through a lot in the past year, Katniss. One marriage, a child, and now a second marriage. That must have been a big change for you, to go from one relationship to another so swiftly.’

Slowly, jaw clenched, Katniss turns her gaze on the therapist. ‘Peeta and I weren’t in a relationship.’ Her voice is weak and cracked. She speaks so little, these days. ‘Snow made us get married, to stop the rebellion. Then he made us have a child. Then he got bored with the marriage, and made me marry him instead.’ The brief fire dulls again. A shrugging headshake deflates her. ‘I’m just his toy.’

‘That isn’t true,’ Snow cuts in. ‘You’re being uncharitable, Katniss.’

Dr Astor holds up a hand. ‘I understand it can be painful to hear your wife express her feelings. Sometimes we might feel things that other people don’t agree with. But it’s important in this space that we hear both of your feelings and why you feel that way, and then we can try to help work through the issues precipitating them.’ He looks to Katniss. ‘Would it be alright if we discussed the rape, Katniss? Can you tell me how the rape made you feel?’

Katniss remains silent for a very long time. She lets her mind wander. She thinks of the worst things she has ever experienced – fire, blades, killing, bleeding, starving, screaming – and she thinks of Snow, rocking an erection inside her. Then she shakes her head. She cannot tell this stranger how being raped made her feel. Nor can she tell Snow.

��That’s alright,’ says Dr Astor. ‘We don’t need to discuss it today. This is just about figuring out what you want from these sessions.’ He pauses, still looking at Katniss. ‘May I ask, is “rape” the term you’d most like to use to describe the act? I want to validate your feelings, but it can be a difficult word.’

‘It was a rape,’ Katniss says immediately. ‘I don’t want to sugarcoat it.’

‘We sugarcoat things for a reason,’ he says. ‘A pill covered in sugar works just as well as one without. Language is important for how we frame things, and how we think about them.’

‘I think about it as a rape.’ Katniss delights in her voice having come back to her throat. ‘He raped me. And he wants me in this room, talking to you, so he can rape me again and pretend it’s something else.’ A huge breath fills and empties her lungs. She does not dare look at Snow. Has she gone too far?

‘Thank you, Katniss. Thank you for telling me that. That must have been difficult for you.’ Dr Astor turns to Snow. ‘Coriolanus, how does what Katniss just said make you feel?’

‘Irritated. I’ve explained to her I have no wish to rape her again. I want her to consent to any sexual activity.’ He tsks. ‘I do not like repeating myself.’

‘Exactly,’ says Katniss, feeling stronger, more able to bite back. ‘He wants me to consent to sexual activity. Which would never happen. So it would be rape.’

‘Katniss,’ says Snow, and his voice is gentle. ‘What I would like to gain from these sessions is mutual understanding and recognition. I would like us both to get our relationship to a point where the prospect of sexual intercourse isn’t rape. I do not, as you say, want to rape you and pretend otherwise.’

Katniss’ breath rattles through her like she’s a snake tail.

Dr Astor speaks softly. ‘What do you want, Katniss?’

To go home. To kill Snow. To escape.

She says, ‘I don’t know.’

Dr Astor nods. ‘Well, that’s about all we have time for today. I think we covered useful ground. You both opened up about some difficult subjects. I have some homework for you both.’

Snow smirks and raises his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh goody.’ He allows this man to patronize him, just a little. Too much, though, and he’ll have him shot.

‘I want you both to list five things that you want to achieve in therapy. I want you to do this separately, and I don’t want you to confer. Those can be big ideas or very specific things. Can you both do that for our next appointment?’

Katniss shrugs. What does she want to achieve? Nothing, anymore. She is nothing.

Snow stands, Dr Astor stands, and Katniss does too. ‘Thank you, doctor,’ says Snow, and he reaches out to shake the man’s hand. Katniss does not do the same.

#this fic scratches a very particular interest of mine but it's kind of hard to explain #pretending everything is fine when it absolutely isn't!#fixing everything with therapy!#remote writes

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walviemort · 1 year ago

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hidden blessing (11/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

a/n: We're back! And should have a few more updates for you in the next few weeks! Hope you like this one!

After the general discomfort of the revelations in the Echo Caves, Killian found himself dealing with unpleasantness of a different kind—nausea again. Just before they made it back to camp, he had to duck behind a tree to deal with that; he couldn’t wait to get back to Storybrooke and talk to Doc to find out just when that was supposed to go away.

He swished his mouth out with some rum, then spat it out before strolling back into camp. The rest of the group was gathered around Bae in conversation; as he approached, he heard him saying, “I know how to navigate the stars, but I can't fly.” Killian ducked his head to hide his smirk at that; he was glad to hear the now-grown lad hadn’t forgotten the skills he’d taught him, but it wasn’t the time to gloat about that.

“I'm guessing that's where the Shadow comes in,” Snow said—and, to his surprise, passed a canteen to him, despite David standing in between them. He nodded his thanks and took a long drag.

“That's why we have to capture it,” Bae replied—to which Killian nearly choked on his water. Was he mad?

“Capture it?” Emma exclaimed, in line with Killian’s own disbelief. “We've never been within 10 feet of Pan unless he wanted us to be. Sneaking up on him to steal his shadow? That seems insane.”

He was still in agreement that going after the shadow was insane, but at least had to clarify some facts for Emma. “Except that Pan's Shadow is rarely with him. It's an entity unto itself. It can carry out his will from miles away.”

David asked, “So what does that mean for us?”

“It means we can get his shadow without having to be anywhere near Pan—as long as we know where to look,” Neal clarified. “And I know where to look.”

Killian shuddered—he did, too, and he didn’t like it one bit, even if (as he’d gathered) it was their best way off the island.

“Ok, you and I are on shadow duty,” Emma told Neal, and they moved to start to head out.

It might be foolish, but Killian sure as hell wasn’t letting them go alone. “As am I,” he interjected. “This trek won't be easy. You could use another veteran of the island.”

Neal nodded and gave him a casual smile that reminded him distinctly of Milah. “Thanks, man.”

A quick plan was hashed out for after their mission—to meet up at Tink’s with Emma’s parents, and then (finally) make a move for Henry—and then everyone set about what they needed to do.

At least—he was about to, but Snow intercepted him before he got too far (brushing past David to do so—pointedly, it seemed, as well). “I just wanted to say—congratulations,” she effused, grabbing his hand. “I wish you’d told us sooner; how are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m fine, luv—thank you,” he replied, trying to make sure his appreciation at the sentiment came through even though David was staring somewhat dejectedly at their exchange.

She continued to pepper him with questions—how far along he was, symptoms, and so on; he was touched she was so interested but was also fairly certain it was just a distraction. (One he didn’t mind indulging, but he had to prepare to leave, too.)

She thankfully picked up on his desire to get a move on. “Sorry, sorry; I just...have had that kind of stuff on my mind lately,” she said; that was rather obvious. “Just—be safe. All of you.”

“We’ll do our best,” he answered, then she stepped away to prepare for their own trek. He did catch David’s hurt gaze as she walked away, though, and tried to give an encouraging nod as the prince hurried after his wife.

While Killian was glad he no longer had to hide his expectant state, he hoped he didn’t have too many more exchanges like that; the attention, while appreciated, was somewhat embarrassing.

But when he walked into Bae’s cave to see what he could assist him and Emma with, he realized: he still had one more person to tell. (Well, and Rumpelstiltskin, wherever the bastard had wandered off to, but that was a low priority.)

Neal—Bae—he still wasn’t sure the best way to refer to him—was poking around his former home, looking for….what, he didn’t know.

“Something tells me we won't find Pan's Shadow in here, mate,” he teased.

Neal ignored the (attempted) joke. “Yeah, we're looking for something else. It's a coconut that's carved in two,” he said, gesturing the shape with his hands. “One part holds a candle, the other part goes on top—“

“Yeah, your star map,” Emma interjected. “We hid it. I'll go grab it.”

For the first time in well over a century, he was alone with Bae.

“So, uh, how…how’ve you been?” Bae asked him.

Killian opened his mouth to reply, but words seemed suddenly insufficient. Instead, he strode forward and wrapped the other man in an embrace.

“Bae, I’m so sorry,” he said softly, his emotions suddenly thick. “I should never have handed you over like that, and I’ve regretted it every day.”

Unsurprisingly, Neal hadn’t moved at all since Killian hugged him. “Um, okay…uh, thanks?” he finally said, uncertain.

“Sorry,” Killian blurted out as he stepped away, wiping away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. “I just had to say it, before we get too much farther.”

Bae rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I…I appreciate that, but it doesn’t really change what happened.”

“I know,” Killian agreed. “And I know there’s nothing I can do to fix it, but I wanted you to know.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, rather abruptly. Then, surprisingly, he chuckled. “Didn’t think you were the emotional apology type.”

“Uh, not usually,” he answered, laughing a bit himself. “Tends to happen when you’re pregnant, or so I’m told.”

“You’re—really?”

“Aye,” he said simply, and let his hand rest on his still barely noticeable bump.

“Wow; who knocked you up?” Bae asked, bluntly.

“Uh, well…” Now this was the part Killian wasn’t sure how to broach. “It was, ah…your mum.”

To his astonishment, Neal laughed. “Really? I don’t remember ‘your mom’ jokes being a thing in the Enchanted Forest. You pick that up in New York?”

Killian just tilted his head, confused. “No; it’s not a joke. This is Milah’s child.”

Now it was Bae’s turn to be speechless. “Seriously? That’s…you’re gonna have my sibling?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, and it felt oddly like a confession.

“How? That makes no sense.” Killian explained it as best he could, which eventually earned a “Shit,” from Neal. “Well that further complicates the family tree.”

“I’d imagine it resembles a web by this point.”

Neal chuckled nervously. “Congratulations, then,” and offered him his hand.

“Thanks,” Killian said, taking his hand and smiling, “and I suppose I also owe you thanks for being so understanding about Emma and me.”

Neal still shook his hand, but his gaze narrowed. “Emma and you?”

Uh-oh. “Our dalliance.” Bae continued to look on in confusion. Shit. “We, ah, shared a kiss. Apologies, I assumed she told you.”

Neal dropped his hand rather pointedly. “Honestly, it probably slipped her mind. We're kind of focused on getting our son back.”

“Of course,” he agreed quickly, cursing himself for making things awkward again. Obviously, that’s when Emma returned.

She strode in confidently, but paused when she picked up on the tension in the air. “Everything alright?”

Bae turned to her abruptly. “Couldn't be better,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he took the coconut from her. She asked how exactly the map was going to help on this particular task. “It's not a star map,” he explained. “It's what we're gonna use to trap Pan's Shadow.”

It sounded daft to Killian, but he dared not question it after the unease left by their prior conversation. “So what's our next stop on this mission?” he asked instead.

“Dark Hollow.”

He shuddered again; the very name of that place put him on edge. His babe seemed to have picked up on his nervousness and began to move in time with his heightened anxiety.

“Really? Why couldn't it be called something like Sunshine Valley or Rainbow Cove?” Emma complained. “What exactly is it?”

“Just what it sounds like,” Killian said. “The darkest spot on the entire island. Any light that makes its way in is snuffed out by the shadows that call it home. Even I managed to avoid it,” he shuddered.

“Well, time to break tradition,” Emma said in a commanding tone. He couldn’t argue with that—not if it was their only way home.

Against his instincts—yet again—he headed off with the other two, hoping they made it out of this in roughly the same shape as they went in.

On the trek to Dark Hollow, Neal took the lead; Killian was inclined to let him do so.

The hike was mostly silent—all three of them likely deep in their own thoughts about what lay ahead, both physically and emotionally. Killian, however, was also finding himself distracted by the sight in front of him: Emma’s backside (and he couldn’t fully blame it on his hormones).

They hadn’t yet had a moment alone since the Echo Cave, nor had Emma made any comments alluding to his confession. He wasn’t so self-centered as to think she owed him an answer—that wasn’t why he revealed that—nor did he want to put her on the spot, especially when they were still in the middle of…a lot.

But she was the one who had kissed him. On top of their other shared moments. He had to believe there was some level of attraction there. (Unless his senses were truly being thrown off by this pregnancy.)

He nearly ran into Emma while continuing his self-debate, not having noticed the other two had paused.

He saw why as soon as he glanced up, though: the trail forward was covered in brambles too dense to pass through.

“We're gonna have to cut our way through,” Bae announced, stating the obvious; Killian’s hand was already on his sword.

Before he could offer assistance, he had to step back because metal was flying far too close to his face.

“Here; use this,” Emma said, offering Bae his old cutlass.

If Killian wasn’t mistaken, he was touched to receive his old weapon. “You find it in the cave?” he asked Emma.

“No, actually; Hook gave it to me,” she told him plainly.

Neal looked past Emma to him, smirking. “Since when are you sentimental?”

Since always, Killian thought, but instead said, “I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by.”

“Oh, thanks. But she’s got me now,” he replied tersely, then turned to begin hacking at the brush.

Emma whipped around to face him. “What was that about?” she demanded, not in an unattractive way.

He sighed and told her about where the tensions between them began that day. “I assumed you had told him.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Because I was hoping it meant something,” he blurted out. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it was true.

“What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you,” she said sincerely—though that wasn’t entirely what he was talking about. “I realize you could've kept Pan's information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” he wondered, somewhat incredulous; did she still think so little of him?

“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Maybe Pan offered you a deal. Why else would he tell you?”

Well…that wasn’t wholly wrong.

“It was a test,” he explained. “He wanted to see if I'd leave an old friend to die, even if the old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am.”

“And you chose your friend?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“You are a pirate,” she threw back.

“Aye, I am—but I thought you knew me well enough by now to know I’m a hell of a lot more than that,” he countered. He didn’t typically have such high self-worth, but he’d gradually noticed that changing since he found out about the babe, if only because he had something to live for the first time in so long. And the fact that he was defending himself in such a manner was even more surprising. But his stomach was still uneasy with nausea and he suddenly found himself craving a very specific pastry that was only available in Agrabah, so his patience was running thin. “You can simplify whatever is going on between us if you like, but we both know it’s just another way for you to put up a barrier.”

“So what if it is? This isn’t some romantic vacation, Hook—my son’s life is still at risk. I can’t get distracted—even if I wanted to.”

“No one is asking you to lose sight of that. But you can’t deny what else is happening here,” he said, gesturing towards both himself and the direction Bae had headed off in.

“This isn't a contest for my hand, Hook.”

“Isn't it?” he replied, chuckling slightly (but not out of amusement). “You're gonna have to choose, Emma. You realize that, don't you? Because neither one of us is gonna give up.”

“The only thing I have to choose is the best way to get my son back,” she insisted.

“And you will,” he agreed.

She seemed taken aback. “You think so?”

“I've yet to see you fail,” he affirmed; perhaps she just needed some of his own newfound confidence. “And when you do succeed, well, that's when the fun begins,” he went on, smirking. “Because when I win your heart, Emma—and I will win it—it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

Emma swallowed, clearly absorbing the depth of that statement. But then she started to sway back towards him, her gaze darting to his lips, and—

—And then Neal returned. “Guys!” he shouted, and Emma immediately stepped away. “I think I found it,” he said as he came back into their small clearing, passing the cutlass back to Emma.

She found Killian’s gaze one more time, before turning to the newly cleared path and heading in. Neal glanced between his companions, somewhat confused, but Killian only offered a shrug when he asked with his eyes as to what was going on. Then they followed Emma in.

As they moved into the thicker part of the jungle, his babe’s nervous kicks picked up again; how odd that he could already tell that—or perhaps it was just related to his own rising anxiety. It increased with each step, as what little light they had (despite it permanently being nighttime in Neverland) disappeared.

Neal and Emma had been carrying lanterns, which helped a bit, but when the passageway opened up into a large, dark wood, a stiff breeze put out the flames.

None of them liked being there. The sooner they got this done, the better.

“So we just wait for Pan's Shadow to show up?” Emma asked, still holding tight to the cutlass.

“Yeah,” Neal confirmed. “And when it does, we'll be prepared,” he added, pulling out the coconut.

Emma gaped a bit; for all she’d seen, there were clearly some things that stretched her belief. “You wanna tell me how that coconut works?”

Neal pointed out the candle built into the base of the device, and explained how, once lit, the flame would attract and trap the shadow. Killian had to admit—it sounded plausible…mostly.

“Sounds like a fine plan—except for one thing,” he said. “Our lanterns went out. How the devil are we going to ignite that bloody thing?”

Bae pulled out a small silver device. “Welcome to the 21st century,” he said with a smirk. Killian quickly realized it was some modern, condensed version of a steel and flint—although none of the sparks it produced seemed to be catching.

Emma asked for an update, but there was none to report. And what followed was something Killian was not quite proud of, nor could he fully blame it on hormones.

Seeing that Bae was struggling to light the candle, Killian tried to intervene, taking the object away and attempting to use it himself—with equal success.

Then, like schoolboys, they started an immature game of tug o’ war over the lighter—then watched in slow motion as it flew from their hands, glinting as it rotated in the air, then disappeared into a hollowed-out tree trunk.

(Words may have been exchanged about trying to impress Emma; they weren’t entirely wrong.)

“Guys, we don't have time for this—look!” Emma shouted at them, equal parts angry and fearful. “Is that Pan's Shadow?”

Overhead, the humanoid shape of a shadow flew into the hollow, completely devoid of light save for the unsettling white orbs of its eyes.

“Shit—yeah, it is!” Neal confirmed as Emma grabbed the coconut.

Behind Pan’s shadow were two others; Killian drew his blade out of instinct, even though he knew it would do nothing against a metaphysical foe.

Bae mentioned something about the others being under the control of Pan’s shadow, not that it was really relevant—or helpful, especially when one of them came up behind Killian, dragging him into the air and slamming him against a tree.

He cried out in pain as he hit the bark, arms wrapping around his midsection. Somewhere beyond his awareness, he thought he heard Emma shouting “Hook!”

But then the shadow began attempting to remove his own, and everything devolved into a blur of pain and praying to whatever gods were listening that nothing would happen to the babe.

He’d never felt a sensation like the one of his shadow being ripped from his being. It was hard to describe, but he knew that’s what it was.

With as hard as the other shadow was yanking on his, he was certain it was about to take his life. But something seemed to be tethering his to him—the babe, if he had to guess.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but suddenly, the sensation of his shadow being pulled away ceased—and was quickly replaced with that of him meeting the ground.

Immediately, he curled in on himself, hand again rushing to his stomach. Before he made any further move, he waited for a sign that his little one was alright. How had he been so bloody foolish as to risk their life like that?

“Please,” he whispered to himself, and then—he felt it: those same steady flutters and wriggles he’d been feeling for the past few weeks. And he breathed the deepest sigh of relief.

A hand appeared in his vision—Bae’s; he took it and let the lad—no, man—help him up. “You okay?” he asked.

“Aye, I think so; you?”

“I’ll take some bruises and scratches if it means I get to keep my shadow,” Neal said lightly, as if they hadn’t just been through a near-death experience.

Then they turned their attention back to Emma, who was sitting against a rock with the coconut in her hands—closed tight. She’d done it—she got the shadow and saved both of them.

Neal wasn’t thrilled with her method of lighting the flame—magic—but Killian frankly didn’t care (and thought it was a bit cruel of Bae to hold his prejudice towards magic against Emma of all people). It was done, they’d succeeded, and now they needed to get the hell out of here.

Emma led the way, charging ahead, anger obvious in the rigid set of her frame and the extended length of her stride. Killian and Neal followed behind her like two children aware they were in trouble.

Once they were a safe distance away from the Hollow, Bae spoke up. “Hey, Em—I'm sorry. I know I screwed up.”

She stopped and turned on a dime, a fire in her glare that made Killian take a step back. “Yes, you did. You both did. We almost lost our shot at capturing the Shadow because you two were fighting over a lighter,” she lectured.

“It wasn't the lighter we were fighting over, love,” Killian admitted, ashamed.

Emma closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then gave them an even firmer stare. “Okay, let me be very clear about something: If I had to choose someone—I choose Henry. He's the only love I have room for in my life.”

And without another word, she put her back to them and continued on.

She wasn’t wrong. Henry was why they were all here, after all—this was far from a romantic rendezvous. And he was especially in tune with her parental instincts after what had just happened—his hand hadn’t left his belly, afraid if he did, he’d lose track of his babe’s movements. He was chastising himself and feeling guilty enough just because of that; as valid as Emma’s ire was, he didn’t need it to know he’d made an error in judgment back there.

(But he also thought he’d made it abundantly clear by now to Emma that, while he was aware of where her priorities lay, that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for more. Now was not the time to argue, though.)

They finished the rest of the trek back to Tink’s house in relative silence, save for the passing around of canteens (Emma all but forced him to drink more than his fair share, but he supposed some was the babe’s share, too).

Finally, they were on the familiar path to the tree house, and they could hear Emma’s parents talking with the fairy—who, if he was hearing correctly, still wasn’t confident in their ability to get off the island, especially once she heard the shadow was involved. “I'm not lifting a finger until I see proof you've actually got it,” she was saying as they entered the space below her tree.

“Hey,” Neal called out. “Here's all the proof you'll need,” he said, holding up the coconut (which he’d tied shut with some vine on the hike.) “Been a long time, Tink.”

The petite blonde smiled. “Bae, is it really you?”

“Yeah. But most people call me "Neal" now,” he answered, and Killian made a mental note that he’d have to try harder in that regard.

Without any further time wasting, they confirmed Tink’s help in their plan, then made the decision to rest a bit at the camp and then make their move on Pan after that.

But as they made their way back to the camp, he noticed that Emma and Neal hung back. Part of him was curious to eavesdrop, but he knew that would be rude. Besides, Snow had found him and was playing the role of doting mother that he knew Emma was hesitant to allow; given the odds of her actually being able to achieve her not-so-secret desire anymore, he let her fuss over him (especially when he relayed what happened to he and Neal in the hollow—she practically sat him down on a log and refused to let him do so much as get a mango to eat on his own).

Emma and Neal rejoined the group shortly, but if anything had changed between the two of them in their sidebar, she was characteristically keeping it under wraps. (For his part, Neal was casting long glances her way, but they were not reciprocated; Killian felt a bit bad for him…but not that bad.)

He winced after that, though; his babe had apparently located his liver, and was pounding on it with abandon. (Goodness knew that had been abused enough for one lifetime.) But that was a firm—albeit repeated—reminder that he needed to stay focused enough on finishing the rest of this task and getting the hell out of Neverland to avoid putting the babe in any more danger.

Then, like he said—that’s when the fun would begin.

—----------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @captainhookfan (let me know if you want a tag!)

#cs ff #killian jones ff #killian mpreg #hidden blessing #My ff

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brella-boi · 2 years ago

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The Saga of Chili and Mint

As promised earlier here is the COMPLETE guide on following the story of our two favourite blorbos.

Starting off, for anyone new coming in, here is a link to Chili's and Mint's toyhouses if you need their ref or any other informational snippets. This guide focuses on how to follow the story of these two as it has been written over the past 4 years and it has never been compiled including the comics or a timeline of events.

Open the cut to read the guide! And good luck!

(If there are any errors or mistakes in links please let me know if you find any!)

The Timeline

The official timeline of main events. Majority of it happens during Splatoon 2, and while the new game is out already, we're still not through the current story. We are sat currently about 2 years before Splatoon 3 happens, and 3 years since Splatoon 2 launched.

There is a short story archive here for anything I've written ever, and it is constantly being updated with new links once something new comes out. The first few stories were written when my writing ability was not as good at it is currently, so some of the first few may seem rough around the edges.

But for the sake of this guide I will relink everything in order.

(Splatoon 1)

1- Debt / Where we meet Agent 3 for the first time.

(Splatoon 2)

2- Petrified / The beginning of Octo Expansion and meeting Mint. 3- Tests and Tested / The adventure of OE 4- Homely / Hours after returning from OE 5- Parasitic / Aftermath of OE 6- Journal Marked with a Mint Leaf / Different POV from Parasitic 7- Julie / Meeting Chili's sister 8- Happy Hunting / Realising some parents never change from abuse

Lost Memories (Comic) - Where Mint ventures down back to the metro in search of their lost memories.

9- Saw it off / Immediate consequence for doing so (Content Warning) 10- Check up / Continuing the consequences 11- Phantom Limbs / Chili tries to help Mint through their new disability

Confessions (Comic) Part 1 / Part 2 - In which Chili learns his crush was swept away.

Search of the Wind (Comic) - An introduction to a new character, Tai, who is Mint's twin brother.

12- Eye to Eye / Trying to make peace with the fact the twins are reunited 13- Aftermath / Losing a dear friend 14- Vibes of the Sea / Mint and Chili forgive each other for their recent aggressiveness 15- Yearn 2: Slapparoo / Where Chili is going just a little bit insane 16- Doctor's Home / Tai tries to understand Chili's motives and finds his answers

Secrets Funfair (Comic) Tai is having a very difficult time making peace with this new world, and his constant chase after answers is driving him mad. Mint suffers from it and Chili tries to step in. Act 1 Act 2 17- [Intermission] It's Quiet After a Storm / Chili handles Mint after the events of Act 2. Act 3

The End, is the end, is the end.... / An ode to the final story of Secret's Funfair. A whole script detailing the events of Act 3 to Act 5. An end to the journey. Thank you all for being a part of this <3

---

You made it to the end of the current story!!! Congrats! If you made it this far I'm very proud of you and also I am so very sorry. This isn't the end. There is also plenty of one shots unfortunately.

BUT IF YOU'RE STILL INTERESTED (which wow I must salute you!) Then here is a SECOND timeline showing where each little one shot is situated along with a tiny summary of what each is about!

Garden Trip - Trip to a botanical garden with Chili and Mint.

Stressor - The anxiety that comes with taking Julie under custody.

Terrors - Handling psychosis with a little sister around (not very well).

Egg Hunt - Giving Julie a proper Easter holiday.

Ohana - Accidental meeting with Julie's parents that ends in a fight.

Candy Parade - Helping Mint feel better after the events of OE.

Yearning - Chili monolouging after the events of Confessions.

Change - Mint's monolouging about how much their friend has changed.

Carlson - Meeting a hallucination.

Overthinking - Chili helps a friend out in need and overthinks everything as always.

Chestnuts - Chili teaching Julie and Mint a little family tradition.

---

There are some stray comics here and there hidden around the #comic tag on my blog. Not all of them are canon anymore, but most still should hold up :) If you want some extra dventure.

---

WOW look at you!! You made it all the way to the end. You're something else entirely!

If you enjoyed this and would like for the stories to continue then your every like, reblog, ask and comment are what drives this forward. Leave a little thought or opinion if you'd like, it will take this a long way forward.

Thank you to everyone who have stuck with me through the journey of this massive storytelling experience as well. Those who are still here and those who are lingering, those who may not be. I appreciate you all so much <3

#archive #here it is!!! like i promised!!!!#enjoy this <3 #mint #chili #ocs #splatoon

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opalsiren · 2 years ago

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i am once again going insane about tiny zikki moments from mostly unrelated episodes. today's installment is their moments in 2x24 'three's company'

let's talk about the moment he finds her on the beach and calls out 'hey stranger!!' and she immediately gives him this familiar and fond smile. he wants to hang and she's trying to be all cold and distant but you can tell she is so happy to see him like when he offers to take her to the movies and holds her hands and does the little thumb-rub thing not once but TWICE tumblr user hoziersgf found deceased she can't stop smiling even though you can tell she doesn't want to be. then rikki is like 'some other day okay' and kisses his cheek and it is undisputably adorable and he just. leaves her to it. lets her have her space even though he misses his gf because he knows she's going through it with mermaid shenanigans and respects her boundaries season one zane would NEVER

also litch really wrote an entire post about this one (1) exchange but to recap when rikki goes to see zane after taking a step back from the girls and he 1. grins at her like she hung the moon and 2. instantly clocks she's had a fight with the girls since he knows both her AND her friends sooooooo well plus they have a cute little kiss they are in love your honour

we as a society NEED to talk about the moment they’re strolling down the beach with their arms around each other teasing each other and zane is like i’m better company than your friends and rikki is like ‘it’s debatable’ and they both just laugh like they’re so happy and comfy around each other just. doing nothing. plus they are both clearly so mad when emma and cleo interrupt their kiss. can we also talk about the little moment when they say they need to talk to rikki and he patiently waits for her to come back. when she goes back to him her expression instantaneously turns from sour to totally happy and relaxed she’s all ‘where were we’ and he’s like ‘kissing’ and puts his arm around her again and kisses her on the cheek and they laugh together AGAIN. they are disgusting i literally hate them so much.

can't not comment on the other beach scene where rikki is clearly a little restless after excluding herself from the group and zane instantly knows what's wrong and suggests they go to lewis's party. then when she shoots him down immediately he is like 'you don't have to let charlotte win you can go back (to the group) whenever you want' and rikki looks all thoughtful and introspective because she hadn't considered that before. i am the furthest thing from a charlotte hater but in this moment zane reminds her who she is, that she won't let people walk all over, that she's rikki chadwick and she won't be the loser to someone else's winner. zane truly knows her so well that, by simply being there, he never lets her forget who she is. *screams for one thousand years*

i am thinking about the little moment when they're sitting sipping their juices at the juicenet being both adorable and iconic when ash calls rikki. for a sec she meets zane's eye and is like 'hi ash how's the party 😉' because she knows charlotte has probably done a piss poor job throwing a party for lewis sorry charlotte baby i love you dearly but that was a certified mess <3 and wants zane to be included in the joke. when she hangs up she's like 'cleo and emma have left lewis's party' and immediately zane matches her tone like 'that's not like them' just as concerned as her. not only does my guy know rikki chadwick like the back of his hand he knows her friends too!!!! immediately she's like 'exactly' and they rush off together to see what's going on because they are a team and it's fine i'm fine i'll be fine

plus when they’re outside charlotte’s pool room when ash is trying to burst in on cleo and emma and zane is the one to get him to leave them alone when rikki can’t like he leads him away saying it’s ‘secret women’s business’ or what have you. king shit. i also personally think that zane was at least a little bit involved in putting the party boat together for lewis since you can see him checking his watch and staring at the water as if waiting for something right before it gets there i am connecting the dots etc.

anyway in conclusion i believe in zikki supremacy <33

#this is just a worse version of dizzystqr's rikma crumbs series tbh <3 #if you read all of this on all levels except physical we are holding hands #h2o just add water #.txt #h2o #queue #zikki

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bktaro · 4 years ago

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seven-three (part 2)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties

tw: drinking, sex clubs, rough sex, daddy kink, slight bondage, dom/sub, slight degradation, size kink, face fucking, dacryphilia, squirting, fingering, oral

wc: 6.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

tagging: @angelofthorr @lilalalila

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

Nanami always did consider himself to be a man that wasted no time, and tonight was no exception.

Time was of the essence. Nanami wanted to waste not a single minute further on idle things that could be used in exploring your body and making you feel pleasure like never before.

“You’re right, I think we are a good match— we understand each other well. I completely agree with what you said earlier, I also hate wasting time.” Nanami’s hand reaches upwards to caress the side of your cheek, tilting your head up to look into your eyes. “So, that’s why I’m just going to say exactly what I’m thinking to you.”

Nanami’s other hand slides down your bare arm, until it lays on top of one of your smaller hands scrunching up the hem of his shirt. He motions you to release your grip from his shirt, and when you oblige, he takes the opportunity to grab your smaller hand within his larger one, lacing your fingers in between his own. His figure is quite taller than yours, prompting him to bend his body over to whisper into your ear.

“Let’s get out of here already so I can fuck you stupid.”

You grin at the request, a low throb jolting in between your legs at his words. He had cut right to the chase— and you loved that.

“What are we waiting for then?” You give a hard squeeze to his hand intertwined with yours, alongside the corners of your lips tugging further upwards into a larger, cheekier grin. “Let’s go.”

—

Within what felt to be mere minutes, with his hand in yours Nanami had placed a wad of cash at the concierge desk connecting the club to its sister company of hotel rooms with the request for the finest room they had to offer. The staff didn’t ask further questions, already in understanding of the nature of most of its clients. Much like the club, from the outside the hotel seemed to be a standard, elegant establishment— but in reality it served to act in partnership with the club as a ‘love hotel’ of sorts instead.

“The penthouse suite?” You ask, watching him slip the key card into the pocket of his tan blazer. “A fancy guy, aren’t you?”

Nanami lets out a low chuckle, leading you inside the elevator that was now open in front of the two of you. He steps in first, pressing the button to the desired floor, but you’re just behind his tail, following him inside instantly and standing beside him.

He’s frankly a bit astonished to find the elevator is empty, fully expecting another couple to already be partially within each other’s pants when the steel doors part open in the middle. But a new thought arises in his head— he thinks perhaps the two of you could be that couple. Elevator public sex was on his bucket list, after all.

“I like a good view, and I’ll get the best money can buy me.” Nanami replies instead, shaking the thought out of his head. He had to at least have some self-control… for now. And it wasn’t completely a lie either, he did like all things beautiful, especially the simple, natural things in life like a beautiful view with an equally beautiful woman on his arm. “The sunrise is beautiful from this high up, you’ll see later.”

A moment of foreign silence envelopes the air in between the two of you, the only sounds being the dinging noise signaling the closure of the doors soon, and the faint mechanics of the elevator whirring in the background. Although brief, the silence churns your thoughts, making you realize it’s the first time you've probably ever been alone with Nanami. At the office, your department was one of the largest in the company. Being alone with anyone was slim to none— especially Nanami who typically went out of his way to avoid pointless interaction with others.

So, you start to think you’re one lucky girl. Maybe you’ve saved a nation in your past life, something remarkable of that nature to be in the position you’re in now.

Nanami doesn’t give you much more time to get lost in your thoughts, however.

The instant the steel doors of the elevator shut close once again, you gasp at the sudden force of movement. Nanami leans his back against the wall of the elevator and pulls your hand to drag you in front of him, making you stumble in between his legs. His hands find themselves on the small of your back, supporting your balance, and all you can do is look up at the mischievous smirk that has formed on his lips.

“Maybe I also want to show you off to the entire city below too. Fuck you right up against the window so everyone can see.”

Your cheeks begin to feel warm, feeling a sudden tinge of embarrassment strike at your chest. You give out a silent prayer in thanks to the mask that conceals your now blushing face, swallowing the lump in your throat and mustering up the courage to respond in the most confident way you can.

“Oh, so you’re not fancy at all— just plain old nasty .”

Nanami lets out another laugh, this time louder than the previous. God , the sound of laughter is like a sweet melody, just as gorgeous as his smile. Maybe you really did save a nation in your past life to be able to be alive in this very moment.

“Ouch, that one hurts. Aren’t ‘fairies’ like you supposed to be nice?”

You laugh alongside him, both your hands trailing up to rest flat on his chest. Standing up on the tips of your toes, your face comes inches away from his and your eyes trail to look at his lips in front of yours.

“Aw, did I hurt you, handsome?” You give me a quick wink, a hand grabbing his silk tie to pull him forward towards you. “Don’t worry, I can kiss it better.”

Nanami follows your lead, tilting his head and leaning forward to catch your lips on his. Contrary to your conversations filled with urgency and lust, the kiss is gentle, a soft greeting to each other's bodies for the first time. His lips are plush against yours, a little bit of tongue slipping in when his tongue swipes yours and grants access but still remaining tender, molding effortlessly in sync together. All you can do is close your eyes, completely indulging in the moment at hand.

You pull away moments later, much to your dismay in the need for air. When your eyes reopen, you catch the curve of Nanami’s lips hitched upwards in front of you into a satisfied grin, resulting in another giggle surpassing your lips.

“What? Fairy magic got you feeling better already?”

“Absolutely. You’re quite a phenomenal kisser.” Nanami’s grip on the small of your back dives lower, his hands now gripping the curve of your ass in an effort to pull your body even closer to his. “I think I’m addicted already— give me some more, will you?”

He doesn’t need to ask you twice.

Your hands move to wrap around behind his neck, closing the gap between your bodies. With your body in between his legs now completely latched on to his, your hands tangle the back of his head, bringing him down for another kiss.

The kiss this time around is desperate, needy, and in the search for more. Lips now acquainted, they waste no time in smashing against each other, tongues likewise dancing to explore one another deeper. Clothes began to feel constricting, and the seconds felt excruciatingly long during the remainder of the trip up the elevator to the top floor, hands exploring every inch of the skin available to both of your reaches.

You’re frankly not too sure how exactly Nanami managed to do so, but he successfully guided you into the correct suite without his hands and lips ever tearing away from yours. They only leave you momentarily to unzip the thin fabric of your dress off and on to the floor, tossing your now nearly exposed body onto the king-sized bed and pinning you underneath his larger frame.

Just from the way his hands worked, gripping and grabbing onto every inch of your skin he could, you could tell he’s already insanely rough in bed— and a tiny smile creeps up on your face at the pleasing thought.

Nanami Kento is truly nothing like the reserved, timid and calm man from the office you thought you knew.

“You’re a real freak, aren’t you?”

Nanami leans his face lower, lips hovering over yours. A proud, cocky smirk forms upon his lips at your words, the canines of his teeth peeking through.

“Maybe I am.” His voice is low, dripping with lust at the sight of your partially naked body, now merely inches away from your lips. “But something tells me you’re not that much different from me.”

You let out a chuckle, reciprocating the smirk on his lips afterwards with your own while your fingers begin fumbling to undo the buttons of his blue dress shirt.

“Maybe I am too.” You mimic his words, pausing your efforts to undo the buttons momentarily to grab onto his patterned gold tie again, pulling him even closer. “Maybe I’m just as freaky as you — so give me everything you got.”

Before Nanami even gets the opportunity to respond back, you bring his lips onto yours. The kiss is passionate, his lips swollen and plush from the earlier make out session, tongues now more than familiar with each other, yet still desperate for more.

“ Everything ? Are you sure?” Nanami asks, pulling away momentarily. He had to ask you now where the boundaries lay, immensely cautious of your limits and not to cross them. “I’ll stop anytime if you ask, the last thing I want to do is anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure, as long as it’s nothing entirely soul crushingly degrading and humiliating.” A small, reassuring smile curves on your lips. “Seriously though, I’ve never been surer about anything. And I’m on birth control too.”

Nanami smiles half-hardy back at you, and you can sense the hesitation still lingering behind. He liked his sex rough, and he just wasn’t too sure if you did too yet. Plus, he knew how sleazy certain people could be in these environments— he wanted to make it a hundred percent clear that you weren’t obliged to anything and had the power to opt out at any time.

You were genuinely appreciative of his concern for you, noting that he was truly a kind man at heart— another thing you wouldn’t have known about him from just his presence in the office. But you sincerely did just want the man in front of you to fuck you senseless and use your body in whatever way he wanted too. You had to take it up a notch for him to sincerely ease his apprehension— and you had the perfect idea.

“Look, I’ll let you know immediately if I feel uncomfortable, okay? So don’t worry about going too far for anything.” You bring a hand up to his jawline, gently stroking the soft skin in encouragement. “But what I really want is to help you grant your wish— daddy .”

Nanami’s eyes widens, a newfound flame burning up fueled by lust flowing across his body and a small, genuine grin now forming at your response.

All it took was one, single word to shake off his hesitations, replacing them with a newly awakened beast. Unknowingly, you’ve unlocked a new side of Nanami Kento he himself rarely finds activated.

Sure, he’d been with many women during his weekend rendezvous, but he’s beginning to find truth in Gojo’s words— there was no one quite like you who had the right talk and walk, flicking on a switch in his brain that made him a man that wanted nothing more in his life than to fuck the shit out of you.

“You’re saying then you can take anything daddy gives you then, right?”

His thumb grazes over your bottom lip, and in response you open your mouth just a bit wider, wrapping your lips around his thumb.

You were more than prepared to take on this new challenger— Nanami Kento had met his match.

“Use me however you want— I’m your little slut.”

Nanami sucks his teeth at your words, the other free hand now working to loosen the tie around his neck. The bud of his thumb presses harder down the pad of your tongue, and your lips wrap tighter around it, holding onto his hand with yours and looking right at his eyes visible through the eyeholes of his mask.

“You want to be my little fuckdoll tonight, don’t you?”

Unable to speak with his thumb in your mouth, you nod your head, looking up at him and grinning the best you could. Nanami smiles again, satisfied with your response.

“You’re going to be my little slutty fuckdoll...”

The long silky gold and speckled black fabric of Nanami’s tie soon finds its way around his hand. Releasing his thumb from your mouth, you let out a gasp with wide eyes as Nanami grabs a hold of your wrists, bringing them up to the headboard above you and tying them together with his tie.

You were now completely under his discretion, your body laid out in submission, truly like a doll only for him to use however he liked— and the thought is enough to initiate another familiar throb in between your legs.

“... and you’ll do just as daddy says.”

A small shiver travels down your spine, feeling Nanami leaning forward and trailing soft kisses from the side of your jawline and down your neck, taking his time to lick and suck the sensitive areas of your skin.

He pauses when he meets the cleavage of your breasts peeking out from your bra, hands gently guiding you to arch your back off the bed. Lean fingers skillfully undo the clasp on your back, sending the strapless piece of fabric to join your other discarded garments on the floor and leaving his mouth watering at the sight of your naked, perky nipples in full view.

“My gorgeous fucking doll.”

Large hands cup and roughly squeeze the mounds of flesh, resulting in a soft, breathy whimper to leave your mouth. His tongue works on one perked nipple, licking the sensitive bud while he pulls and pinches the other with his thumb and index fingers, repeating the process again and again until you’re left squirming under his touch.

Nanami finishes giving attention to both your breasts, proudly eyeing the trails of small bruises peppered over your chest afterwards. The tip of his index finger gently begins to dance upon your skin, beginning in between your breasts at the center of your body. He traces the small love marks, loving the way you shiver and let out a small whine at even the slightest touch and slowly slithers all the way down only pausing when they reach the wetness of your cunt, concealed past your damp underwear.

“Won’t you look at that.” Nanami smirks, pressing his fingers against your underwear. “Someone’s drenched already, aren’t they?”

Your body flinches when his fingers dig deeper in between your folds, a muffled moan escaping past your lips at the slight roughness of the fabric digging into your cunt.

“Tell me, doll, who made your pussy this soaked already?”

Nanami brings his face to hover over yours again and tilts your chin upwards to look you in the eye, awaiting your response.

“ You , daddy.”

The proud grin on his face widens, a thumb joining his index finger to slowly rub your clothed clit in small, teasing circles. Your breath hitches at the new sensation on your most sensitive bud, arching your back off the bed once again and letting out an airy moan just slightly louder than the previous.

“You’re really such a good girl, listening to me so well.” He coos and leans forward, leaving you a tender, yet teasing kiss that leaves you wanting more against your lips. “Makes me want to just eat you right up.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Nanami arches his eyebrows behind his mask, slightly taken aback but simultaneously impressed with your reply. A stifling chuckle soon breaks past his lips, bringing his hand up and squishing your chin in between his fingers, causing your mouth to partially open, tongue sticking out.

“You’re right. Good, slutty girls like you deserve a reward, don’t they?”

His hand moves again, this time finding its way past the band of your underwear and inside the fabric instead. Two fingers slowly stroke past your bare clit, and then in between your wet folds, touching just enough to give you some sort of relief, but not enough penetration to fully relieve you. It leaves you whimpering, loving the touches you’re getting, but wanting even the slightest bit more .

“Tell me another thing, doll.” The finger covered with your slick leaves your underwear, Nanami bringing it up for both you and him to examine in between your faces. He spreads his two fingers apart, and the both of you watch the glistening slick stretch between the two fingers. “How do you taste when you’re all wet because of me?”

Nanami’s two fingers press down on your tongue again, and you close your mouth, embracing the digits with your tongue. Your tongue laps around his fingers, eyes looking right into his as your tastebuds savour the flavour of your own juices. Your tongue hangs out when you open your mouth again, freeing his fingers from your tongue after you suck all the slick clean off of them.

“It tastes so delicious...”

“My pretty girl likes her own flavour, hm?” Nanami’s grip on either side of your cheeks gets the slightest bit firmer. “Let me get a taste for myself.”

He leans forward, giving you a single, slow lick against your tongue with his, another whimper vibrating in your throat at your now pulsating core. When he pulls away afterwards, a low chuckle can’t help but leave his mouth, looking at your needy expression in desire for more than what his mere teasing leaves you with.

“Hm, I’m definitely going to need a better taste than that, don’t you think?”

Nanami doesn’t wait for your response, already beginning to leave a trail of kisses down your body. You slowly pry your legs open for him when he reaches your pelvis, allowing him to shift his body to lay flat on the bed in between your thighs. A tender kiss is left on one side of your inner thigh, ushering you to prop your legs upwards so he can get a better view, and you can’t help but let out another shudder at his lips ghosting closer to your most sensitive area.

His hand trails upward towards the band of your underwear, fingers latching onto the sides of lacy garment resting on your hips. With the tug of his fingers, the fabric peels off of your body, a glossy string of slick trailing from your wet cunt to the center of your underwear now stained with a patch of wetness. Nanami assists you eagerly in pulling the garment all the way down your legs, until he’s able to grab them in his hands and toss them somewhere in the floor of the hotel room to join your previously discarded clothing.

It’s a sight that makes his mouth water and cock stiffen inside his pants even more, suddenly starving in the pit of his stomach to get even the tiniest taste. It’s a sight he’s again, seen numerous times before in his weekend rendezvous, but the first to get him riled up the way he was before he even truly began to explore your body.

Your legs are spread and propped open, drenched pussy glistening with slick dangerously close to staining the sheets below, and arms still bound by his tie tied around the headboard of the bed. Your breaths come in shallow pants, heavy in anticipation of whatever is to come next, your body squirming desperately searching for even that tiny moment of relief. And in the middle of it all, watching your every movement is Nanami in between your legs— a smirk plastered on his face and a glowing twinkle in his eye.

You were a feast laid out just for him, a beast wanting nothing more than to devour his prey.

And so, he decides to do just that.

“Daddy’s going to make you feel so good baby, your pussy will be wet just like this all week thinking about me.”

Nanami leans forward, spreading your cunt with his fingers and taking the first, agonizing slow lick up your dripping slit, collecting the juices threatening to spill on to his tongue. You let out a whine, head instantly thrown back at alleviating sensation.

“Fuck…”

Your pleased curse comes out in a mutter, but it’s more than enough to fuel Nanami. He traces his tongue back and forth on your slit, occasionally sticking his tongue in and out of your cunt, and increasingly picking up his pace every time he hears you whimper in delight and your body gradually wriggling more and more. The sound is music to his ears— a melody of sorts he’s more than determined to play all night.

When the tip of his tongue deliberately finds its way to brush on your clit, your body jolts, and another, breathy moan fills the air. Nanami instantly holds you down, wrapping an arm around your thighs, restraining your movements to jump away from him, and allowing him to continue to attack on your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh…my god… please…” You whine, your tied up hands searching for something to desperately grasp on to but finding nothing. “...please don’t stop… ”

It’s all you can groan out, Nanami showing no mercy in sucking on the swollen bud, flicking his tongue rapidly against it like it’s all he knew how to do. His tongue is incredibly skilled, and Nanami knows it too— simply by the way your body was thrashing already under him, a sign he knew too well of what was to come next.

He wonders how much farther you can go, what kind of reaction he can get from your body if just plays around with you just a bit further. Curiosity controls his movements, a long, lone finger on his free hand coming up and teasingly stroking your wet cunt, before inserting itself effortlessly in.

And you like it— so much so you feel yourself dripping even more , without a doubt now staining the bed sheets below when his finger curls and picks up the pace, fucking your cunt alongside his tongue working on your clit. But both Nanami and you know one isn’t enough, despite the fact he can hear your whimpers grow louder and can practically feel your cunt clenching, throbbing on his one sole finger, he knows he needs to stretch you out even further to fully prepare you for the main course— his dick in his pants that was now harder than ever.

You were close, so close already, hips thrusting to fuck his finger and face the best you could being under his grasp. When Nanami adds a second finger to join the first, fingering your pussy relentlessly, your eyes shut close, the pit of your stomach tightening and your body beginning to convulse from the intensity of it all.

“Oh my god… I… I’m going to—”

With one last final cry, your back arches the best it can under Nanami’s strength, holding your thighs down while your first orgasm of the night rips out, liquid squirting all over him.

Nanami lets you ride your orgasm out on his fingers and tongue, leaving slower, gentle licks and flicks on your clit and cunt. When your thrusting stops, he pulls away, a grin forming on his face now wet from your squirting, looking at the scene of liquid splattered on the bed sheets, the skin of your stomach and thighs, and your puffed, swollen clit.

You’re left panting, body now completely relaxed on top of the bed in an attempt to recollect yourself. You’re truthfully a bit in a state of shock, not only from how mind blowing it was to be eaten out by the Nanami Kento, but how fast it all happened. You weren’t normally one to reach an orgasm, let alone be so turned on and fucked good to squirt the way you did so quickly and easily— but you really shouldn’t be that surprised. Nanami Kento was definitely nothing remotely close to your ordinary hookup.

Nanami adjusts his body to sit back upright, undoing the last few buttons on his shirt before letting it fall onto the floor behind him. You can’t help but lick your lips at the sight of his now naked torso, his upper body somehow even more chiseled and built than what you fantasized it to be.

It leaves you wondering what other areas—specifically below the belt— will be even better than what your fantasies envisioned them to be.

“You made a mess.” Nanami’s tone is stern, yet simultaneously integrated with a hint of pride knowing he’s the complete reason why the mess is there in the first place.

You lift your head up, examining the damage done. He’s entirely correct— drops of your liquid drip down his chin, his chest, and ultimately join the damp bed sheets below.

“It’s your fault.”

“Maybe it is.” Nanami leans back in hovering over your face once more, leaving soft kisses on the side of your neck in between his words. “But you know, I think you should still be responsible for cleaning up after your own messes.”

Continuing to leave your neck with gentle kisses and nips, his hands work to swiftly undo the knot that binds your wrists together. The soreness of your arms bound together alleviates almost instantly when they fall onto the bed, allowing for a moment of peace and calmness to overtake your body.

Indisputably, it lasts just a moment and not even a second longer. Time was of the essence to Nanami, after all.

In a blink of an eye your body is flipped. You were now laying on top of Nanami, an arm wrapped around the back of your waist and the other lifting your chin up towards him once more.

“Lick it all clean off of me, and maybe you’ll get a reward you’ve been waiting for at the end.”

Nanami grips your chin, pulling your face in for another passionate kiss on your lips. A faintly salty flavour remains on his lips causing you to graze your tongue against his in the hopes for a better taste, and when you do you can’t help but to express your satisfaction through a small, moaning against him.

“My sweet, dirty doll.” Nanami smirks against your lips in between the kisses. “You like the taste of yourself that much, don’t you?”

You pull away, countering a smile back.

“I’ll like the taste of you better.”

Parting from his lips, you shuffle your body again to sit on your knees in between Nanami’s spread legs, his back now against the headboard behind him. Leaning forward to rest your upper body on his pelvis while your hands roam the muscles of his toned abdomen and forearms. You begin to trail down his body, slowly tracing with your tongue the liquid droplets across his neck and torso, cleaning and wiping them away from his skin and onto your tastebuds.

Your eyes flicker upwards, watching Nanami’s eyes pierce at your every action in awe observing you drag your tongue lower and lower across his body until your fingers start to play with the waistband of his pants. Your breasts push up against the now evident bulge in his pants, his cock throbbing for anything more you could give him— causing Nanami to desperately chew on the insides of his bottom lip to prevent himself from just pinning you back down on the bed and fucking you senseless already.

“You’ll let me taste you, won’t you, daddy ?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, and even through the eyeholes of the mask Nanami is struck by your request, hard in more places than one. “I want to make you feel so good you’ll cum in my mouth and I can taste how delicious you are.”

Unfastening the button of his pants, you bring your finger to slowly undo the zipper, teasingly brushing against his cock desperate to be released from its constriction past his briefs. The bulge is even bigger than you imagined now released from the one thicker layer of the fabric of his pants, making you gulp in anticipation.

“You want to make daddy feel good?” Nanami hisses, a hand sneaking up behind your head to tangle in your hair.

You tug at the rest of his bottoms, pulling down the remainder of his pants and briefs until they pooled to his ankles, kicked off and discarded with the other articles of clothing on the floor. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight before you— his veiny, erected cock standing proud, both extremely generous in length and girth.

Nanami definitely was in no way exaggerating earlier in the night when he used the numbers eleven and six to describe his cock.

A flurry of questions enter your mind: how was something of this caliber supposed to fit inside you? Down your throat? But how would something this large feel? Your cunt throbs at the imagination alone, subconsciously rubbing your legs together just the slightest.

There was only one way to find out the answer to your questions.

“You got so big and hard— just for me…” You whisper, wrapping a hand around the base only to let out a breathy exhale when you see how it’s not enough to even grip the entire circumference. “... I can’t wait to taste you…”

Gathering a pool of saliva inside your mouth, you let a trail of spit land just on the tip of his dick, covering the head with a new, sheen gloss. Your two hands begin spreading the saliva onto the remainder of his dick, slowly stroking up and down his shaft in what Nanami feels is an almost painfully agonizing pace.

It takes an immense amount of self control from Nanami to hold himself back again from just thrusting his hips upwards into your ajar mouth, jaw dropped simply due to how mesmerized you were by the shape and length of his cock. Unknowingly, your breath is hot, and mixed with the warmth of your hands wrapping tightly up and down makes it insanely difficult for Nanami to keep his composure intact. He wonders what you would look like if he just shoved his dick in your mouth right now, pushing far enough so his cock would protrude out of your cheek, maybe causing a tear or two to escape your eyes because you're choking on his cock, far too big for your tiny mouth.

But in this exact moment, all he can do is watch you, patiently waiting in anticipation of your next move and when you’ll free his throbbing cock from it’s imprisonment. He doesn’t see the need to dwell in imagination any further— he would make sure to see it play out soon enough in reality.

“Oh!” Your eyes go wide for a second, before a small smirk spreads across your face when you realize just what that unfamiliar feeling under the palm of your hands is. “I felt that… you’re thinking something nasty right now aren’t you?”

“I’m thinking about you .” Nanami groans out, voice caught in between your hands gently squeezing just a bit harder. “How pretty you’ll look when I fuck that cute little mouth of yours, making you choke on my cock until you cry.”

You let out a small giggle, grazing a thumb across the slit of his cock that causes another wince upon his face. A small ooze of precum seeps past the slit, and you can’t help but lick your lips at the sight.

“Do it then.” You lean forward, taking a single lick of the tip of his dick, eyes locked onto his pupils behind the mask while the salty taste bombards your tastebuds. “Fuck my pretty little mouth just made to suck your big cock.”

Your tongue slowly begins to swirl the head of his dick, a thumb coming in between to graze across the sensitive slit. You can feel a particular prominent vein rubbing down the shaft of his cock throb under your grasp once more, inspiring you to trace your tongue along it up and down in the hopes of calming it down.

But you and Nanami know all too well it doesn’t— in fact doing quite the opposite in reality. His cock becomes even more stiff at the sight of your tongue providing just a tease of what he needs, hungry and desperate for just some relief.

Nanami ultimately begins to think you're more of an angel instead of a fairy. A horny, beautiful, ethereal being that answers his silent pleas at last when you finally take his dick in your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the entire head, taking his length into your mouth and beginning to bob your head up and down. His dick is too big, your mouth only able to take barely half of his length, one hand working in its place to pump the remaining area your mouth is unable to reach.

The breath Nanami has been holding back finally escapes, eyes fluttering shut and head tilting back succumbing to the ecstasy of your tongue working in sync with your puckered lips, swirling around his shaft just perfectly every time his length enters the depths of your mouth. Nanami’s blown away at how good— really fucking good— your tongue works his cock, and he begins to become convinced maybe your mouth really was made to suck cock.

Yet, he thinks with a little help from him, you could make it an experience even better than ever before.

“You suck my cock so good, doll.” His hand lands gently on the top of your head, caressing it in encouragement briefly before it sneaks past to the back of your head again, tangling his fingers in your hair to pull it back and away from your face. “But I know you can do even better than this.”

The hand on the back of your head guides your pace, raising the speed of your head bobbing back and forth alongside the increase of spit formulating onto his cock, dribbling out the corners of your mouth. The sight of trails of spit coming down your chin releases an almost animalistic groan from Nanami, holding your head down just the slightest bit further than before and allowing the tip of his dick to meet the back of your throat.

Nanami holds your head there, watching your eyes begin to glisten looking right up at him. Your entire mouth is filled with more of his length than you could take, now being unable to even breathe properly, choking on his cock instead.

The sight is just as good as his imagination, perhaps even better . Messy, dirty, and sloppy— Nanami’s favourite type of blowjob, done effortlessly by you.

You gasp for air when Nanami releases your head, a trail of spit connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his cock. A smile curves on your lips looking up at Nanami’s expression above you, chest rising up and down in the growing lack of steady breaths, a bead of sweat rolling down from the side of forehead, teeth gritted, and a hand pumping his now wet cock.

“You like choking on cock, don’t you?” His free hand comes up to grab just under your chin, lifting your face up towards him. “That little cunt of yours is probably just dripping wet after taking a fat cock down your throat.”

Your hand trails down your body, feeling the wetness of the dripping saliva and sheen of sweat beginning to coat your body. A different type of wetness is found when your fingers reach between your legs, however, enough present to drench your entire cunt.

“I love choking on daddy’s cock…” You moan out, slipping a finger effortlessly in your own lubricated pussy. “...it turns me on so much, makes me so horny for more.”

Nanami curses under his breath, subconsciously pumping his cock faster watching you whimper and whine at your own finger fucking your cunt.

“Open that fucking slutty mouth again.” Nanami commands. “You’re going to let me fuck that throat of yours until my cum is shooting down your throat— and add another fucking finger in your pussy while you're at it.”

You oblige without hesitation, slipping another finger inside your cunt while opening your mouth once more. Nanami’s hand rejoins the back of your head, holding you steady before sliding his cock into your mouth.

It becomes incredibly difficult to breathe, the little air you do have used on moaning against his cock repeatedly thrusting without mercy into your mouth. The head of his cock continuously attacks the back of your throat, now sore from the consistent assault but you can do nothing but take it, a situation that makes you throb between your legs.

You were being used just like a doll, his doll— and in this moment there was nothing more you wanted than that.

Stars fill your vision, and you’re not entirely sure if its from how good your cunt feels, fingers knuckles deep fucking yourself, or if its the sound of Nanami’s moans filling the air growing louder and louder as his hips start to lose their pace. Perhaps it's the combination of both, unwinding the familiar knot in your stomach that makes you release a loud, muffled moan against his dick, your fingers frantically riding out your high.

The vibration of your moan against his dick is the last straw for Nanami, letting out one last groan before shooting his ropes of white cum down your throat, the salty flavour bombarding your tastebuds. It’s a taste you’ve been dying for, and you savour every last drop, swallowing it all down your throat.

“Show me.” Nanami pulls his cock away from your mouth, instantly gripping your chin one again, forcing you to open your mouth. “Show me you swallowed it all.”

You lick your lips, before opening your mouth wide open, sticking your tongue proudly out to display the cleanness of the pad of your tongue.

“Two out of seven.” Nanami smiles, leaving a kiss on your lips that’s tender and comforting before the grip on your chin firms once again. “Five more baby, we’re only just getting started.”

#Nanami #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami reader #nanami jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

Text

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

this drabble was inspired by binnie’s outfit from the hello stranger vid and oh also! we are finally getting changbin’s thighs on this acct dedicated to them teehee

Part 1

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, past reader x han jisung

Genre: smut n’ a lil fluff

Tags: (for this part) softdom!changbin, sub!reader, undergroundrapper!changbin, chan, felix and jisung side characters, hook-up, scraping knees & mentions of blood, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), gagging, protected sex, praise kink, slight breeding kink, orgasm denial and edging (f receiving), begging, fingering (f receiving), squirting, use of handcuffs, cockwarming at the end

Word count: 4.9k

Chapters

PART 1 | PART 2

gif creds to @iconicspearb ♡

2am, and you felt euphoric. Like a fucking cloud. Even though it was typical, there really were no other words that could describe it. Music was blasting on several speaks mounted to the walls and the ceiling. The bass was booming at such a low frequency you felt it reverberating in your chest--or maybe that was your heart.

You had been shoved up against sweaty bodies for nearly four hours now, and your friends Chan and Felix hadn’t told you if they planned on leaving at any time soon. Not like you minded. Nothing felt better than a feeling like this. In a place like this, you could forget the rest of the world for a little bit; who you were and what you needed to do. The buzz in the room was infectious. Everyone in the room threw their bodies together, clashing in one big, beautiful mess.

After four hours, you still wouldn’t get tired of it. Next to you, Chan and Felix were bouncing up and down with you, thrashing their heads to the rapid fire syllables spat by the rappers. Your ears would ring during every tiny moment of silence.

“How much longer do you wanna stay for?!” Your scratched voice called to your friends.

“SpearB hasn’t come on yet!! We have to see him!”

“SpearB?!”

The widest grin attacked Chan’s face, flashing his dimples. “Yeah! I heard that he’s insane!”

Felix threw his arm over your shoulder to dance with him and the two of you fell into a rhythm, shouting over the lyrics of the rapper on stage: you had seen him dozens of times, Chan and him were even on a first name basis.

You new his name too, but that was because you had plenty experience screaming it out for him...both at concerts and in private. Jisung was his name. He was the one that turned you on to fuck buddies. God, he was way too cocky for you to ever to consider anything else.

He dished out out of his signature winks while he buried his teeth into his lip.

You wondered if you would be going home with him again tonight. Not like you minded. The way that he would suck on your clit was unreal.

“--THANK YOU FOR COMING OUT!” Jisung bellowed into the mic, leaping off some structure and launching himself into the air.

You and your two friends cheered for him and clapped for him until your hands turned red. He was cocky...but he was sure as hell talented.

“SpearB is coming next!!!” Felix shook your shoulders in his excitement.

A couple stage hands changed around the stage a little bit by moving around a couple speakers, adding a smoke machine, setting out a new computer at the little table in center stage.

“He-he’s gonna LIVE MIX ON THE STAGE” Chan’s eyes widened.

“He’s gonna what!?” There was almost nothing left of your voice.

“JUST WAIT AND SEE.”

The lights dimmed and Felix and Chan clung to your arms, nearly squeezing the life out of them.

If he was this of a big deal to them, he must be something special.

He stepped out a black shadow, swirls of smoke at his feet. He hadn’t even said anything yet, but his aura was massive. The lights rose slightly so you could see his face better: smoky brown eyes, light brown hair that was nearly silver. He wore a thick silver chain around his neck, contrasting with the rest of his darkly colored clothes. Most of all, your eyes were drawn to his thighs, perfectly shaped and curved under his pants, toned and thick. On his fingers he wore bands of sliver rings.

As soon as his fingers touched the keyboard, Chan and Felix lost their minds clawing at your arms. You had never seen the two of them so giddy.

He didn’t even look at the audience at first, like they weren’t even there. With the tap of his fingers he started making a beat; it was piercing and catchy with snares and 808′s vibrating the room. He had a small keyboard next to him that he used, the silver glimmer from his rings reflected off the stage lights--they were nearly blinding.

The crowd started moving to his beat which he sped up gradually creating a type of tension that you could only really describe like the mere seconds before a climax.

He rose the mic to his mouth after licking his lips tantalizingly slow. He finally let himself look at the crowd. With the mic to his mouth, his eyes met yours, striking you with electricity. Even though his backing music was ridiculously fast, he sauntered to the front of the stage, not breaking with your gaze. This time you definitely knew it was your heart that was throbbing in your chest—not the music.

Chan and Felix were clawing onto you even harder, but you couldn’t feel a thing.

He was fucking mesmerizing.

He hadn’t even said a word.

He crouched down to be eye level with you with his gaze still deathly fierce. Every single inch of him oozed with confidence and unbridled mystery.

Almost like he was teasing you, he shot up and away, turning into his mic, his gruff voice growling over the start of his lyrics.

He never looked at you again for the rest of the performance. You found yourself aching for his eyes on your body again, but he never gave it to you.

No one had ever made you as soaked as he made you.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Aren’t you glad that we stayed, Y/n?” Chan nudged you hard once the three of you had left the club.

The chill of the winter stung at the back of your sweaty neck wonderfully. It felt amazing compared to how stuffy it had been in there for the past several hours.

“--how he looked at you?? Y/n, that was...” Felix laughed out a little in disbelief.

You dig your hands further into your coat pockets. Just above you, tiny flakes of snow started to fall. You huffed out, your breath was wispy floating in the air. You were still getting over it all. How could he have looked at you like that and then pretended that you didn’t even exist? What kind of sick shit was that?

Chan ran in front of you to skid on a patch of ice with child-like giggles.

“You okay?” Felix asked, linking his arm through yours. He was always the best at reading you.

“--yeah, it was just strange. There was something about him that...”

“--I mean, he’s really hot. I’ll give him that.”

You chuckled a little. “You think so too?”

“I’d be blind if I didn’t think so.”

“I don’t even know him...but why did he look at me like that...like he did?”

“I dunno.” Felix shrugged. “We should catch up with Chan before he actually slips.”

“Heh, you’re probably right.”

“You just gonna head back home? It’s really late.”

“Yeah, I’m super tired after all of that.”

“Want one of us to walk you home?”

You pondered for a minute, eyes cast up a little to the sky. The night had turned perfectly quiet during the early hours of the morning. Maybe a walk by yourself could do you some good.

“I’m fine. Thanks for offering though.”

“Text us when you get back?” Your friend gave your arm a little squeeze with a little worry dancing across his freckled cheeks.

“Of course.”

“Okay...don’t forget!”

“I won’t!” You waved your friends away just as you reached the intersection separating your path from theirs.

You sucked in a deep inhale, letting the cold air burn a little in your lungs. The sensation snapped you out of your yawn perfectly. It was just a few more blocks away and you knew the way well. Two rights, one left, two straight ahead.

A blur started to cover your eyes and one more yawn escaped your lips.

Or was it one right and two lefts?

The street lights blurred into green and white lines.

I should be there shouldn’t I?

Behind you the horn honked, loud and shrill.

You thought to yourself, what is someone doing honking so loud at night?

“Watch out!!” A hand grabbed at your arm and jerked you back hard.

You were definitely awake when your body crashed to the cement sidewalk knees first. A burning pain seethed at the skin of your knees.

“Fuck! Sorry, I didn’t mean to pull that hard--”

At first you saw your scraped knees, then you saw him...finally looking at you again.

“What the hell are you doing walking into the middle of the street, didn’t you see the light?”

“Are you fucking stalking me?” Was the first thing your brilliant brain could think to ask.

He scoffed. “You’re welcome for saving your life? You were stumbling around... are you okay? Did you take something?”

Before you knew it you were surrounded by him and his friends: inspecting you for any signs.

“No, I am not on anything.” You hissed. “I just...I think that I’m tired an--wait...where are we?”

“That tired huh?” He helped you to your feet, making you wince. “Shit, you’re bleeding.” His hand lingered on yours.

“Oh. Yeah, it’s fine. Honestly it’s my own fault.” Your tone dropped. “I should have had one of them walk me home.”

“--You need someone to walk you home?”

“No, I got it, thanks. I’m just over that way.” You took two shaky steps forward, your knees immediately buckling in pain.

“No-listen, my place is over there, I can help you get cleaned up--you’re not gonna find any taxis back to your place at this time of night.”

“Are you luring me right now?”

“What?! No!”

You chuckled a little. It was a bit funny how different he was off stage compared to on. You almost forgot how embarrassingly soaked he had made you before.

“Trust me.” He nodded to his friends and they split, leaving the two of you alone under the flurrying snow. “You coming?”

You tentatively took his hand. Funny. This was kind of how it started with Jisung too. All of them were the fucking same. You pitied yourself for thinking that he would be any different.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Changbin, as he introduced himself, lived in a modest apartment with three roommates in a place with creaky floorboards and walls of painted over brick. He swore up and down that there was heating in there, but it didn’t feel like it. He kept very few things in his room save for some things that looked like synthesizers and a TV. The two of you had to tip-toe to his room. He warned you that nothing could be kept secret in that apartment.

“Here, you should clean it first to get anything out of it. Then put this on it, you don’t wanna get infected or anything.”

“oh. Thank you--” You reached out, but instead he knelt at the edge of the bed at your knees. He tore the whole in your tights even wider to start dabbing at your scratches.

“Hey! What the--”

“--They’re already torn. What’s the use in them now?”

He got to work, being as careful as he could tending to you. His hands gently held your leg still. You watched as he did everything. Being this close again, you remembered. Those little silvery and wavy trellises of his hair...he really was gorgeous.

Changbin’s hand smoothed down your calf once he was done, tickling you slightly.

“All done. Better?”

“Yeah...thank you.” You shied away. After seeing this other side of him you didn’t quite know what to think.

“I’d love for you to stay but, seeing as you thought that I was luring you before--”

“--Have I met you before?”

“Me?” Changbin unclipped his earrings. “I don’t think so. But...that’s interesting. I was thinking the same thing earlier. There’s something about you that I recognize.”

“--That’s why you looked at me like that?”

“I looked at you like that, because I thought that you looked sexy.”

You felt a heat rise in your cheeks. There was something especially hard to ignore about how gentle he had been with you before and how his eyes seemed to devour you now recalling the memory. It was...different. Maybe he wasn’t like all the rest of them.

“I guess you must not think I still am if you’re trying to send me home.” You edged him on. It was undeniable how good it felt to have him give you his undivided attention.

“I’m sending you home because it’s the respectful thing to do.”

“That’s honorable.”

“You rather me do something else?”

“You want me to continue being respectful?”

“Do you want to be?”

Changbin paced the length of his room, cradling his neck up. “Stop playing fucking games and tell me what it is you want.”

You thought that him performing was enough to send you over. Seeing him mad was something entirely different. You knew exactly what you wanted; what your body wanted.

You narrowed your eyes. “Obviously. I want you.”

You saw it in his eyes first. It was like the first spark of a flame right before he was set ablaze. All you had to do was say it.

He tore his jacket off and launched himself on top of you, crashing his lips needily into yours. His mouth was addictive, perfectly soft, but running over yours roughly over and over. He kissed you, starving, breathing exhales into your mouth. He wasted no time meeting his tongue with yours, twisting around it slowly, forcing you to slow your pace. He gave you everything at once, then slowly started taking it away again. Changbin sucked on your bottom lip slightly, then pulled. He returned, kissing you again agonizingly slow. He let his hands cascade down your sides, sliding them up your shirt. Further down, he wedged his thigh between your legs, pressing in and issuing a little whimper from you.

“I like to take things slowly...I hope you don’t mind.” He kissed down your jaw to your neck, taking care of the skin he craved here. He pressed harder with his leg.

You cried out before grinding your hips into his thigh hopelessly seeking some kind of pleasure. When you did so, the friction of your clit was just enough.

“So fucking needy.” His warm breath spilled into your ear. “You just can’t wait to have me, can you? Can’t wait to have me filling you up, fucking you deep inside, stretching you out...just like you want to?” He painted more kisses into your neck. “You’re not getting it yet. Not until I say so.”

“Please...” You felt pathetic grinding on him so hard, but you couldn’t stop, not when it felt so good.

“Awww.” He tutted. “Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Mmmm...” You dug your fingers into his arms to pull yourself even closer to him.

He scoffed out a laugh and moved himself off of you. “Quit doing my job for me.” He smirked, then reached down to your legs where he coursed his hands up your inner thighs right where you were most delicate. His fingers reached your throbbing and drenched pussy properly wet through your panties from grinding on him. He ghosted over your clit, letting his fingers fall up and down just slightly, never giving you the satisfaction. Your whole body jerked just for him. Wordlessly, he tore a hole again with one continuous rip.

“fuck. You’re so wet for me.” He wondered at your body. There he was, looking at you as he had done before. His thumb permitted you a couple soft circles to your clit as you helplessly grinded into his hand. His hands looked beautiful teasing your pussy with his silver rings.

“I’ve got something special I wanna use on you.” Changbin rubbed down harder with one hand and drew a pair of shiny metal handcuffs from his beside with the other. “Pretty right?” He twisted them around.

Seeing them instantly made your whole core cry out in desire for him even more.

“Can I?”

You nodded quickly and even provided for him your wrists. As expected they bit with a cold, but how they made you feel...so helpless and usable was euphoric. Changbin rose your arms above your head, then removed the remains of your tights, skirt and underwear. By contrast, he was still completely clothed, but you could see his dick, hard and swelling with girth, pressing up against his pants.

His hands explored all over your legs while you squirmed. The touch of his skin on yours was hypnotic. You had already felt his fingers, so you figured he wouldn’t let you feel them again soon. He drew little scribbles into your skin, sometimes pressing hard, grabbing at you in greedy handfuls.

“You’re so gorgeous Y/n, so pretty for me, so pretty tied up and squirming. You’re such a good girl...I’m gonna make you cum harder than you can even imagine.”

Your little whimpers came out along with a string of explicatives while he teased at you relentlessly, still not going to touch your clit again. Your hands trashed together a little in the cuffs, the cold digging into you. You couldn’t do anything about it. Your hips writhed when his fingers traced up to your belly, then up to your nipples to pinch at them until they were painfully hard. Your whole body craved him so badly everywhere.

“fuck--please stop, please--” you panted out, “touch me.”

Back down again went his hands, and you watched as he devilishly smiled at his work. “I said, not until I say so.” Suddenly his fingers slid right into your pussy with ease. He had tricked you. You nearly screamed at the feeling if he had not slapped his hand over your mouth. “be fucking quiet.”

Changbin pumped in and out at his favored slow pace, curling his fingers up perfectly to rub at your g-spot. Your hands were still useless, so you bit down hard on your lip to keep your moans from escaping.

“You like it this way don’t you? You’re taking my fingers so good, beautiful. Keep being a good girl and I’ll let you cum okay?”

“Mmm-yes, please.” Your words were breathy.

He moved on to fucking you with his fingers relentlessly. He would switch between pumping you full to then pulling out and robbing you of all feeling. As soon as he could sense your walls tightening, he would pull out, eyes greedily watching as you would fall apart from his edging.

Your body betrayed you while you were being cruelly teased and your mind went blank as he brought you back and fourth each time. A tension deep down inside you built every time he would curl his fingers--any moment you knew that you could explode if he could only just let you. You even considered letting your hands fall to rub your needy clit yourself, but you had more than enough of punishing.

“You’re doing so well.” Changbin soothed you at last. “Do you wanna cum for me?”

“Yes.” You sighed out with utter exhaustion.

“Alright. You deserve it.” He kissed into the skin right under your bellybutton where your shirt had tucked up a little.

Finally he rammed his thumb against your clit to give it simulation as he continued fucking into you with his fingers, giving careful attention to your sensitive bud as he wiggled his fingers with speed. The metal on his fingers grazed you too inside, and you felt yourself tightening around him once again. That same tension gathered low and it was so intense and unfamiliar that it scared you. Your back arched as you felt it getting closer..closer...

You cried out, “Changbin, I--”

“Just let it all go, babygirl.” He spread out your legs farther.

You came with such ferocity that you felt lightheaded: you squirted hard with your release. It took every ounce of your will not to make a sound, only letting shallow gasps escape. Changbin removed his fingers as you came, rubbing your clit as you did, giving it a couple slaps where it was swollen. Tears fell down the sides of your face as your whole body shook with each release and your hips buckled together.

Changbin laughed out in awe at the shaking mess in front of him. You felt your whole body flush with heat, and you couldn’t bear to look at him--you had never done anything like that before in your whole life. In fact you didn’t really know what it was. You hid your flustered face under your arms.

“Fuck, that was so fucking hot.” You heard him chuckle. “Why are you hiding? Hey, come back--”

He jingled with the keys and let your wrists free, which were also throbbing with a bit of pain. He kissed both of them one after the other.

“Are you okay?”

You let yourself look at him and you noticed that his shirt was splattered wet from droplets of your liquids.

“Fuck--I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was--”

He laughed softly then crawled over you again. His hands ran up and down your body still in aftershocks. “You don’t have to apologize.” He pressed his lips into yours. “I’m guessing that was your first time squirting, huh?”

“I-I think so.”

“Did it feel good?”

“It felt...so good.”

“I fulfilled my promise then didn’t I?” He caressed the sides of your face to give you even more careful kisses; they weren’t needy anymore, but this time more caring and passionate. Hell, he didn’t even know you but he kissed you like he loved you.

“You want me to do you now?”

“Not yet, you’re still coming down, I don’t wanna ruin this for you.”

“ ‘Kay.” This time you were the one to lean in to keep kissing him. His lips curled into a smile against yours.

Changbin unbuttoned your cropped shirt, then took off his all of his clothes after. He laid down next to you, both of you completely bare and the warmth of his mouth found yours once again. Maybe it was just because you had just cum because of him, but the sense of closeness that you felt to him made you feel impossibly safe. You could have kissed him like this forever.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered onto your lips between kisses.

You slung one of your legs over his hips and his member twitched on your stomach. You had come down enough.

“My turn now?”

“I wouldn’t object to that.” He grinned.

The bed sheets crinkled a little as you descended farther down the bed and he sat his back against the wall. You got your first proper chance to look at his full length: veiny and perfectly thick, dripping just a little with pre-cum. You could only imagine what it would feel like inside you. Changbin’s eyes followed as you wrapped your hand around him and teased the tip with your pointer finger. You licked fat strokes up and down the sides, feeling him hardening even more. The saliva gathered in your mouth seeing the head grow redder and redder. His chest shook with a broken sigh. You gave him one teasing squeeze that made him wince beautifully.

“Keep going.” He commanded, raking his fingers through your hair and gripping there.

“I don't need you to tell me that.” You hushed and flicked the tip of your tongue over his tip.

After he got to do all of his teasing, how come you didn’t get to do some too?

“Don’t make me make you.” He growled.

“Ooo scary.”

Your hand began to pump him and he relaxed, exhaling out with the trailing of his voice hiding his soft moans. Your free hand dug into the skin of his thigh, letting the sharp of your nails pepper little pink crescents. They were so perfect, you rewarded them with kisses and little bites while your hand kept pumping. Changbin’s fingers dug into your scalp needily.

He hissed out, “Give me your mouth.”

A surge of confidence swelled within you knowing he was completely in your control. “You aren’t even going to say please?”

“I don’t say please.”

“Then maybe I won’t suck you off then?”

A flash of betrayal ran across his smoky eyes. “What?!”

“Fine. I won’t make you say it.” You smirked and took him in generously, deeply, pushing down your tongue and taking him down your throat. You were just a little too ambitious: his length made you gag, but you swallowed down the reflex. Changbin’s head fell back and hit the wall.

“fuck yes.” The words escaped his tongue.

You grabbed at him and squeezed, hard, twisting him and flicking your wrist with each turn. He was delightfully hard in your mouth, and with each step closer he gasped out faster and faster. Your head bopped in your rhythm, still taking him in deeper with each move, chasing gags away just as fast as you got a new one. You would stop for a few seconds to let him quiver in your hand and he would groan out once your warmth disappeared.

“Not-not yet,” He gasped out and squirmed, then pushed you lightly off of him. He scrambled over to the beside again, throwing the drawer open and finding a condom which he tore open with his teeth, then impatiently rolled it over his pink length. He threw his body off the bed, grabbing at your hips to align you with the edge of the bed and situating himself between your legs. He was just as impatient when he took some lube into his hand to rub over his dick curled against his stomach. Changbin coaxed his dick into your opening, leaning down over your body with forearms resting on both sides of your head. Once the two of you were connected, you both let out sighs with the feeling consuming you. He filled you up so wholly, so deeply, it even hurt just a little bit, kind of like the first time.

“Baby you’re so tight.” He thrust in slow at first, exactly how he liked it. It felt fucking amazing when he stretched you out grinding his hips even in little to let your clit feel the sensation as well. He attached his lips with yours to lend them his warmth. Your arms latched around his neck and your legs around his waist as you pulled him in even closer. The heat from his sweating chest emanated on you. He started to pick up his pace, giving your g-spot attention again as he angled himself above you.

The two of you sucked in each other’s air as it lasted between your lips for only a few seconds. You moaned directly into his mouth hoping that it was enough to muffle the sound and he returned back with his own arousal spilling all over you and sticking on your tongue.

Changbin pulled away to shove your legs together and press against his torso, making you even tighter. He shut his eyes upon feeling it, focusing on nothing else but his thrusts. His forehead gathered with little beads of sweat and one fell down his brow.

His name flew off of your mouth naturally as he fucked into you, and your second orgasm pooled. His toned arms flexed from where he grabbed onto the bed and he choked out little airy gasps before announcing that he was about to cum.

“Cum inside me baby, fill me up...I’m all yours.”

Upon hearing your words, he set himself loose, pounding into you with astonishing speed doubling over you as he came, leaving himself inside to throb against your walls. There was something so primal inside of you that craved to feel his cum inside of you knowing that he wanted you, that he desired you and that you could unscrew him until he was vulnerable like this, all for you.

“Can we...stay like this for a little while?”

He chuckled a bit, and swept a few strands of your hair off of your face.

“You like how it feels like this then?”

“...yes.”

“Okay beautiful. Anything that you like, can I come back up first? Kinda hard to do it like this.”

You nodded and let himself get situated sitting on the bed, resting himself against the wall once more. Your bodies shivered as you sat back down on his softening dick, but it was the feeling of being connected to him that you craved. He traced his fingers up and down your back, his eyes full of admiration.

“You’re perfect.” He echoed.

“You hardly even know me.” Your fingers twirled his curly hair.

“You’re perfect.”

“Thank you...and...thank you for making me feel so good.”

“My pleasure,” He laughed out the words, “And yours too I guess.”

“Very funny.”

There he was, looking at you again like that. Like he loved you. He didn’t even know you. He didn’t know that things you had done; who you were.

“I’d like to get to know you though. If you’ll let me.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

AHHHH so writing this I kinda fell in love with the potential for this plot, esp with the stuff with the readers history with Jisung???? SHould I make this a series???? Softdom!bin romancing us?? Let me knowwwww

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years ago

Text

mr. shelby's secretary [CEO AU]

[GIF by @maskingfragility]

— pairing: Modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

— summary : Prompt request 1) “Can you shut up for once in your life?” 2) “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.” 3)“You’re insane,” “You love me,” “Not right now I don’t.” 4) "I think you might be my soulmate," as requested by @sighonahurricane and @screechingexpertpruneneck [ Hope you like it. I decided to club both the requests into one as the prompts were almost the same ones.🤍]

— warnings: none

[Masterlist]

You had been an exceptional student, all through school, then all through college and then had begun working for one of the most famous firms in London. Due to unforeseen circumstances, when your father passed away due to a terminal illness, you had to quit your job in London and move to Birmingham to take care of your mother.

Birmingham was an altogether different world, atleast as compared to London, but it was a good change for you. Even luckier for you was the fact that just weeks into moving to Birmingham City, you interviewed for a secretary position for CEO of Shelby Brothers LTD, Thomas Shelby and you had gotten the job.

You had been now working for him for over three months now, but the journey had definitely not been easy. You still remembered how your first day at work had been an absolute disaster. You had arrived on time, at 9 am. You still had an hour to go before Tommy entered his office at 10 am, and there were a few stacks of papers that you had to clear.

Before starting your work, you had decided to get yourself a mug of coffee to boost up your day but while you were at the pantry, sitting and sipping your coffee, your phone beeped. When you looked at the message, colour drained from your face.

Thomas Shelby had a meeting at 10, and thus, he had decided he would come in early, and he hadn't found you in your adjoining cabin, and neither were the papers from his room that he wanted gone were actually gone. The colour drained from your face when you saw his text— in three words did he write— get in here, ASAP.

The hearing that you received from Tommy that day, you doubted if you had retained your job after the first day, but strangely, Tommy didn't fire you. That was the only time you actually made him angry though and things slowly changed after that. Thomas Shelby began relying on you more and more as the days passed. He even took your opinions, or let you select the suits he was going to wear on events, without even expressing any doubt on you.

For Tommy, you were like a breath of fresh air in times he needed it the most. You were exceptionally good at your work, but what he liked secretly about you was the fact that you were good at handling him— be it his anger, that you took almost gracefully, without even bothering to spite him back. You listened to him scream and yell at you, but you never lost your own temper. Or be it the recognition of his tiny needs, like when he was in a dire need of coffee.

Tommy would be lying now if he said that he didn't need you; he was now completely dependant on you. Everyday, when he came to work, the first thing he looked at was your smiling face through the glass panels of your adjoining cabin, before he disappeared into his office, and there lay his mug of piping hot black coffee without sugar, and a sandwich, or pancakes, you knowing well aware that the man came to office on an empty stomach. He would call you into his cabin atleast fifty times in a day.

Few months into you working for Mr. Shelby, you were finally growing to despise the man less and less, and learn to get accustomed to his cold outer exterior, and get warmed up to the minutest reflections of the gentleness he hid inside of him.

Tommy was getting impatient, as he leaned against his mahogany desk, his shirt rolled up by the sleeves up to his elbows as he rested the elbows against the surface of the desk. A lit cigarette rested in his left hand, as he stared at the rain clogged glass window in his office. It was raining heavily, and he wondered if it was the weather that had you actually running almost two hours late when you never were late.

He swiped his palm over his face, worry gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He knew you weren't like that. In fact, you were one of the most punctual person he had actually met. He stood up, dabbing the lit end of the cigarette into his ashtray, before he grabbed his coat and walked out of his office. Mary, one of the employees who were friends with you, was outside, talking to one of the interns.

"Mary? Have you heard from [Y/N]? She isn't in yet," Tommy asked, and the woman turned, her eyes almost widening for Tommy seldom spoke to anyone in the office, unless required.

"Mr. Shelby, uh, sir, I don't know. I haven't seen her in today, I was also wondering��" she began, but before she could complete her sentence, impatient Tommy had cut her off.

"Mary, can you go through the company records and give me her address?"

"Definitely, Mr. Shelby," the woman drawled, as she hunched over her system, her fingers tapping against the keypad as she pulled out your address from the company records. She noted the address down on a slip of paper, and looked up at him, "Mr. Shelby, I can ask someone to check on her if you'd like? Maybe due to the weather, her car broke down."

"It's okay, Mary, I'm already headed out, just hand me the address," he impatiently threw out his palm, and the woman placed the parchment in his hands, knowing well as to not say anything else. Tommy turned around and slowly began walking out of the building towards the elevator and pressed the button.

The rains were not going to die down anytime soon, that was something that Tommy noted as he brought the car to a halt outside the address that Mary had handed him. He squinted his eyes, eyeing the plain looking building that stood in front of him, eyeing the first floor that you occupied. He wondered if you had already left for he couldn't see your car anywhere in sight.

Finally, he pulled out his umbrella from the back seat of the car, and stepped out into the lashing rains, dashing through the puddles towards your apartment where an elderly woman was at the door, shielded from the rains underneath the front porch.

"Can I help you?" The woman said in a kind voice, as she moved out of the way, and let Tommy fix himself underneath the porch to find a shelter from the rains.

"I'm looking for,uh, Miss [Y/N]. She works for me," Tommy muttered, under his breath.

"Oh, dear. You're Thomas Shelby? The CEO of Shelby Brothers LTD?" The woman's eyes began glistening with excitement and Tommy nodded, his eyebrows creasing into a hint of a frown. He wasn't here for a fangirl moment.

"Is she here?" Tommy's impatience was a good enough answer for the woman, who nodded and immediately informed him that you had already left for work over an hour ago.

This did nothing to cease the worry pooling inside of him. If you had already left for work, then why weren't you in office? He pulled out his phone, placing his palm on the screen as though shielding it from the woman's unwanted, prying eyes, hoping you had left him a message but you hadn't.

"Thank you," he finally muttered, as he ran out into the rain again, and this time, he didn't even bother using the umbrella, letting himself get drenched from the porch to the car.

Turning the ignition on, he slowly pulled the car on the road, and he started driving in a slow pace, his eyes on the road in front of him.

As if someone had been listening in on his thoughts secretly and had decided to act on it, Tommy brought the car to an abrupt half, applying the brakes. There you were, right in front of his eyes, and Tommy couldn't help but let himself smile warmly, after ages.

From what he could see, it was clear what had taken you so long. You had your heels in your hands, your body was drenched in the rain, your hair sticking to your face. Your knees had mud on it, but that didn't deter you from running about the muddy road, helping the elderlies out of the bus that had broken down.

He saw, as you took the shopping bags from one of the older men, and gave your arm to him that he took and you helped him step out of the abandoned vehicle, and you helped him cross the muddy road, where the tyres of the bus had gotten stuck.

He watched you for a few minutes, leaning back against the car seat, his hand flying to his wet hair. After a few seconds, he decided to quietly head back to the office, without even letting you know that he had seen you.

About an hour later, you rushed into your office. You had managed to head back home and change into a fresh set of clothing, and put your dead phone on charge. Now you were back, and your heart was strumming inside your chest with fear, you knew Tommy would be mad— very mad.

Slowly, you brought your fisted palm to his door and knocked twice.

"Come in," Tommy called out from the inside; he sounded much calmer than what you had expected him to be, and this made you frown. You had expected him to be snarling. Timidly, you made your way up to his desk, your fingers nervously toying with each other as you looked at him. He had his laptop in front of him, and his fingers skimmed over the keypad. He gave you one glance, and looked back at the screen once again. His ignorance made your heart churn.

"Mr. Shelby?" You asked.

"Yes, [Y/N]?" Tommy looked at you, through his round frames.

"Aren't you angry I'm late?" You blurted, mentally cursing yourself, silently.

He looked at you, amused. Your innocence made his heart flutter but he wasnt going to admit it anytime soon. He noticed your body posture, you were standing like a meek little lamb, afraid of him. He stood up from the leather chair he was sitting on and placed his glasses on his desk, before he moved around his desk to where you were. He then fixed himself directly in front of you and gave you a smile, "Why would I be angry? Go take an off today, [Y/N]. You deserve it."

You were confused by his sudden behaviour but you dared not complain, or question him lest he changed his mind. You gave him a haphazard smile as you dashed out of his office, weirded out by the change in his behaviour.

It was Saturday night, and it meant staying up late with a good Netflix series on, and some good bingewatching and munching on snacks for you. Your mother had already gone to bed, for she was an early sleeper. You had managed to sneak into the kitchen, and heat up the leftovers from lunch; the pasta your mum had prepared for you.

You turned your laptop on, letting it rest against your belly as you began browsing through the newest Netflix collection, trying to settle on a movie, when there was a buzz in your phone. You squinted your eyes when your phone started glowing. Your hand reached out as you grabbed it and began reading the SMS from your boss.

Thomas: be at Richard's at 7 in the eve. Got some really imp clients coming over. will be needing you to take the notes.

You frowned, there went your Sunday weekend plans down the drain; not that you had any solid plans, other than Netflix.

Sunday came by faster than you had imagined it to be, and you were standing in front of your wardrobe, weighing the different outfits that you had to fix a suitable one for the dinner at Richard's. Richard's was one of the posher restaurants, and you wanted to look your best, even if it was just business.

Finally, even though your bedroom looked like a typhoon had occurred inside your room, you were able to pick out a dress. It was just the right amount of professional, and casual. It was navy blue, the neck cut deep enough but yet, it wasn't trashy one bit. Once you had changed into it, you admired your form in the mirror, secretly content by the way it hung across your curves, ecen accentuating your curves. You couldn't help but secretly think of Thomas Shelby's reaction when he saw you in this dress.

You were startled when your phone started ringing, pulling you out of your not so in innocent thoughts about your own boss. When you saw his name flash on your lockscreen, you couldn't help but frown. Reluctantly, you tapped on the talk icon, flinging the phone to your ears, "Yes, Mr. Shelby?"

"Grey or black? Red tie or navy blue? I can't fucking decide what to wear. Why is it the fucking weekend [Y/N]. I don't fucking know what to wear," he sounded exasperated and worked up on the other side of the phone and you couldn't help but chuckle silently, silently enjoying this. You knew this would happen.

"The grey with the blue tie, Mr. Shelby, you can make any girl crazy in the grey tux of yours," you smiled, aimlessly drawing your fingers through your hair. You didn't know how you got that courage to openly flirt with him, but you didn't stop yourself from doing it. What suprised you was the fact that Tommy only let you do it. After a minute of silence, he hummed and you could hear him practically pull his tux off the hanger and he murmured, "the grey one it is then."

You kept the phone to your ear, not wanting to disconnect even though he wasn't speaking to you. Oddly enough, even in the silence that lingered on that call, you felt a sense on intimacy, something that you didn't want to let go off, as you grabbed your lipstick and using your free hand, began applying it delicately to your lips.

"What are you wearing?" Tommy's voice reached your ears, and you couldn't help but bite into the insides of your cheeks, feeling giddy in your chest.

"Navy blue dress I wore at the office party, Mr. Shelby. I can change if you want, it's a little too much, don't you think?" You nervously babbled.

"No, keep it on. It compliments my tie."

You smiled upon listening to his words, and just like that, without a parting, Tommy disconnected, sliding his phone into his pocket, his fingers toying with the fabric of his navy blue tie. Even if he was bent of wearing the red one silently, he was now going to switch to the blue one, just because you were wearing blue.

"Miss, do you have a reservation?" The manager asked you, and you smiled courteously.

"Yes, it should be under a Mr. Thomas Shelby?" You replied, and the man immediately nodded and his eyes began scanning through the contents of the register in front of him.

"Ah, you must be Miss [Y/N]. Please follow me, we are delighted to have you," he slowly turned away from you, and you began following him through the open air restaurant, where archaic white gazebos stood tall, adorned with fairy lights, and inside the gazebos were comfortable tables and dine in facilities.

Tommy was finally in sight. He was at the farthest gazebo that stood directly beside the narrow stream, that shone due to the moonlight falling on it.

It wasn't Tommy that captured your attention though, it was the woman dressed in a beautiful red evening dress, her perfectly toned legs covered in sheer black stockings. Her long black hair fell lusciously over her shoulders as she threw back her head and laughed at something Thomas probably said. What made you a tiny bit of jealous was the fact that the two of them looked like they were long time friends; Tommy rarely smiled, and especially never in the open.

You cleared your throat a little too loudly and Tommy turned towards you, and so did the woman in the red dress. You couldn't help but think how beautiful the woman was.

"Tatiana, this is my secretary [Y/N]. She will be going through the final papers and the other formalities," Tommy blinked, his palm ghosting the low of your back as he guided you into an empty chair and you sat down, smiling at Tatiana.

"[Y/N], this is my friend, and soon to be business partner, Tatiana Petrovna," You watched from the corner of your eye as Tommy leaned towards her and he placed his hand on her thigh. You grabbed the fabric of your dress, awkwardly balling the fabric along your fists, although shielded by the table.

The business meeting lasted for an hour, and by the time the three of you were done, half of the restaurant had gotten empty.

"It was a pleasure meeting you once again, Thomas, and even a greater pleasure doing business with you," she gave Tommy her hand and they shook it. You noted how the handshake lingered for a little longer than it was supposed to. Thomas stood up, but you kept seated, as you watched the woman turn away and began strutting down the garden path, towards a massive black SUV parked by the other side.

After a minute of silence, Tommy sighed and he sat down, his earlier jolly expression having dissipated into thin air. He pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his tux and brought it up to his lips, flicking you a quick glance.

"You alright?"

"Me? Oh I am more than alright, Mr. Shelby. It's a lovely night, and I'm sitting at one of the loveliest places in Birmingham, with such a lovely company," you deadpanned, giving him a stare down.

"You don't look happy to be here, love," he brought the lit cigarette to his lips, inhaling smoke from it as he eyed you carefully. One of the waiters stepped forward, clearing his throat and you saw that he had a bottle of wine in his hands. Tommy blinked and motioned to the waiter to fill up the glasses and once he had left, his fingers curled against his glass and he lifted it, taking a sip of it.

"Oh, Mr. Shelby, I am delighted to be here, don't you see that? Can we leave?" You arched forward, letting your elbows rest against the table, your glass of wine laying untouched.

Tommy parted his lips, as though he wanted to say something but before words came out, he pressed his lips shut and stood up, grabbing his coat that hung from the back of his chair, "Alright, I'll drop you home yeah? Come on."

Tommy and you quietly walked back to his car and you got into the passenger's seat as Tommy got into the drivers. He slowly pulled the car off the driveway and began driving towards your apartment.

You were still fuming; raging from the inside as you kept glancing at the silhouettes of the buildings passing you by.

"What is the matter with you, ey?" Tommy suddenly turned towards you, lowering the speed of the car and moving it to the side so he could slowly bring the vehicle to a halt.

"Nothing is. Can we please keep moving, Mr. Shelby? I don't have all night," you hissed venomously at him and he just ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. He didn't know what had gotten into you suddenly.

He suddenly reached for your arm and pulled you forcefully towards him, his eyes gazing into yours, "Will you answer me? What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"Oh, nothing's the matter with me, Mr. Shelby. I don't get why you had me over that wretched little romantic dinner as a third wheel when there weren't even enough notes to make," you blurted out the entire sentence in one go, firing the words at him so fast that it took him a minute to digest them.

"Wait, romantic?" He tilted his head slightly, and his index came to rest on his chin for a second before he sat back against the car seat again, "you think me and Tatiana..?"

"Don't spill your romantic or your sexual endeavours in front of me, Mr. Shelby, Im just a lowly secretary," you fumed, and Tommy couldn't help but feel his lips twitch in amusement at how adorably cute you looked when you were angry and jealous.

"Well, now to think of it, eh, we did have some good fucks a few years back," Tommy muttered, in a low voice. Although he knew this would most probably not end very well, but a devil inside of him was already rising, and your jealousy had given birth to a sudden desire in him to have you spill everything you felt for him to him.

You gasped, your jaw dropping as you turned to him, studying his face. Your hand flew to the car lock, and you unlocked it, immediately stepping out of the vehicle, and Tommy cursed under his breath when he realized that he had probably taken it too far. By the time, he stepped out after you, you had already drawn your phone out, and you were trying to book an Uber when he snatched your phone.

"Get into the fucking car, [Y/N]."

"Give me my phone back, Mr. Shelby, I am not in the mood to do this," you threw out your hand, nudging him to hand you your phone.

He was ready to give you back your phone but before he could, his thumb mistakenly pressed on to the power button, and your phone lit up, your cheeks turning a scarlet red when he saw your lockscreen that had his photo on it.

"Wait, am I your lockscreen?” he looked at you smugly, and you couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the sight of it. Great job done [Y/N].

"You weren't supposed to see that," you whispered, tonguing the insides on your cheeks, flustered.

This time he gave you a smile that was gentler than what he had ever given you. He handed you your phone back, and decided not to tease you about the lockscreen.

"Get into the car, [Y/N], please?" He looked into your eyes, his eyes beckoning yours to listen, and you groaned, nodding. He opened the car door for you once again, and quietly you sat down inside, crossing your arms over your chest.

It was as if he knew that you were in no mood to talk, because he didn't force you to. Quietly, he manoeuvred the vehicle through the cuts and turns and you let your head rest against the windowpane. Within seconds, you were drifting into a light sleep.

About ten minutes later, Tommy pled up on your driveway, but even the car coming to a halt wasn't enough to break your slumber. He slowly turned to look at you, and the sight of you was enough to melt his heart. Reluctantly he brought his shaky palm up to the side of your face as he pushed your hair off the side of it, his fingers gentle against you. You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering awake as Tommy smiled to himself, whispering, "I think you might be my soulmate, eh, if there is a concept of one. I'd like to believe you're my fucking soulmate." It was so low, you couldn't hear any of it.

"We're here," he announced, louder and clearer this time and you took this as a hint to get the fuck out of his car.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby, I'll see you at work tomorrow," hurriedly you got out of the car and before Tommy could utter another word, you ran down the side of the apartment towards the side staircase that led to your first floor apartment.

Tommy kept watching as you saw you cash up the flight of stairs, struggling to fish out your bunch of house keys from your purse. He watched as you unlocked the front door and stepped in, hurriedly slamming the door shut.

He kept sitting in the car, and finally turned the ignition on.

"Fuck," he cursed as he turned the ignition off, pulled the car keys out and got out of the car. With big steps, he strode towards the side staircase, from where you had just ran up a few seconds back and reached your doorstep, bringing himself to ring the bell. He waited nervously, tapping the wall awkwardly with his fingers until you opened the door.

He pushed himself inside the minute you opened the door, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Why are you here?" You bit back on your words, trembling slightly. He could see that your eyes were red and puffy, and that you had been crying.

"Were you crying love?" He asked, trying to reach for you. He grabbed your wrists, pulling you towards him.

"You're insane," you whispered, your eyes planted to his lips, but you dared not look up and look into his eyes.

Gently, he let go of your wrist, and instead, placed his palm on the low of your back to hold you steady in his arms, "You love me." He rasped, in a low voice that caused your lips to part.

"Not right now I don't, Mr. Shelby," you spat at him, feeling your eyes start getting cloudy again. To be fair, you were feeling stupid, and embarassed at yourself, for reacting this way, showing him how weak and vulnerable you were, but you couldn't help it. You couldn't stop thinking of Tatiana and Tommy, and the more you did, the more angrier you got. You looked away.

"Look at me, love," Tommy chastised you, placing his hand on the base of your chin as he tried lifting your face up, but you dodged his hand and glared at him,"You're not my boss in here, Mr. Shelby. This is my house."

He gave you a tight lipped smile, and his palm reached out to cup your face, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. He parted his lips, and fluttered his eyes close, letting an exhale out, before fluttering his blues open again, "this fire within you will be the fucking death of me someday, woman." You curled your lips slightly, licking the insides of your mouth and your nostrils flared, "Shouldn't you be with your business partner? Shagging the fuck out of her? You seem to be at the wrong apartment."

Tommy growled, pushing you to the wall; his knee coming to press against the wall, between the space of your legs. His hands fixed on either side of your head, barring you from escaping.

"Can you shut up for once in your life? I did not fuck Tatiana, ever, yeah?" He looked down into your eyes, and you glared into his, wondering if he was lying.

"You.. didn't?"

"I didn't. And I don't intend to, in the future," he said, in his low husky voice. You fluttered your eyes shut and slowly, like a doe, lifted your face so your lips were now in line with his. You parted your lips, waiting for him to kiss you. He took the hint, a ghost of a smirk forming against his lips as he brought the distance to a close, his plump lips pressing against yours as he kissed you by the wall, "now let's not talk of her now yeah? I would rather spend my night in your bed than stand out here, talking about a woman that doesn't interest me."

"then what interests you?" You smirked.

"You do. You interest me, love."

Your cheeks hurt and your eyes leaked water; tears of happiness flew openly from your eyes. You were dressed in a beautiful black evening gown and your son, Charlie, held your palm, his eyes everywhere but on his father as he walked up to the podium to where the microphone was.

You knelt down gracefully, tickling your son lightly on his Adam's apple, and murmured, "Look, Charlie, your daddy is up there, would you look?"

"Dada!" Charlie babbled, and you hoisted him up and fixed him on your hip as your eyes met Tommy's and he gave you a nod, his eyes twinkling.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you all for coming. You see tonight, eh, is a very special night for me. And I am pleased to announce my endeavours first with you—" He found your eyes again, and you smiled at him, wondering what he was referring to. Ever since you found out you were pregnant with Charlie, two years back, you had decided to quit your job.

"I am pleased to announce [Y/N] and Charles Shelby Center for senior citizens," Tommy turned slightly so he could move out of the way and a huge projector began showing the architectural designs of a massive modern looking building on the screen.

Your heart swelled with pride as you watched your husband gracefully walk down the stairs. People came and greeted him, shaking hands with him, and he stopped momentarily to greet them back. You tickled Charlie's belly as you began striding towards where he was.

Tommy threw out his hand towards you and you gladly accepted, as he pulled you to his side, planting a quick kiss on Charlie's forehead. You lifted your neck up high and you and Tommy posed for a few pictures, and soon the cameras left you alone with him. He leaned closer to you and smiled, "Did you like it, love? I've been planning it since I saw you that day, four years back, helping out in the rain. You were beautiful. "

"You saw that, Tommy? Is that why you didn't even scold me for being late?" You gasped, and he smirked, nodding.

"No wonder I kept thinking that something was wrong with you, Mr. Shelby."

He suddenly turned around and his right arm came to rest on the low of your back as he pulled you to him. On one hip, you adjusted your son, who was now struggling to get into his daddy's arms; you placed your free hand on Tommy's chest and patted it before grabbing his tie, "If there was something bloody wrong with me, why would you still choose me as your husband and then gift me with a lovely boy?"

"Well, because, Mr. Shelby, I love you, and wouldn't trade our family for anything."

#modern! tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #ceo! tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders ceo au #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction

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bigballofstress · 4 years ago

Text

Pickpocket (Avengers x Child!Reader)

Description: You have been living on the streets for years, and over these years, you have become incredibly good at pickpocketing. Unfortunately for you, though, you picked the wrong target one too many times.

Part 2 if you guys want it, just let me know!

Chin up, shoulders back, even steps. My heart is calm, my breaths slow and measured, and every muscle in my body is relaxed. In other words, every last inch of me screams that I am a confident, kind young lady without a care in the world.

No matter what anybody says, looks really are everything. Every time you meet someone new or even just pass by them on the street, your mind makes a snap judgement about them. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that everyone you meet is prejudiced or anything of the sort. Those snap judgements can easily be changed with an open-minded person, sometimes without even needing a whole conversation. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that when you see a well-groomed person in a suit, your mind automatically thinks they are successful, and when you see someone coming at you with a hoodie covering their face and their hands in their pockets, you automatically tense up. None of that is your fault, and actually it’s probably a good thing that you would be wary of people who are acting rather suspicious. Really, the only issue with these immediate ideas of every person you see is the fact that it makes people like me -- people who understand how these momentary impressions work -- able to take advantage of them.

It didn’t take long to realize I had a talent for it. I already looked the part, -- a helpless, adorable little girl -- I had a surprising knack for staying calm under pressure, and as much as I hated the old bitch, my caretaker had given me all the tools I needed. She was a stickler for proper manners, so I learned how to speak, sit, and walk like a “proper young lady.” Plus, her insane rules about tiny meal portions and too-early curfews taught me to be light on my feet as I often sneaked downstairs to grab a roll of bread at night. Yes, I had everything I needed. The only real hurdle was actually deciding to do it. I never really wanted to be a bad person. But the world is a heartless place, the city even more so, and by the end of my first week, I knew what I had to do if I was ever going to survive.

So, I started working -- oh, and by the way, no matter what you think, it is still a job. I put my time and effort into a certain task, and I obtain money because of it. I don’t know about you, but that certainly sounds like a job to me. And it was easier than I thought it would be. Within about a day, I realized that people saw me as sweet, innocent, and harmless -- no, more than that, they wanted to see me as harmless. Because if I wasn’t harmless, then that meant their world was even more screwed up than they thought. I learned quick, and by the end of the year, I had perfected my technique. It was simple: avoid all conversation if possible, and if absolutely necessary, smile and point out the farthest adult man within reason as my dad before weaving through the small gaps in the crowd, preferably around taller people, so they couldn’t see or follow me. I only got caught once or twice, but I’m grateful that I did. It forced me to learn perspective, that I needed to know more than just how to talk well. So, I learned how to run through a city. And now, I’m practically unstoppable.

As I take my even, not-too-fast-but-not-too-slow stroll down the sidewalk, a small, ambiguous smile decorating my lips, I can see it in each person’s eyes as they walk past that I have completely embodied my character. My arms swung with a practiced nonchalance as my eyes flickered from one person to the next, each time going through a mental list as I weighed the chances I had of succeeding on them versus how likely they were to catch on and calculated the amount of time that both of these events would likely take to happen. Finally, after a few minutes of this practice, one of them caught my eye.

He was larger, more muscular. Guys like him were a gamble. Often, a man of his appearance simply cared a bit too much about his appearance. Still, every now and then, they look like that because they been trained, and while past training usually meant they had no practice running in a city, it also meant that he would be much more jumpy and alert to his surroundings. However, his deep, loose pockets with the corner of his wallet just barely sticking out and the thoughtful gaze as he surveyed the buildings tipped the scales further and further in my favor. The wonder in his eyes just screamed tourist.

I gazed forward with an absentminded look in my eye that I’d spent months perfecting in the mirror while keeping him clearly in my periphery before bumping into him. As I hit him, two of my fingers simultaneously dipped into his pocket, where my knee bumped against his leg to jolt his wallet up and out. The moment the warm leather was in my grasp, I forced myself to fall backwards. Before I could hit the ground, though, I felt one of those strong, muscular arms had wrapped itself around my waist and was helping me back up.

My jaw clenched for half a second. This wasn’t good. His reflexes were too quick to have just worked out at some random gym, which meant my hunch was right: he had been trained. And that meant that I needed to get out of there fast. I wouldn’t be able to slip the wallet back in his pocket without bumping into him again, and that would only make me look even more suspicious, so I quickly emptied it of all of the cash behind his back and slipped the bills into my sleeve before tossing the piece of leather on the ground a few feet away.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes, and immediately I decided on my personality for the day -- bright and bubbly but proper. Gently, he released his arm from its position on my waist once he knew I had regained my footing.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I quickly apologized, my left hand shooting up to cover my mouth in fake shock while my right hand carefully dropped the money in one of my own pockets, all the while watching every last one of his movements for any sign of suspicion. “It was all my fault. I wasn’t paying attention where I was going.”

“It’s ok, really.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I wasn’t really looking where I was going either, so it was partially my fault, too.”

“Well, thank you for catching me, sir, but I really have to go,” I smiled at him apologetically. “I’m supposed to meet back up with my dad in about five minutes.”

“Oh, no worries,” he responded kindly before sneaking a glance at my old, slightly ripped clothes, the concern still dancing in his eyes. “You’re sure you’re alright, though?”

“Absolutely!” I dismissed. “Thank you again!”

“Um, yeah, no problem.” We both started to walk away.

I waited patiently as I listened to his retreating steps. 1... 2... 3... 4... and then-- “Hey, mister!” I called, bending down and grabbing the piece of leather from where I had tossed it earlier. “I think you might’ve dropped your wallet!”

The man turned back, shocked, before jogging back towards me. “I didn’t even notice,” he mumbled to himself. “Hey, thanks, kid.”

“My pleasure!” I chirped. “Now, sorry, but I really have to get going. See you around, sir!” I quickly jogged off, allowing myself to get lost in the crowd before he could even have a minute to fully understand what happened.

-- 3rd Person POV --

“I told you guys the world wasn’t such a bad place!” Steve called as he entered the living room of Stark Tower. The rest of the Avengers looked up in surprise. They had been having this argument for the past three days, with Steve insisting that there were still people who put others first living in New York while the entire rest of the team tried to convince him otherwise.

“Alright, show your work,” Tony leaned back against the wall, watching the captain with curiosity.

“I met a kid today who couldn’t have been older than 16. I was trying to remember what the city looked like before I went in the ice, and I accidentally bumped into her. She then spent the next few minutes constantly apologizing and saying it was all her fault. And the best part is, after we’d already walked away, she found and returned my wallet. I hadn’t even realized I had dropped it!” The 96-year-old man finished with a triumphant grin, leaving the rest of the team silent for a moment. That is, until Tony busted out laughing. Steve frowned. “...What?”

“Steve, honey, check inside of your wallet,” Natasha sighed as she turned back to the tv to watch whatever was on.

Steve frowned, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. “I don’t understand; why do you want me to....” He trailed off as he stared at the now empty pocket that only just earlier that day held around 65 dollars in cash. “She... but how did she...”

Tony slapped a heavy hand on Steve’s shoulder, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. “She scammed you, bro. And you fell for it hook, line, and sinker,” he grinned before walking back to his room, still chuckling softly to himself at his friend’s misfortune.

------- Time Skip -------

About two weeks had passed since that godsend of a man and I crossed paths. I can’t remember the last time I had managed to lift 65 dollars off anyone. That kind of cash can last someone like me a really long time. But sadly, all good things must come to an end, and after buying myself the first decent meal I’d had in weeks plus a ton of canned foods and non-perishables that I dropped off at the nearest homeless shelter, that good thing ended ended all too quickly. Which meant it was time I went back to work.

I stepped into the public library, that same ambiguous smile painted ever so gently across my face. There weren’t a whole lot of people here and there were almost never any big scores, but working here was a lot less guess-work, and more often than not, the target was too engrossed in their book to even notice what I was doing, so there was also much less risk of being caught.

After a quick scan of the quiet room, my eyes landed on the man sitting at one of the long tables, his bag haphazardly laying next to him on the table. It should be easy enough to grab something from in there, and he seemed invested enough to have his guard down. He should make for a good target.

I walked into the science section and grabbed a few scientific papers, most of which were generally about to nuclear physics, before walking back to his table and sitting down right across from him. Scientific papers are the best way to make sure no one has the confidence to talk to you. I opened the paper that I had read a hundred times and started pretending to read it once more, my left hand resting on my cheek as my right hand slowly made its way towards the bag.

“Excuse me.” I glanced up, pausing my movement towards his back but still being careful not to react too quickly and retract my hand. I didn’t want to draw his attention to what I was doing, and if at all possible, I would still like to come out of this with something to show for it. As I met the glasses-clad, clearly intelligent eyes of the man in front of me, it was easy to figure out what my personality should be -- shy, smart, and above all else, kind. “Is that Schippers’s work?”

I blinked in surprise and allowed a soft smile to spread across my lips. “You know Stefan Schippers?”

“Yeah, his work in antimatter is amazing,” he grinned fully now, his eyes lighting up and making him almost look like a completely different person. “Particularly regarding his research in collisions.”

I grinned back, taking note of how his eyes were now trained on mine, instead of glancing around like before. Maybe I should’ve started a conversation before -- clearly it was a good distraction for him. Well, either way, it’s going to be easier to lift something off of him now, so I guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “I completely agree. His work is amazing,” I giggled softly, glancing down at the table before looking back up at him, a slight red hue now painting the apples of my cheeks as my hand slipped inside of his bag.

“I was honestly surprised to see you reading that paper, actually,” he chuckled nervously. “I’ve read it at least 20 times, but I figured I was the only one.” I laughed lightly, slipping what felt like a wallet out of the bag and tucking it under my arm.

“Trust me, I’ve read this so many times, I’m afraid the library is going to have to replace it because I’ve worn it out so much. You know, if you’re interested in Schippers, you should read some of Dr. Banner’s papers,” I laid my left hand on his arm gently while my right arm swung back over to me, pushing the wallet into my lap. “As much as I love Schippers, Dr. Banner’s work is unparalleled.”

The man chuckled nervously again, ducking his head a bit. “You really think so, huh? How old are you anyways? I don’t see a whole lot of kids brushing up on nuclear physics.”

“I’m older than I look,” I casually brushed off the question. I was not about to give up any personal information, fellow science geek or not. “Oh, by the way, do you have the time?”

The man glanced at his watch. “About 6:00.”

My eyes widened in shock. “You’re kidding, it got that late?! My dad’s gonna kill me!” I gasped and quickly stood up, catching the wallet in my left hand and slipping it into my pocket. “It was really nice meeting you, sir, but I have to go home. I really liked talking to you, though! I hope we can meet again!” I hurriedly gathered the papers and rushed off, waving with a broad smile.

“Oh, uh nice meeting you... too...” he tried to respond, but she was already well out of sight.

-- 3rd Person POV --

“What the hell?” Bruce mumbled, digging through his bag. The pizza had just arrived, and he needed to pay his share.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha glanced at him, an eyebrow raised.

“I could’ve sworn I put my wallet in here, but now I can’t find it,” he frowned, continuing to search every last nook and cranny of the old bag.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy, I can cover you if you’re short,” Tony shrugged.

“That’s not the issue,” Bruce frowned, finally giving up and tossing his bag to the side in frustration. “That had my credit card, my driver’s license, and my ID for Stark Tower. If it’s lost somewhere, it could be a real problem.”

“When was the last time you remember having it?” Clint mumbled through a full mouth of the piece of pizza that he’d already shoved in his face. Natasha rolled her eyes and wiped off the bit of spit he’d gotten on her in disgust.

“I was at the library. I used my library card to check out some books,” he responded confidently.

“Again?” Clint asked, once again through a mouthful of cheese and marinara sauce. “What, do you live there or something?”

“Ok, now walk us through exactly what happened after you checked out those books,” Natasha suggested, doing her best to ignore her best friend.

Bruce sighed and nodded, sitting down. “I checked out my books, then walked over to one of the tables to start reading. Then I talked to that teenager for a little while about some of Schippers’s theories before she ran off--”

“You talked to a teenager about Schippers? And she actually understood?” Tony asked, lifting a brow in surprise.

“Yeah, she even recommended I read Dr. Banner’s work in the same field,” Bruce chuckled. “I thought it better not to tell her who I was, but according to her, Banner’s work is ‘unparalleled’.”

“Damn, the kid knows her stuff,” Tony nodded, impressed. “Did she say anything about--”

“Boys,” Natasha cut in. “The wallet.”

“Ah, right,” Bruce mumbled apologetically. “Anyways, after she ran off, I kept reading for a few minutes before leaving, too. Then I came back to the tower and got up here just in time to decide on ordering pizza with you guys.”

“Did you use the subway?” Natasha asked.

Bruce shook his head. “No. I figured since it was such a nice day out, I would just walk home.”

“How did you enter the building?”

“I ran into Steve downstairs, and we came in together.”

Steve, who had been silent up until this point, finally spoke up. “This teenager... Was she about 16? With (H/C) hair?”

“What, you think it’s the same girl who totally scammed you the other--” Tony started, getting ready to take part in his favorite pastime of making fun of Steve.

“Actually, yeah, she was,” Bruce answered, his eyes wide in realization.

Before anyone could say anything, Tony’s incredibly loud laughter filled the room. “Holy shit, you guys both got scammed by the same teenager! How does that even happen?!” He wheezed, laughing so hard he could hardly breath.

“Hey she seemed like a nice girl!” Bruce defended. “How was I supposed to know she was robbing me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?” Tony asked, tears streaming down his face now. Bruce opened his mouth, trying to come up with something but came up blank. A heavy hand landing on his shoulder knocked him out of his stupor.

“Just let it happen,” Steve sighed, his eyes cast down as he shook his head in sympathy.

------- Time Skip -------

It had been a week since I had spoken to that science nerd in the library, and I was still pissed. Seriously, what kind of grown man only carries around 4 dollars and 36 cents? Well, apparently, that weirdo did. I had thrown out all the cards and IDs to at least sell the what looked to be leather wallet to a pawn shop, but apparently the thing wasn’t even leather! All of that time, wasted for a measly 12 bucks. I’ll say it again: I was pissed.

So, now I was back out working again, because the money I’d made was barely enough to buy a few snacks that I had to portion out over the course of the past week.

As I walked down the sidewalk, still grumbling softly to myself about what had happened, I saw him.

Tony freaking Stark.

I grinned. Maybe my luck was getting better after all. I mean, a billionaire who’s famous for having, shall we say, questionable morals? After all, it’s not exactly nice to sleep with as many women as humanly possible before tossing them away like they’re nothing. I mean, sure there’s the whole iron man thing, but he’s still kind of a dick, let’s be honest. And while I usually tried to refrain from taking anything major in case my target doesn’t have a whole lot of money or the object is sentimental, billionaire jerks are fair game. And the best part was, I didn’t even have to read him to know the part I was going to play. Tony Stark would only ever fall for one personality: sarcastic, quick-witted, and strong.

His head was down, buried in his phone, so I casually walked towards him, picking up an old cup of coffee from one of a nearby cafe’s outdoor tables, before smacking into him head-first, spilling the coffee everywhere.

“What the hell?!”

“Oh my god!” We both yelled at the same time.

“Oh c’mon, kid, this is silk!” Tony continued to shout, staring down at the coffee covering his chest.

“Hey, I’m not the one with my head buried in my phone while walking through one of the busiest cities in the world,” I snapped back. “And you’re not the only one whose clothes got ruined. This is cashmere!” I lied through my teeth. It was a ratty old sweater that I’d bought for about 3 dollars at a thrift store.

Stark scoffed. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Yeah, you’re Tony Stark. That doesn’t change the fact that my parents are gonna be pissed about me ruining a hundred dollar sweater,” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms defiantly.

That was when he finally glanced at me and my coffee-stained outfit. Stark sighed and put his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’m sorry.” Wait, what? Since when does the great Tony Stark ever apologize for anything? “I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning, ok? Just give me your parents’ numbers.”

Shit, that’s not how this is supposed to go. Ok, new strategy. A sassy front but a kind interior.

I sighed and shook my head. “No, it’s not entirely your fault. I guess I could’ve tried to avoid you better. Anyways, you got a pen and paper?”

Stark nodded slightly and reached into his inner pocket, pulling out a tiny pad and a fancy looking pen. I quickly jotted down the phone number and handed it back to him. Shoot, he looked like he was about to walk away. I had to act quick or lose my chance. Time to add one more very important characteristic to my identity: pitiable. “Hey, I really am sorry. I kind of overreacted. It wasn’t cool. I guess I just got a little nervous. My dad likes things to be clean, and he can get pretty mad when I don’t follow that rule...” I trailed off a bit, glancing down at my feet. I shook my head quickly and met the billionaire’s gaze, now filled with concern, again. “Sorry, didn’t mean to dump that on you. I just wanted to say thanks.” I held out my right hand, praying that I’d guessed which hand to use correctly. As Stark grabbed my hand, I had to hold back a sigh of relief when I saw the watch casually placed on his wrist.

“It was really nice meeting you, Mr. Stark,” I smiled a bit, with my left hand closing over his wrist while three of my fingers on my right hand undid the clasp on his watch. Then I pressed down one the buttons on either side of the clasp with my middle finger on my right hand and my thumb on my left hand, making sure to hold the watch in place. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to buy you a coffee to make up for it. There’s a really nice café right over there.” I squeezed the watch tightly with my left hand and jerked my chin towards the store just behind him. He turned his head and looked, pulling his hand back slightly as he did so, which allowed me to slip the watch off his wrist. Immediately, I dropped it in my pocket before he had a chance to turn back around.

“Thanks, kid, but I’m good. I’ll give your parents a call when I get home, ok?” He said before awkwardly giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Now go run off and play with some dolls or whatever.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, but my collection can’t be nearly as big as yours,” I bit back with a slight, good-natured smirk. “Anyways, I gotta go home and get yelled at by my parents. Nice meeting you, Mr. Stark,” I called, waving to him as I was already leaving.

Stark shook his head with a small smile. “Yeah, you too, kid.”

-- 3rd Person POV --

“What, no watch today?” Tony furrowed his brows at Bruce’s question.

“Of course I have a watch today. I have a watch for every day of the week,” he scoffed, lifting his wrist to show off the rather expensive Rolex.

“Umm dude...?” Clint started.

“Yeah, I know it’s awesome, and no, you cannot try it on,” Tony smirked. “I have a very strict look don’t touch policy. These bad boys cost quite the pretty penny, and I wouldn’t want any of you trying to take it from me.” Clint just shrugged in defeat and unpaused his video game -- it wasn’t his fault his friend interrupted him trying to help.

“Tony, look at your wrist,” Steve rolled his eyes at the pompous man’s antics.

“What, just so I can admire it--” he cut himself off as his eyes landed on the bare skin of his wrist. “...Where the hell is my watch?”

“Maybe you forgot to put one on today?” Bruce shrugged, going back to his computer as he continued to work.

“No, I didn’t forget; I never forget,” Tony snapped. “It was there this morning, and now it’s gone.” He yanked up his sleeve to search in vain for the incredibly expensive missing item.

“Hey, maybe Tony was pick-pocketed, too,” Clint joked absentmindedly before cursing at some ‘dumbass little camping noob’ who kept killing him.

Tony’s eyes widened in realization. “Holy shit, it was the kid.”

“What?” Steve frowned.

“The kid! The kid who spilled coffee on me today!” He shouted. “I had my watch, then she shook my hand, and now the watch is gone. She totally took it!”

Clint paused the game again. “Wait, so basically some kid took your custom watch, which is worth thousands of dollars, right off your wrist, and you didn’t even notice?” Tony bobbed his head up and down frantically. “Hold on... You don’t think...” Clint glanced between the three other men in the room.

“(H/C) hair?” Steve asked.

“(E/C) eyes?” Bruce called, suddenly no longer able to focus on his work.

Tony nodded slowly with wide eyes. Reality crashed down on all three of them.

A wide smile slowly took over Clint’s face. “So you mean to tell me that three of the Avengers, the Earth’s greatest defenders, got scammed by the same teenage girl in less than a month?” The three men were silent, each of them staring at the ground as they started to question how smart they actually were.

About 30 seconds later, the silence was broken. “Nat, you’ll never believe what just happened. I can’t believe you weren’t home for this,” Clint talked excitedly into the phone while his teammates all slowly left the room to sulk alone.

------- Time Skip -------

It had been a whole month since I had gotten the watch off Tony Stark. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the amount of zeros on the offer the pawn shop had given me. It was probably one of the best days of my life. Immediately, I had gone out and bought myself a meal at an actual restaurant, and let me tell you, they weren’t kidding when they said restaurant food is delicious. Every protein bar and bag of chips in the world couldn’t live up to the food I ate that day. And with that kind of money, I could be eating like that for maybe even a year! Still, I knew what I had to do.

It was almost Christmas. With the money I’d just gotten, I could afford to buy each and every kid at the orphanage actual brand new presents that year, instead of the crummy second-hand stuff that had to be shared between three or four kids that I usually brought. So, I went out and blew a good three quarters of my new budget on toys, and not the kind from thrift shops or even the ones from the big department stores. I could finally get them toys from one of the fancy stores that had display windows. And it was worth it, too, seeing the pure amazement that lit up those kids’ eyes when they saw there was enough for all of them. I then spent another quarter of the money on nonperishable foods that I donated to the homeless shelter plus one massive turkey for their Christmas feast.

After all of that, I was left with around 20 dollars for myself. Usually I can make money like that last with just a few extra marks, but as the month dragged on and less and less people were out on the streets at night, my budget ran thin. Eventually, I reached my breaking point. I’d gone I think four days now without any food. My stomach growled loudly, begging me to give it something, anything. I just sighed and receded further into the fabric of my thin, worn down coat that I’d found a few days back by a dumpster -- the coat I used to wear long traded in for a couple spare dollars. Sure, the wind cut through it like a knife, but hell, it was better than nothing.

I glanced up as I heard the crunching of footsteps in the snow, my heard immediately leaping into my throat at the prospect of there being people out. I frowned when I saw who they were. A couple walking together, chatting away about something or another. Normally, I would never choose a couple to target -- it was too easy for one of them to spot what I was doing to the other -- but I had gotten desperate. I was freezing cold, and I needed food now.

So, I walked directly towards them and crashed my shoulder into the guy’s, my hand slipping into his pocket. I thanked whatever higher power was watching over me when my hand came into contact with a money clip.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and slipped my hand back out before continuing to walk at a casual pace away from the two, tucking the clip into my pocket.

-- 3rd Person POV --

“Well that was rude,” Clint huffed, dusting himself off.

Natasha stared at the back of the young girl who continued to walk away like nothing had happened. “Hey, Clint,” she muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your wallet?”

“I put it back in my... pocket....” Clint froze when he realized he couldn’t feel the familiar clip in his jacket pocket. He whirled around to look at the girl, who was already a ways away. “Hey! Get back here!” He screamed, breaking into a run, Natasha quickly following suit.

-- Your POV --

“Hey! Get back here!” I glanced back with wide eyes, my heart leaping into my throat before immediately sprinting.

I ran through the snow, turning right and left through back alleys and narrow shortcuts, thanking my past self for never eating well, as my skinny form was able to stay on top of the snow for the most part. Still, somehow I hadn’t lost the two adults chasing me yet. They had barely fallen a foot or two behind over the last eight blocks. My stamina was quickly running out, the malnourishment over the past week finally catching up to me. I felt dizzy, and my chest burned as I focused on continuing to put one foot in front of the other. I turned down an alleyway with a brick wall at the end.

“Ha! We’ve finally caught you!” The man behind me panted. I completely ignored him, not pausing a single step as I sprinted towards the wall.

“Uhh, hey, kid? Rock beats teenager...” He called warily. I continued to ignore him. I was only five feet away. “Stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself!” he shouted just before I jumped, pressing my feet into the bricks to launch my further and further up. I reached as high as I could and just barely caught the edge of the wall with my fingertips. I swung my other arm up and forced my arms to pull myself to the top.

I panted as I gazed down from the top of the wall, the couple staring back up at me. “Holy shit,” the man muttered, to which the woman immediately smacked him in the arm.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I was hungry.” I wasn’t really sure why I was apologizing. Granted, I knew what I was doing wasn’t very nice, but I don’t recall ever apologizing before. Maybe it’s because they reminded me of my parents -- or, at least, what I imagined my parents to be like. Maybe it’s because I was so dizzy that I couldn’t really think straight. I nodded slightly to the two before turning around, preparing myself to jump down the other side.

Suddenly, a massive wave of dizziness and nausea smacked me in the face. I groaned slightly and put my hand to my forehead, trying to get a hold of myself. Evidently, that didn’t work, because the next thing I knew, I was falling.

Time seemed to slow as I fell through the air. I probably shouldn’t pass out right now, the surprisingly calm thought entered my mind. If I do, I’ll most likely just freeze to death. Then again, passing out would save me a lot of pain from falling. Alright, I guess that’s it then. I’ll pass out now and hope I wake up in time to not die. My eyes fluttered closed just before I hit the ground, the fog in my brain thickening as I finally allowed myself to just give in to it.

-- 3rd Person POV --

Clint grunted as he caught the girl. He was expecting to fall to the ground with her, only really serving to break her fall, but was surprised to find that she wasn’t even heavy enough to knock him down. Natasha made her way over to his side, looking down at the little thief in her friend’s arms.

“She’s light as a feather,” Clint murmured with a frown on his face, “and freezing to the touch.”

“She said she was hungry,” Natasha muttered thoughtfully.

Clint grit his teeth and nodded, determined. “Alright, that settles it. We’re taking her back to the tower.”

Natasha glanced at him warily. “You sure? The others might not be so accepting.”

“They’re gonna have to be,” he stated, already walking back, holding the girl as close as he could in an attempt to warm her up.

#Avengers #avengers one shot #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x y/n

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collectivefandomstuff · 4 years ago

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Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him.

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,�� Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

#fanfic #batfamily fanfic #batfam fic #pov:#jason todd #humor #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #Stephanie Brown #special appearance:#Bruce Wayne #rated t #for language #4k+ words #1-5k #oneshot

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liquid-luck-00 · 4 years ago

Text

Siblings

Bio!Dad Bruce

Day 3: Siblings

@biodad-bruce-month

First ~~~ Previous ~~~ Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Mari had agreed to go to Gotham after Gina, Tom, and Sabine's funeral. And now I am sweating bullets, not for how she will react, oh no I am far more worried about how the boys will. Maybe having a civilian in the manor will curb some of their unsavory habits.

When I asked Mari and she agreed I could tell this was going to be eventful. She asked if she had any siblings.

"Biologically, legally, or emotionally?" I responded completely serious, "There is a difference."

She thought for a moment before saying "Legally because I already know I have a biological brother" she stated with a smile.

"How did you know that?" he asked her.

"DNA testing project for an ethnicity and ancestor report." Marinette said casually, "So how many siblings legally?" she pushed.

He sighed "Seven but it might as well be eleven with how often Barbara, Stephanie, Jon, and Roy are at the mansion."

"Can you tell me a bit about them. Maybe even the measurements!"

After he had given enough information to spur her creativity, Mari could only be described as a tempest of creative energy.

By the time we were to board the jet to Gotham there was a suitcase filled with only gifts, he had lost count after the sixth gift, but she still added some more. By the time they landed she had a rough idea of what she was getting herself into.

To his shock the boys hadn't tried to figure out where he was and that in itself was a blessing. The boys knew that she existed but were never interested in finding her and to quote Jason 'Save her from the insanity that surrounds this family.' Yet he was about to change that.

He had told Alfred that someone would be staying in the manor but to only leave a car at the airport and he would drive them in. Thank god at least one person listens to him.

The ride to the manor was silent conversation wise. But the constant scratching of a pencil as Mari designed inspired by Gotham's architecture filled the quiet.

---

Before leaving Paris, Mari found out she has seven siblings, 1 biological and 6 adoptive and 4 practically siblings, she will have to figure that part out. Bruce told her all about them and got her their measurements and that includes the one of Bruce's butler/father figure and his fiancée Selina. So in one suitcase there were 13 individually wrapped gifts that even Bruce didn't know what they were. The Miracle box, disguised as a sewing caddy, was among her things, but the horse miraculous and Kaalki were in her purse along with Tikki.

Oh kwamii how am I going to keep this secret if I’m going to be in another country along with being in a house with more than a dozen other people.

Once touching down in Gotham she began sketching, one because she was nervous and two Gotham's architecture was gorgeous. She didn't even realize that they had arrived at the manor until the engine cut.

"Let's introduce you to everyone" Bruce stated with a sigh and a small smile. They left the bags in the car and walked up the steps. As they neared the door they heard it.

"Get back here Todd" one extremely angry voice sounded.

"Dick HELP ME" another voice yelled.

They opened the door and there was quite the scene. Who she believes is Damian is chasing, who she is mostly sure is Jason, with a... is that a katana? And who she is certain must be Dick is trying and failing to stop Damian. In fact he is now also being chased. She looks over and Bruce is sighing looking completely done and with someone next to him.

"Hello and welcome to Wayne Manor." the man states, Alfred if she had to guess.

"Hello Alfred I presume” Mari greets him.

“That would be correct Miss…” Alfred responds.

“Marinette. Um this normal?" Mari asks.

"Unfortunately” Bruce states in a resigned tone.

"Huh" is all she says as she formulates a plan. The boys haven't noticed them yet so that is a plus, but what to do. Then she got an idea so she sprang into action. She watched for any pattern in the chase and when she found one she hid. She was next to the stairs in the perfect position to pounce. By this time Bruce and Alfred were watching her curious to what she was planning. She never left her hiding spot, but when Damian paused to look for Dick and Jason near her she moved. She took the katana and replaced it with a bouquet of flowers and went back to standing between Bruce and Alfred still holding the blade.

"How did you?" Bruce questioned her but she just gave him a smirk and spoke loud enough to get not only Damian’s attention but Dick and Jason’s who were hiding behind the couch.

"I thought you didn't tell them I was coming and here is Damian with flowers. Or wait who is the lucky person?" This got everyone's attention in the manor, if it wasn’t already.

“What the?" Damian stared at the flowers in his hand, while Dick and Jason came out of hiding.

The three boys were looking between her, holding the katana Damian was previously chasing them with, and the flowers in Damians hand. Then they began to stare between her and Bruce before finally someone spoke, "Seriously Bruce another one" Jason, yup definitely Jason, was the first to respond.

"Nice to meet you too" Mari replied. When she looked at Bruce he was still in shock but was now sporting a smirk. "Jason right"

She was holding the katana in her left hand while pointing at Jason with her right hand, he was tall and his build was most like Bruce he had blue eyes and black hair but had a white streak in the front, he nodded acknowledging she was right.

She then continued "I'm going with Dick, right?" she moved on and the oldest, who again only nodded his head, he looked the most like Bruce with his black hair and blue eyes but he was leaner.

"And your Damian" she finished with those in the room, he had tanned skin and green eyes that were complemented by his black hair.

"Is that my katana?" Damian asked, his voice seemed to be a mixture of disbelief, anger, and dare she even say awe, and all eyes seemed to focus on the blade in her hand.

"Yes" She responds with a smile.

"Honestly Mari how did you do that?" Bruce asked her once again.

"You learn to take objects off of an Akuma if you get caught up in too many attacks." she shrugged. She moved towards Damian and handed back his sword. "I'm Marinette by the way."

"Seriously B your missing for two weeks with no notice and come back with your Daughter. Who I might add was able to take Demon spawns sword without him noticing. Why wouldn't you warn us you were coming back with her! Or I don’t know going to find her at all!” Another person walked out into the hallway. Honestly he seemed ready to fall asleep and was holding a huge cup of coffee, he then turned towards me. He also had blue eyes and black hair but it was the longest of the boys. "I'm Tim, nice to finally meet you" he stated with a smile before turning back to Bruce with a slight frown.

At Tim's appearance and statement Jason and Dick burst into confused screams and wild gestures in Dick’s case, while Damian stood there analyzing her before giving a nod of his head. Bruce looked done but it was Alfred who spoke. "Perhaps it would be best to discuss this over lunch along with everyone else?"

"That would be best. Thank you Alfred." Bruce responded. "In the meantime why don't we you get settled."

With that Bruce and her walked back to the car to get her bags. Jason and Dick followed them out, and helped to get her things. Alfred led the five to a room where she began to put things away, only Jason stayed to help her finish her task.

---

The day had started as normally as any other in Wayne Manor, but no one, and I mean no one was ready for this tiny little french teen with the biggest blue eyes to get the drop on any of them. Let alone be able to take Demon Spawns sword without him noticing.

To say Jason was intrigued was an understatement. Seriously how did she do that, because he sure as hell isn't believing that excuse, like what the hell is an akuma attack. Bruce, Dick, and I helped her bring her bags into the room Alfred prepared. He was the only one who stayed to help her. One because if she could get the drop on the Demon then he had to win her over as a pranking ally. Two she was his sister now and he isn't as bad as everyone makes him out to be.

While helping her set up her room he found it, it was a suitcase filled with wrapped boxes. Now if she is my sister then let the blackmail material begin, but not without some teasing thrown into the mix.

"What's with the presents in the case Bluebell," Jason asked, throwing in a nickname to see if Marinette would have any type of a reaction. Because who packs presents unless it was a distraction or trying to hide something.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said with a smirk and heat tilt. Well not the reaction he had hoped for.

"So what was that thing you said archery attack was it?" this got a reaction, but not one he was expecting.

"You don't know about the akuma attacks?" she was a mix of fear and surprise and he was unsure how he was supposed to react to that. Lucky for him as he was about to speak Tim and Dick came in and told them lunch was ready.

---

Jason not knowing about akuma attacks was odd and she didn't know how to react to his question. He was about to respond but Dick and Tim came in, and told them lunch was ready. They walked into the dinning room and inside were too many faces. She recognized Bruce and Damian. Tim, Dick, and Jason walked in with her.

"We're here" Dick dramatically announced, and all of a sudden all eyes were on her.

"OMG she is so cute!" a blonde yelled "Are we sure she is yours Bruce."

"Yes Stephanie. I am sure" Bruce answered almost amused. "Why don't you introduce yourself before you suffocate her."

"Ya, Ya," she waved him off "I'm Stephanie Brown" she stated as she continued to hug her.

The introductions included Stephanie, Cassandra or she said Cass, Duke, Roy, Barbara, Selina, and Jon. During lunch they asked her about herself she stayed in the realm of civilian, but Jason again brought up the akuma attacks so she explained a bit about the Paris situation and referred to them to Aurore's blog 'BugOut'.

She figured out the meaning of her practically siblings

Jon was Damian's best friend as Roy was Jason's because of this they spent large amounts of time with the family . The blonde who tackled her, Stephanie, was dating Tim and Barbara was a close family friend to everyone.

Afterwards she ended up giving everyone their gifts and Damian challenged her to a spar. The fact that no one, except Bruce having a partial reason, had any idea why she could hold her own was priceless. Seriously everyone's jaw was on the floor and Bruce looked like he was plotting something but it seemed to quickly leave his thoughts. All in all it was a good first day with her new family.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list:

@mochinek0 @justafanwarrior @abrx2002 @ranger-gothamite @fantasiame @moonystars14 @mochegato @bigbeautifulandfullofsugar @maribat-is-lifeblood @iglowinggemma28 @miraculous-ninja @talutah0 @vixen-uchiha @danielslilangel @witchsblackfox @pawsitivelymiraculous @lizziejay @marinettepotterandplagg @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @dast218 @sassakitty @miyla-lokidottir @lilkymilky

#bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #bio!dad bruce wayne #b ! dbwm2020 #bruce wayne #maribat #marinette dupen chang #miraculus ladybug #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #miraculous x dc #mlb x dc #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne

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jamaiskookie · 4 years ago

Text

meet me in your memories (knj)

✂︎ pairing: memory traveller namjoon x gender neutral reader

✂︎ wc: 11.8k

✂︎ TW// car crash, mentions of death, crying, mental health, mental breakdowns, spoilers for frozen 1?? um, vomiting, mentions of PTSD, three seconds of family drama, memory loss

✂︎ notes: a little gift from me for being away so long <3 luv yall also ignore how short and shitty this is!!! ignore it!!!!!

✂︎ synopsis: namjoon is a memory traveller - he is thrusted back and forth into his world and the world of his memories, forced to re-enact his past experiences. but he doesn’t recognise you, who keeps showing up in his memories. why doesn’t he remember you? why can’t he recall any of these scenes if they’re supposed to be his memories? and why does it always feel like he’s forgetting something?

he comes to find out that he would choose you over and over again, in whatever lifetime or world he’s in. because he always returns to you.

✂︎ fic tunes: "eight"- iu (prod. & feat. suga) but you're at your favorite secret spot after a long day by neptjoon

masterlist asks

The road is slippery and Namjoon cranes his head out to look at the window. Rain splattering everywhere, he notes worriedly. He hopes that nobody crashes. The bus driver sitting about three meters in front of him is humming a melody to a song he doesn’t know nor recognise. While listening to the poor man hum the off beat tune, Namjoon sits in silence, wondering how sad it must be to drive a bus with no passengers but himself.

Suddenly, his stomach drops and his head spins, and this time Namjoon is certain it’s not from the rain or the driver’s subpar driving. He lurches forward, watching as the rain knocks against the window and falls in thick ribbons.

Click.

In an instant, Namjoon’s world collapses around him and he is thrown into his mind.

Seoul is sweltering hot - hot like he’s never felt before. Namjoon reaches up to clutch his head, which is still spinning, and finds himself standing in a pair of light washed baggy jeans and a sleeveless tee shirt, unlike the padding coat and thick boots he had on just a moment ago.

“Namjoon!” Someone squeals behind him and his heart jumps. He jumps around, facing you and the view of hot street food stalls and tall buildings behind you. Suddenly, his hand is reaching out to grab onto yours and you smile softly.

He hears his own voice ring out, clear as day: “Don’t run. I was looking for you.”

“Psh.” You wave off his concern, handing him a shiny golden hotteok. You hold an identical one in your fist, so he accepts it and murmurs his thanks, tearing apart the pancake and stuffing it into his mouth. Sweet, hot honey and small pieces of walnut flood into his mouth, and Namjoon is momentarily surprised. Science states that you cannot taste or physically feel anything in your dreams.

But Namjoon already proved that wrong long ago.

He takes you by hand and drags you over to a shelter, for some rest, apparently uninterested in your cries of wanting more tteokbokki or some Chinese food. He flings you over to his side and places his hand over your shoulder, while you both silently devour your hotteoks.

“This was a nice date.” You mumble tentatively, and oh. That’s what this is? A date? He wants to turn around and ask you for your name. Where are you from? Why am I here again? He wants to scream it out until his lungs hurt and he gets an answer that makes sense, but no matter how much he tries, his throat will not allow those words to tumble out of his lips.

Why don’t I remember you?

Instead, he replies: “Yeah, it was. This was fun.” He tilts his head down to smile at you and Namjoon finds himself nervous. Nervous enough that his hands are shaking against his will, but he tells himself that the sweat and the nervousness are all side effects of the swampy heat this summer.

You beam at him and Namjoon thinks you’re an angel. You lean up onto his chest to place a soft kiss onto his lips and Namjoon thinks about when he’s going to be thrown back out of his head.

“Wanna go home?” He asks, nudging at the sky, which is already filled up with first streaks of the sunset. Purple hues and pinks and blues that all blend together nicely. You watch the sky for a moment.

“Never.” You offer no explanation after that and Namjoon doesn’t pry. He feels like he understands you, which is scarier than any other encounter he’s faced, in real life and in here. You stare up at him more intensely, and a shudder of fear runs down Namjoon’s back. “I just want to stay here forever,” You enunciate, like you want him to remember this. “Just Y/N and Namjoon.”

Something tugs in his chest and Namjoon screams in his head, no. Longer. Not now. He slips away, gone, disappeared from the world before he can even tell you how pretty your name is. And he awakens back at the bus, where the driver is shaking him and yelling at him to get out.

Namjoon walks home in the rain, yelling out your name in happiness until his neighbours come over politely asking him to shut the fuck up.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… Y/N?” He keeps repeating the name over and over again, enough to make Seokjin annoyed, who has moved away from Namjoon’s desk to the sofa in his office just to escape the random spiel that Namjoon is hurriedly rushing through.

“I can’t find a single Y/N in here!” Namjoon cries frustratingly, and the corners of Seokjin’s eyes soften in something that is either pity or empathy. He discards his non-fiction novel about drag queens and wigs to come over and clap a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“My friend, my crazy, idiotic, slightly insane friend.” Seokjin bends down. “You’ve checked all your yearbooks, social media, archives, newspapers… Have you perhaps considered that this person wasn’t that important? Just a passing stranger?”

“No.” Namjoon shoots down stubbornly. “They appear far too often for them not to be important.” So Seokjin shrugs, leaving Namjoon to, once again, search through the Facebook friends of a friend of a friend of a friend.

But no Y/N’s pop up, and he’s wondering if Y/N was just a nickname. Was it even your real name? With a sigh and one single (rather impressive) agitated brow wave, he lets go and spills. He tells Seokjin about how he finally learned your name, about the places you’ve been together and how much you adore street food.

He appreciates Seokjin for being a good friend, for sitting there and not interrupting to call him a crazy person, even if he is most certainly thinking about it in his head. Because Seokjin, at least, knows about a miniscule part of Namjoon’s tragic life. He doesn’t understand, but he gets it, and that’s all Namjoon needs in a friend.

He doesn’t tell Seokjin about how soft and pillowy your lips feel against his, he doesn’t tell you how much he longs to do unspeakable things to you when you show up in those blue short shorts. He definitely doesn’t tell him how much he loves your name.

Seokjin suggests a number of things. That perhaps you are a character from long ago, or maybe a passing stranger Namjoon once had a summer fling with. You may be someone long forgotten like a mutual friend in high school or college. He also suggests a psychiatric hospital to screw his head back on (as a joke, Namjoon’s pretty sure.)

But none of those seem right. Namjoon does his best to explain, he really does. For an award winning journalist and aspiring writer, he does just about a terrible job of trying to string his words together. Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose and falls back onto the sofa, already spacing out. Namjoon weakly cries out that he knows you. He really does - he just doesn’t remember how, or why.

Like a puzzle with a few missing pieces.

He wonders when and if the missing pieces will ever make their way over to him.

Namjoon gives up and flops down onto the sofa next to Jin, who squeaks out various protests about how heavy he is and how stupidly huge his arms have gotten after he started working out, along the lines of comparing him to Jungkook and calling him a gym rat.

As usual, Namjoon doesn’t listen.

It’s difficult to explain the feeling of falling to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The cursed Click echoes out and suddenly, the world spins around, the axis breaks and he’s physically thrown into another time, another place… another memory that he can’t seem to recall. His stomach lurches, his head hurts and there’s a small breeze flowing in.

For a short moment, the loops of space and time are completely open to him. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. It flips his mind completely upside down and boom. He’s in a specific, random time and place. His body feels light, and every step he takes, he can physically feel it: He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t supposed to be here. Everything feels different. Even the air is more smoky, because something in this world is suddenly wrong, and it’s him.

The next time he meets you, he is in just about the worst place to fall. Sitting in a press conference, his stomach drops and he’s dreading the fall. Namjoon can already hear his boss screaming at him, and he desperately tries to root himself to his seat, typing whatever the assemblyman is yapping on and on about. About farming and agriculture and tax cuts…

Click.

He can distantly hear the assemblyman candidate talk about corrupt government workers as he’s thrusted out of his world and into another.

The memory he has the pleasure to be in this time is something not too unfamiliar. For a second, he thinks if this is just a normal day of him in his cramped, tiny city apartment. Until he turns around and realises you’re lying right next to him, sound asleep and nuzzling into the side of his neck.

The air is crisp. It’s spring, not winter anymore, and he can hear the flower petals outside his apartment complex falling lightly on the ground. This, Namjoon thinks, may just be the best memory he’s been in. The press conference and his life and his boss slips his mind and he cradles you in his chest, holding you closer and closing his eyes shut.

“Mm?” You mumble, half asleep. “You’re suffocating me.” You hoarsely call out, and Namjoon releases you with an insincere apology. He brushes the hair out of your hair and grins, framing you in his head. He reaches to his alarm clock, which is right next to his bed as it always is to check the time.

April 1st, 2017.

Oh god, Namjoon winces. This means he still has that god awful haircut right now. He reaches up to feel his head, and sure enough, the horrible slicked back bleached hair is still there, an unfortunate result of his friend Hoseok daring him to drunk dye his hair.

“You’re awake?” He asks you, and you nod slowly.

He wonders if this memory precedes or follows the one he had with you last time, and he desperately hopes things are going in chronological order. He wants to know you just as much as you know him. Namjoon naively prays to whatever deity that controls his dreamworld: Please follow things step by step, follow the clock.

You roll around, saying something he can’t really catch. He asks you what you said and for the first time today, you peel open your eyes directly facing him. Namjoon’s heart almost falls out of his ass, seeing your eyes bore into his own.

“Where’s my morning kiss?” You ask cutely, nudging his nose with your own button nose.

“Right here.” He finds himself saying, leaning in to close the inches in between your two faces. You taste like hotteok, even early in the morning. You taste like a spring day and a never ending forever. As your lips capture his and his everything is consumed by thoughts of you, Namjoon begs himself to kiss you harder.

His past self declines politely, and Namjoon thinks about whether this counts as himself being controlled if he himself is still controlling what he says and does.

In that moment, listening to your slow breathing and someone across the street playing simple, melodic piano chords, Namjoon tells himself: Do not ever forget April 1st, 2017. You rise from the bed and some form of protest bubbles up from Namjoon’s mouth, to which you just laugh and drag him out of bed with the excuse of wanting breakfast.

You push him into the bathroom, where he expects to meet his sad single grey towel and foggy mirror. You push him in front, and he cringes at the sight of his hair in the mirror. You sigh.

“Calm down. The blonde looks sexy. You can dye it back black later.” He laughs, because it’s clearly not very sexy. For once, his past self is doing exactly what the current Namjoon is pleading him to do. Does it count as reliving your memories if someone else was living through them originally? But, he reminds himself while you hand him a green toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of toothpaste on both your toothbrushes, this is him. He lived through this once and he is just taking a trip down memory lane.

The person who lived through this before was him.

He has to remind himself many more times before it sinks in.

You brush your teeth next to him, fluffing your hair and squinting in the mirror to wake yourself up. Without a second of hesitation, Namjoon brings the toothbrush up and starts to brush his teeth. Nothing has ever felt more domestic or right than this, despite the tentative steps and heavy lead feeling in his throat telling him he still isn’t supposed to be here.

You spit out toothpaste in the sink to gargle your mouth and Namjoon mimics you exactly. Somehow, you find yourselves in the kitchen, giggling while making some sort of french toast with an abundance of cinnamon floating through the air. Which makes Namjoon cough and makes you laugh even harder.

“This is a perfect morning.” You say, peering out the window to watch the city life slowly bustling to life. People scrambling out their doors, ushering their children or pets with them. People you don’t recognise going on walks or runs. Mailmen and delivery people dropping off packages and people yelling into their phones as they hurriedly walk along the sidewalk.

And you and Namjoon, calmly staying in your pajamas while frying toast on the pan.

“Is something burning?” You ask, sniffing the air, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold.

“Oh, shit!”

You smile and shake your head while Namjoon attempts to save the blackened piece of bread to no avail. He catches sight of the corners of your mouth lifting, even as you chastise him about watching the stove and ranting on about how you’re never going to trust him in the kitchen again. Namjoon watches your pink lips, stained with a brown mudge of cinnamon french toast mixture, which lifts up and your head falls back, hair flowing around your head like a halo.

Your laugh plays out in front of him in slow motion, and absentmindedly, he thanks that deity he prayed to for slowing this moment down. Because if there’s anything he yearns most to remember, it’s the way you laugh. A chuckle makes its way out of his own throat as well, and he’s not sure who’s in control at the moment.

Himself or himself in the past?

Either way, they both did the right thing. Namjoon forgets. He forgets the life he has back home, he forgets Seokjin’s warnings, he forgets that he has at least a hundred articles waiting for him at work to be written. He forgets that this world is nothing but a chance for him to follow the footsteps of what he once did, with no control to say or do anything he wishes to do himself.

But, oh, he really can’t bring himself to care.

Those piano chords from before blend together beautifully, and you scrape the black toast into the garbage can, still teasing him relentlessly, and oh. Oh, this is what it means to have a home. You made this junk of a house into a home, and he feels like he has to return here. This is where he’s meant to return to, everyday. Each time.

You turn around after discarding the toast and with a bright smile, you ask him to kiss you again. Namjoon thinks that he doesn’t ever have the capability to deny you when you smile like that, so he complies and crashes his lips onto yours.

The lead, heavy feeling in his throat is still weighing him down. Except Namjoon isn’t sure whether it’s weighing him down to this world or the real world.

The cursed deity pulls him back, pulling him through the time and space back to his own responsibilities and life. His heart is wrenched out and he reaches out, trying to grasp your hand for the last time. He falls back to his own world in a hospital bed and an IV attached to his arm with half a piece of french toast dangling in his mouth and another promise he makes with himself to meet you again with a smile on his face.

Memories… memories that he’s lived through but can’t remember. Memories he slips into to live momentarily through the actions and words of his old self.

Somewhere along the line of diving back and forth his own life and this past one, he has forgotten which is which.

“Most likely due to exhaustion. Lack of sleep, lack of rest. It’s quite common with working young adults, workaholics. I’m putting him on medical leave for the rest of the week. He needs a rest - He needed it yesterday. Don’t worry too much, Mrs. Kim. A long nap and a meal or two will fix him right back up.” Namjoon groggily registers the white walls and beeping noises, the chatter of doctors and nurses rushing around.

He’s in a hospital, and a rush of fear runs straight through his blood. He sits up to eye his mother, sitting next to him and holding his hand. She shushes him, laying him back down on the bed, but all he can do is panic.

“No, not here. Not here again.” He mumbles incoherently. His mother puts a hand over his eyes, shushing him again and telling him softly to go back to sleep. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, he wants to get out of here. But his eyelids are already feeling heavy and he weakly fights against his body, but before he can even process it, his eyes are shut and he is asleep.

Seeing her son close his eyes and drift off to sleep, Mrs. Kim turns back to the doctor.

“I’m not surprised,” She starts. “He’s always worked himself to the bone. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about his brain.” The doctor cocks his head and looks through the papers which are clipped to a clipboard in his arms.

“Ah, yes. I see he was in a car accident a few years ago.” Doctors are some of the most heartless people, and you can always tell how experienced a doctor is by how much sympathy they show. This doctor shows none at all, which must mean he’s been working for a long time.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Kim.” The doctor continues, peering over Namjoon’s sleeping body. “I see he suffered light effects after the accident. Selective amnesia, no external damages to the skull. He didn’t suffer as much. In fact, I believe the doctor in charge believed that the amnesia was mostly due to the shock of the event. But he’s received treatment for PTSD since then, right?”

Mrs. Kim nods.

“Good. Doctor Park also noted at the time that his amnesia actually didn’t affect much of his memory. He couldn’t remember distant relatives or kindergarten friends, but that seemed to be the extent of his amnesia. Oh,” The doctor slipped through the clipboard. “He also couldn’t remember certain knowledge about philosophers such as Freud, which he was, quote, ‘devastated over’ un-quote.”

Mrs. Kim stays silent.

“So, you don’t have to worry too much. Best thing your son could do for his well being is rest. And a therapist if he has a relapse or shows some symptoms such as sleep difficulties or nightmares, or physical signs like fatigue and nausea.”

Mrs. Kim nods. “Thank you, doctor.”

That’s it, and she turns back to her son, with her hand in his. She stays there, unmoving until he opens his eyes, mumbling incoherent questions and asking his mother why he is in the hospital again, demanding to be discharged immediately. Her heart breaks a little, small cracks form for her beloved son and she kisses him on the forehead, telling him he’d be out of here in no time.

“What did you see?” She asks quietly, and Namjoon is surprised. She never asks him about his memory walks. It’s taboo to mention it in his household. Not even his sister is comfortable talking about it. “Anything? At all? You passed out at a rather unfortunate time, I heard.” She continues.

“Nothing much.” Namjoon replies, lying through his teeth and trying to justify it with the sight of your laugh. He leans back and closes his eyes once more, bringing up his memories of you and your bedhead. He tries to fill the gap inside of him with thoughts of you, as if that can make up for the empty feeling that he’s forgetting something.

In the hospital, staring at a white ceiling and glaring lights, Namjoon is left to think about what’s happening to his head. During the end of his rather short stay, he comes up with a terrifying conclusion. One that scares him more than he could imagine, but it’s the only one that makes sense. He’s falling in love with you.

He voices out this concern to Seokjin when he visits after his mother leaves. Seokjin stays silent, mumbling out an apology that feels like the wrong thing to say. The elder boy can only look at his friend with sadness in his eyes, telling him that someone as great as Namjoon shouldn’t be suffering so much pain. Namjoon jokes that a witch must have cursed him when he was born.

None of the two friends laugh.

This routine continues on and on, without Namjoon dwelling too much on it. Which is so much unlike Namjoon, whose main personality trait is overthinking about the smallest things. He lets the flow of time and space take him wherever they wish to plop him down. He lets the evil deity toy with his heart and wrench him away whenever you smile the largest.

It hurts right after he is torn away from you, but he’s filled with so much joy in the moment that he can’t bring himself to do anything else about it. Even if he wanted to do something without it, he has no idea where on earth he might start.

Sometimes he questions the validity of his memories. What is real, what is fake? He still can’t answer, and this is what he spends most of his time wondering about. The memories he has with you don’t make sense. Those are large gaps in his life that he seems to have no recollection of.

He goes everywhere with you.

One day he showed up on November 5th, 2015.

The next day he jumped to August 23rd, 2017.

Another time, he was thrown into March 15th, 2016.

None of it makes sense. Are they not memories? He thinks. There’s no possible way he’s spent this much of his life with you and can’t recall any of it. What is real - the world he spends with you, or the world where he always returns to by default?

And yet, nothing else can explain these short periods of blackouts. Ever since one day in some horrible hospital, he’s gone under and pulled and thrusted into some land where he has no control over his own hands. Everything else makes sense. This world, everything else is accurate from the settings to the props, with one anomaly in his memory.

A character who goes by the name of Y/N.

He could go the science-y logic route that he so often frequents, come up with theories that can somewhat explain these periods of time. Theories that include explanations such as hallucinations, or that Seokjin’s right and he’s finally gone crazy. You’re just a figment of his imagination, that this is all in his head and he’s out of his mind.

But he rejects all those theories when he’s clicked into another memory. Somehow, he just understands. These are memories. These are memories he’s had with you, whether that was in a past life or in some sort of messed up alternate timeline where he’s actually happy.

Is this a gift or another curse from this stupid deity?

He has too many questions.

He cannot explain these memories using science, logic, common sense, or even using his own words. But in the moment, while you’re in his arms, he can feel it. He can explain it by describing the way you smell, like pancakes and fresh mint. He can explain it by describing the way you feel, like a warm marshmallow filling up his insides and consuming him.

It’s cheesy, cringier than Seokjin’s dad jokes, but only he gets it.

Namjoon is in his living room, switching channels on the TV and thinking about this when his stomach sinks again. He braces himself, and disappears.

Click.

Seoul is freezing cold. The air is light and he is sitting on a bench on his college campus, rubbing his hands together and zipping up his huge jacket over his sweater. Namjoon shudders, his body not yet used to the bite of the cold compared to the warm breeze he was just enjoying.

He sniffles, nose slightly red like some knockoff Rudolph and wanders around. His body pulls him to go to the right, despite the warm coffee shop being on the left. He shudders again and tries to protest, but his body won’t listen, standing up and walking over to the right with no particular destination in mind. Students are rushing around, complaining about the cold and talking about their next party or study session.

Namjoon pulls himself forwards, and thank god this version of himself still has terrible tolerance for the cold, because he reaches up and pulls his beanie down over his ears, still wandering around aimlessly. Where are you going? Namjoon wants to scream out frustratingly.

His brain doesn’t reply and Namjoon sulks.

Eventually, he is pulled over to another bench, outside in the cold, and he sits down, deeply resenting himself and wondering why on earth he just stood up from one bench to walk to another one. If anything, it’s colder here. He watches the students that pass by for a minute or two, thinking that this is the most boring memory he’s ever been in.

There is no snow falling, but almost everything on campus is lined with a sheet of ice or cold steam. Namjoon nuzzles deeper into his own clothes, cursing himself for not being able to go buy another sweater or something to fight the extreme cold.

Suddenly, you appear in front of him and Namjoon perks up. There you are. He thinks. Finally. You come over and sit down, holding something in your hands. He smiles, waiting for you to speak up and greet him with a kiss that will surely warm him up, but you silently sit next to him, ignoring him. Namjoon urges himself to say something, but instead, he continues to watch the students bustling through campus grounds without looking at you.

Are we fighting? Is Y/N mad at me?

This is excruciatingly frustrating, Namjoon bites his tongue and thinks. Why can’t he just say something? Abruptly, something lands on his jacket with a splat and he straightens up, snapping his neck towards you, who is looking at the yogurt splat on his jacket with a look of terror.

“Oh my gosh!” You squeak out, quickly setting your yogurt aside and reaching for some tissues in your purse. “Oh, god, oh god, I’m so sorry. Please, let me-” Namjoon frowns, taking his hands out of his pockets to thumb at his jacket, debating whether he wants to take it off or not.

You lean over, pawing at his jacket and wiping the yogurt off of his jacket. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t worry.” Namjoon says, chuckling. He reaches for another tissue, helping you get the yogurt off of him. “It’s no big deal.” The yogurt is mostly wiped off and you side eye him with the unmistakable look of guilt filling your eyes. Namjoon laughs again.

“It’s fine, really! No, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m literally so sorry. Do you want me to pay for dry cleaning? Laundry? I can, um, wash it for you! I’m not the best at laundry, but it’s the least I could do?”

Namjoon briefly wonders why you’re being so polite.

“No, it’s fine.” The words tumble out his mouth again before he can process it. “Really, this jacket is old, anyway.” Not really, Namjoon thinks. It feels really new. “But who the hell eats cold yogurt in this kind of weather?” He jokes. “You sure you’re not a demon?”

You freeze, terrified before realising he was cracking a joke. “Oh. Hah! Yeah, no, I guess I just really like yogurt.” You offer lamely, and you break out into a small giggle. “Yeah, I guess I kind of am a psycho for eating it right now. It’s freezing today.”

“God, tell me about it.” Namjoon says, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“Thanks for not going bonkers on me. This jacket looks insanely expensive.”

“Not really.”

“I’m Y/N.” You greet, holding a hand out for him to shake. I know, Namjoon thinks with a secret smile, but everything makes sense now. You don’t know him yet. To you in this moment in time, he’s just a random stranger who didn’t blow up on you after spraying some yogurt onto you. To him, you’re… you’re…

“Oh, um, I’m Namjoon.” He says, hurriedly taking a hand out of his pocket to shake your outstretched hand. Your fingers meet and Namjoon swears a small zap just went through his hand.

“Namjoon. Nice to meet you, Namjoon.” You say with a small smile, yogurt already long forgotten on the bench beside you two.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He says in return, even though he doesn’t mean it. He already knows you, he knows you better than everyone. He knows your favourite food is Korean street food, and you always wake him up with kisses and your favourite colour is periwinkle and you absolutely hate abalone with more passion than he’s ever seen in his entire life.

But this is your first time seeing him, ever, he reminds himself. This is your meet cute. This single moment set off the events in the next god knows how many years. This is the first time he ever had your name grace his tongue. This is the first time you’ve seen him.

Another moment to treasure. You let go of his hand, after realising you two have been shaking hands for much longer than the socially acceptable rate of hand shaking. Blushing, either from the cold or humiliation, you sit, turn back around, grabbing a hold of your yogurt once more.

Suddenly, Namjoon finds himself blurting out: “Hey, you wanna go get some coffee?” You look over curiously, pointing to yourself like you can’t believe he’s asking you out, because you don’t know that you’re all he ever thinks about at any given moment in any given day. “You’ll probably freeze your ass off if you keep eating that yogurt.” He jokes, pretending like this is all because he’s caring about how cold you are and not how cute or incredible or kind you are.

“Sure.” You say, nodding shyly. He stands up, leading you to walk over to the left where the campus coffee shop is. Along the way, you throw the yogurt cup in the trash.

“You can’t bring food brought from outside into a shop, right?” You ask.

Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.” He stays there until night takes over the sky and one single twinkling star in the sky is signalling that it’s time to go home. Possibly the longest time he’s ever spent in a memory. He keeps glancing at the clock, praying that he gets one more minute with you, one more second, one more moment.

At any time, he could be pulled out of this world, and he needs to make the most of it. You tell him about your childhood bedroom and your major. You tell him about the love you have for pancakes, and how much you want a puppy even though it’s prohibited in the on campus dorms. He nods, pretending like this is all new information even though it’s not, and he’s known all of this for the longest time. He knows you better than you know yourself, which he keeps to himself.

In return, he tells you about his own childhood bedroom, which was adorned with posters of western hip hop rappers. He tells you about his passions for writing and music, that if he didn’t major in journalism, he’d be studying music production in school. He tells you that he’s obsessed with philosophy, and in all honesty, is a bit of a nerd.

Instead of laughing or pulling a face, you nod and smile, saying that you think he should tell you more about philosophy on a second date.

You leave the coffee shop with a small goodbye, and even though he desperately wants to, Namjoon can’t kiss you.

He gets pulled back after you disappear pass the corner of the street, and the world morphes into a huge motion blur. When he gets pulled back into his living room, the TV is playing late night TV shows already. Namjoon checks the time. He was pulled in for five hours, the longest he’s ever been in that world.

After that, no matter how much more he prays and begs, he never stays any longer than that.

Three days later, Namjoon suddenly pops into Hong Kong, which is hotter than anything he’s ever felt. The streets are heavy with people, squabbling in cantonese while selling raw meats in a wet market. The sun is glaringly bright, and Namjoon starts to sweat almost instantaneously. Taxis and huge buses drive past, Namjoon jumps to a side only to find a vast ocean. He’s at the harbour front.

The smell of food, of egg tarts and pineapple buns and meat dumplings along with other Hong Kong delicacies waft through the air, combined with the salty air of the sea. It makes for a strange combination that confuses his senses but works nonetheless.

He thought he knew a city like Seoul, but this is a true city. This is busy and fast paced like he’s never even seen before. People shove each other aside to catch the bus, dogs are yapping everywhere and he soaks it all in before the thought enters his head.

What the hell is he doing in Hong Kong?

It’s like every time he wonders aloud, you pop up. “I’ve been looking for you.” You say, echoing the words he said to you that day in the streets of Seoul.

“I was exploring!“ He says defensively, and you roll your eyes.

“Come on.” You say, walking along the harbour front.

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Namjoon asks, the words spilling out and surprising himself. Are you mad at him? You’ve never been mad at him before, not in the memories he’s seen. He hasn’t ever seen you fight with him, and immediately, he wants to apologise, fix things before he’s pulled back out and he has to live with the guilt and overthinking of whether you’re still mad at him for the next week.

“Can’t believe you’re mad at me during our vacation.” Namjoon says, and that’s why he’s in Hong Kong, he realises. He’s on vacation. How strange. Namjoon thinks back to when the last time he took a break from work and the only thing he can think of is when that doctor put him on medical leave not too long ago. Oh no, you’re mad at him on holiday?

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You retort back, and Namjoon has never heard your voice this curt. “Just sit around pretending like everything's okay?”

“What do you want me to do?” Namjoon replies. “You act like this is my fault!”

“It is your fault!” You cry out indignantly, and Namjoon knows that, but why? What did he do? What did you do? “Is this even a vacation?”

“Yes!” Namjoon cries out again in response, and you shake your head.

“You promised, Namjoon.” You say like it’s a warning.

“Yes, I know,” Namjoon says, even though he doesn’t and really, what on earth did he do? “But this is out of my hands! I can’t just say no, you’re not looking at this from my point of view.”

“You’re not looking at this from my point of view!” You argue back, and Namjoon looks around, realising that this squabble is attracting a small crowd of chinese people, gathering around to watch the free entertainment along the sidewalk of Victoria harbour. He awkwardly laughs, raising his hand and bows, a universal sign of apology, grabbing your hand and walking to the other direction.

“Come on, I’d rather not have the whole city witness our fight.”

“Oh, so this is a fight now?”

“What? Yes!” Namjoon says exasperatedly. “How else would you classify this argument?”

Once he makes it to somewhere with at least a sliver of privacy, he turns around with his brows furrowed and a glare etched on his features. Why do you look so angry? Namjoon chastises himself. Just relax, relax, relax. As usual, his body doesn’t listen.

“Why are you so mad at this?” Namjoon asks, and feels a flow of relief go down his spine. Finally.

“It’s not just this instance, Joon. I know work is important, but sometimes it feels like you put literally anything else above me! Like last time? You bailed on our date, like, at least twice. You keep saying you can’t say no, but you can. You have that right, Namjoon.”

Namjoon’s heart softens a little bit. His workaholic tendencies ended up biting him in the ass after all. Sighing he rubs the back of his neck, eyes glued to the floor. “I’m not prioritising work over you, baby.” He tries to explain, and tries to ignore how his heart sinks when your eyes turn stony at the sound of the pet name he often uses to address you.

“It’s just important to me as well, okay? It’s not my fault my boss heard I was going to Hong Kong and insisted I come to interview some investors about Hong Kong’s economy.” He explains slowly. “It couldn’t take more than a single day to get everything organised and tidied up.”

“But-!” You huff angrily, spitting out your words. “You don’t understand! You keep doing this, Namjoon. You keep working, working, working. It’s been this way since college. It’s like you’ll die if you just take a break to come talk to me. I even went over to your office to have lunch with you last week and they told me you were in a meeting.”

“It was important!” Namjoon insists and he can feel things sinking and getting worse and worse with every word he says. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You can’t expect me to put you in front of all of my responsibilities. I’m sure you have things you can’t give up for me too.”

Hearing that felt like a slap to the face to both you and Namjoon, and he’s screaming at himself internally, why would you say something so, so, stupid?

“Excuse me?” Your broken voice rings out and Namjoon’s accusatory finger falls.

“Wait.” He mumbles, fumbling with his hands. “Wait, I didn’t mean that. Wait, I-”

“Fine!” You yell angrily. “You think nothing’s more important than work? You think I haven’t given up anything for you, Kim Namjoon? Because I’d quit and give up anything for you, you asshole.” You bite out, tears desperately trying not to fall. “You fucking asshole.” You say, before turning back around to weave through the crowd.

“No, wait, baby!” He calls out, and even he knows that he’s messed up. Messed up big time. That was more hurtful than any cuss word or insult he could’ve ever said. “Kim fucking Namjoon, you idiot.” He mumbles to himself. Seeing you cry is more painful than anything else in the world, Namjoon thinks. He’s not ever going to see that sight again if he can help it.

He walks forward, trying to find you. Maybe you went back to the hotel, or went to look at the sea to clear your head. He thinks he sees the back of your head for a second, and he reaches forward, clutching at air. He’s about to cry, and Namjoon has never seen himself be more pathetic.

“Oh no, where are you?” He murmurs to himself like a crazed man. What if you were hurt somewhere? He needs to know you’re safe, he needs to know you’re okay, he needs to make everything better. With each step, the lead feeling in his throat grows heavier and heavier until he feels like it’s sunk to his chest. He wants to kneel down, he wants it to stop hurting, but he can’t.

He must aimlessly follow his shell to do whatever he is doing now.

The lead feeling continues to grow, and Namjoon feels like he’s suffocating. He’s not supposed to be here, he reminds himself. But he has to find you first, then he can leave. Then he can go, but where are you? He wants to cry, he wants to breathe.

Namjoon tells himself to gasp for air, but he cannot. He tells himself if this is the last time he ever sees you, he needs to see you smile. He needs to see you laugh.

Like the pattern in the rest of his meaningless life, an evil deity always pulls him away from the ones he loves when he needs them most. He feels the lead feeling being lifted and pure panic races to Namjoon’s head. He tries to croak out no. He tries to resist, he shoves people aside and calls out your name. But no one answers him, and the cruel deity laughs at his demise.

He is too weak, too weak to control himself.

Namjoon is plucked out of the world and transported back to his bedroom with the threads of time slowly ravelling and tangling themselves around his neck, all while he reaches forward, only to grasp at air and pretend in his head that everything’s alright.

When he reaches his bedroom and wakes up, he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits, all while longing for the warmth of your lips.

Walking around dazedly, Namjoon somehow manages to make his way to Seokjin and Jimin’s apartment, knocking and hoarsely asking them to open, open up please. Because he’s not sure he can hold on to another night alone. Jimin opens the door instantly and catches Namjoon in his arms, frantically calling for Seokjin to come fast.

They lay him on the couch, hearts slowly breaking and trying to convince themselves their friend will be fine as they watch Namjoon whimper in his sleep.

Namjoon wakes to the smell of breakfast, of bacon on the stove and Jimin chattering around while watering his plants. He gets up, headache pounding and throat sore. Seokjin wordlessly hands him a few pills and a glass of water, while Jimin plates up breakfast, placing the sausage, eggs and toast separately on the plate because Namjoon can’t stand it when food on his plate touches.

Silently, the three friends eat. Nobody speaks until Namjoon clears his throat and looks up.

“Thank you.“ He whispers.

“What are friends for?” Jimin says.

Namjoon wonders why he’s got such amazing friends. Jin replies that he was born perfect and God created him like this, so Namjoon shouldn’t dwell too much on it. Jimin and Namjoon both throw a spoon of scrambled eggs in his direction simultaneously, high fiving without missing a beat when Jin lets out a protest of unjust behaviour.

As the three friends sit quietly, Namjoon says: “I think I’m going mad.”

“I’m glad you’ve realised.” Seokjin replies offhandedly.

“I don’t think I can keep going between these worlds. I think it’s making me lose my mind.”

Jimin stills. Seokjin stops washing the dishes and turns off the faucet.

“Do… do you know how to stop it?” Jimin asks hesitantly. Namjoon shakes his head, and Seokjin sighs, in deep thought, which is a strange and rare sight to see itself.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.” Seokjin says casually. Jimin agrees and the faucet comes back on, Seokjin going straight back to washing the pan he used to fry up the scrambled eggs. Jimin unplugs the toaster and Namjoon sits, smiling at his beloved friends.

“You can borrow some of my shirts.” Jimin calls from the bathroom. “You know, if you want to stay over a couple more nights. Feel free.”

“Make yourself at home and shit.” Seokjin mutters, waving his hand around sarcastically. Namjoon almost bursts out into tears of happiness, but he decides to hold it in until Seokjin doesn’t have access to his phone and won’t put Namjoon’s breakdown on instagram live.

The next day, the entire gang comes over, all with varying degrees of understanding what the hell is going on with Namjoon. For example, Yoongi pretty much knows as much as Seokjin does, who still doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Taehyung was just told Namjoon’s been feeling down because God knows that boy has a big mouth and definitely can’t keep a secret to save his life.

Seokjin supplies homemade snacks and burgers fresh off the grill, Yoongi brings over his unlimited Netflix and HBO account passwords he probably stole off of some innocent family member to watch Disney movies, Taehyung comes over with Yeontan clutched to his side because that’s the group's emotional support dog. Jungkook and Hoseok offer up their extensive alcohol collection and bring over some quality wines. Jimin, after a long three hours of consideration, gives up his lucky plushies and fluffy blankets to build a fort.

For one night, the seven boys crowds around the television, watching everything from The Lorax to Tangled to Frozen and bawling their eyes out when Anna turned to ice (spoiler alert!!!) For one night, the fully grown men all turn back into their 8 year old selves, playing video games and staying up as late as they wanted even though they all had responsibilities to tend to the next day.

When they all awake from their mega-sleepover the next morning, the remaining six friends all insist they just felt like watching Disney movies and drinking wine suddenly. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Namjoon’s been feeling a little off in the past few days.

Absolutely not.

Namjoon’s eyes brim with tears and he tackles all the boys to the ground in one incredibly coordinated group hug, ignoring Yoongi’s complaints of being anti-social and that his love language is not physical touch.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook mutters. “Now could you please get the fuck off?”

“Never.” Namjoon says, muffled because he says it while his head is buried in Hoseok’s chest.

“Love you.”

“... Love you too.”

The next time he falls, Namjoon thinks he’s prepared. Ready, not to get attached, ready to make clear of what belongs in his world and what doesn’t, after lots of pep talks and therapy sessions with Seokjin and Jimin and Yoongi, who is surprisingly helpful with shooting down ideals of toxic masculinity and talking about mental health.

He’s wrong- he’s not ready, but he doesn’t know that yet.

Click.

He’s come to resent that stupid sound. In an instant, he’s dropped into a car, which is strangely familiar. You are next to him, driving, and thank goodness, because everyone knows Namjoon cannot drive. If he were dropped in the driver’s seat, things may have taken a turn for the worse.

“You want to play some music?” You ask, and Namjoon nods.

“Yeah sure, turn up the radio.” You reach over to flip a switch and a pretty tune fills the car, echoing and bouncing off the walls of the small vessel. You bring your hand down and interlace it with Namjoon’s, who is suddenly hyper aware of his surroundings.

“You’re driving, baby.” He says, and a great sense of relief floods back into his system when he sees you smile at the pet name. He hopes this moment is after the Hong Kong trip. He hopes he did the right thing and made up with you afterwards.

“We always do this. When there’s not many cars around, anyway.” You hum along with the music. “Nobody’s on the road tonight.” Sure enough, there are no cars in sight and Namjoon sighs, curling his hand tight against yours. He looks out the window.

“No stars tonight, either.”

You snort. “There are never any stars around the city, babe.”

“Ahh.” He huffs playfully. “Fuck global warming.”

“Fuck capatalism.” You add on, and he nods, wholeheartedly agreeing.

“I love you.” He murmurs.

“I love you too.” You reply with a sweet smile and Namjoon just realises that no, he’s not ready to let go of you, because his heart still flips like crazy when he hears you say that. He’s so unbearably, horribly, absolutely in love with you. Not in a creepy or obsessive way like he was probably in love with you a few months ago, but so in love with you.

He wonders why on earth he’s so drawn to you, but as usual, there’s no definite answers to his questions. Namjoon thinks about how he likes the way you cook pancakes, and how he likes the way you always reach down to pet a puppy no matter where you are or where you need to be. He loves the way you’d give up anything to defend the people you love. He admires your bravery and your courage. He admires the way you present yourself to the world.

He loves you simply because you are who you are, unapologetically and unashamed, which is something he never had the guts to do. But he gets pretty damn near to being fully and truly himself when he’s around you, so maybe that’s why he’s so in love with you.

Namjoon feels bad for a moment because he realises his love isn’t selfless or humble like the ones he sees on dramas and TV. His love for you is shamefully selfish, because he needs you more than anything else. He voices this out to you in a long speech while you keep your eyes on the road.

“I need you more than you think I do, Joon.” You say, while laughing, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether to feel offended or relieved.

“You think your love for me can trump my love for you?” He asks with his eyebrows raised.

“One hundred percent.” You drawl out, and this time, Namjoon’s offended.

“Excuse me? Who the fuck?” He asks, sitting up. You laugh bashfully, enamoured but mostly just entertained by your needy boyfriend who is very willing to prove how much more he loves you right now. “I love you way more than you love me!”

You laugh, your eyes still fixed on the road. “Oh no, please, we’re not arguing about this.”

“Yes we are!” Namjoon demands with a huge smile on his face. “How could you possibly think you love me more than I love you?” Your laugh only grows louder.

“I don’t even know if you’re being serious or just joking around anymore.” You say through bit back laughter.

“I’m being dead serious.” Namjoon softens for a bit, laying a hand on your thigh. “You’re my everything. You’re my future, you’re my present, you’re my past.” A part of you wants to tell him he’s being cheesy again, but the romantic in you who doesn’t want to hurt your boyfriend immediately shuts the realist in you up.

“That was sweet.”

“I try my best.”

You turn your head back to the road and he keeps his eyes on you. On the hoodie you’re wearing, which definitely doesn’t belong to you and he now has a certain inkling of where his missing hoodie went. He likes how it swallows you up. He likes that you have something of his on you.

Not as a weird mark of possession, but he likes that you’re comfortable with wearing something that essentially brands you as his. But you are his as much as he is yours and wow, Namjoon thinks in his head, is this the real Namjoon or the past Namjoon speaking? And his brain replies that it’s both.

“I love you.” He repeats, because as much as he seems to say it, he can’t seem to express how much he loves you (hint: it’s a large amount).

“I love you too.” You say right back.

He wants to say it more. He wants to say it better. He wants to repeat it until you get annoyed and tell him to shut up, he wants to let you know how much he loves you. But his lips are sealed, and he can’t say another word. Instead of what he wants to say, the words that come out his mouth are, admittedly, just as true.

“You’re pretty.”

You giggle. “Did you just realise?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “You’ve always been pretty. You were pretty on the day we met. You were pretty the day we fought in Hong Kong. You were pretty the first time you stayed over. You’re pretty when you cry, you’re pretty when you… I wanted to think of something that rhymes with cry, but it slipped my mind and now everything’s ruined.”

You laugh, a real, huge one this time. He can always tell when your laugh is real or not.

“Thank you.” You say. “For the record, you’ve always been pretty too.”

Namjoon leans back into his seat. “Damn straight.”

“When d’you think you first fell in love with me?” You ask, genuinely curious, and Namjoon thinks for a moment. He thinks about what the Namjoon in this moment would say, and he thinks about what the present Namjoon would say.

If he had verbal control, what would he say? That he fell in love with you during the very first memory he was thrusted in? But that wouldn’t be true, and that wouldn’t be honest. He fell in love with you during the memory of when you met? But that wouldn’t be true either. He fell in love with you in between memories, when all he could think about was the next time you could be in his arms, or how much he longed for your touch.

He tries to say that, he really does.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is:

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s a specific moment. Maybe it was that time we went to the movies and watched Coco while crying over popcorn, or maybe it was that time we went to Disneyland.” Namjoon’s heart slouches, because he doesn’t know any of those moments. He hasn’t been in any of those memories.

“But I don’t think falling in love is a one moment, time stops kinda thing. I was always falling in love with you. From the time you spilled yogurt on my jacket to right now, where you’re asking me when I fell in love with you. I’m going to be falling in love with you tomorrow and the day after that, until the day where we shrivel up and die from old age.”

Oh, good answer, Namjoon thinks.

“Good answer.” You say. “I think I’d say the same thing.”

“Great minds think alike.” Namjoon sighs out.

Something strikes Namjoon’s heart. It’s not the lead feeling or the heavy weight he’s grown used to. It’s strange, like a wave of deja vu. And suddenly, Namjoon stops thinking. He glances over to the control board to look at the time, which proudly reads: December 3rd, 2018.

So that’s why he’s always had the feeling that these were memories. Why he was so adamant to believe these things really had happened to him. Even more strangely, what feelings strike him then is not panic, nor fear. It’s a strange flow of calmness that rushes through his veins. He looks over at you again, driving now with both hands on the steering wheel.

He wonders why the deity would make him witness something as cruel and horrible as this, and he gets the weird feeling that this will be one of his last memories to enter. Namjoon looks at the dark blanket covering the sky and sadly thinks that the deity could have at least placed a few stars in the sky on this night. As consolation, or perhaps an apology.

Something is ticking in the background, and Namjoon has no idea if it’s coming from the car or if he’s imagining it. Flashing memories go through his mind, so fast he can barely register them as images or moving pictures before they are gone again. Your smile, your laugh, your first date, your second date. The day he asked you to move in, the day you told him ‘I love you’ for the first time and he literally fainted.

The day he came to pick you up from work for the first time, the night where he first laid his hands on you and kissed all your worries away.

It comes fast and hurtles towards the two of you, but Namjoon doesn’t even see it coming because all he is looking at is you. Your face, your lips, your eyes, trying to engrave it all in his memory. You yelp out something to him, which he doesn’t hear. Floating images spin around both your heads and a high pitched screech rings out, a spark of orange lighting up like a stack of fireworks. The dark van shoots forward and collides into the driver’s seat.

The world collapses. It goes sideways, rotates then flips completely upside down, and the dark fog starts to eat up Namjoon’s eyesight. Oddly, nothing hurts. Perhaps because of the shock, or panic, but nothing on Namjoon’s body is in pain. Everything crashes, Namjoon’s head hits the window with force. Something breaks, glass cracks, people scream and he cannot tell which is which. Red and white flashes are all he can see before everything fades to grey and he can only reach around in the darkness, to find your hand.

He clutches onto your unmoving, still hand desperately, trying to calm his jumping heartbeat. Are those sirens in the background he hears or is that his imagination? Is that your voice he hears or is that a hallucination?

In the end, his final thought before leaving the world once again is a wish. A wish that he prays the deity will grant him. He hopes that in your final moments, you were not scared.

He falls.

When Namjoon arrives home, his entire body is numb. He doesn’t know where he is, nor what he was doing before he was clicked in. He opens his mouth and screams for a full minute without stopping.

It feels good in a fucked up way.

Namjoon has never been one for confrontation. Just ask his middle school bullies, who tormented him all they wanted because he wouldn’t do anything but put up with it. Just ask Mingyu from work, who keeps piling his unwanted projects and articles onto Namjoon because he never protests or complains to the higher-ups.

But while walking towards his childhood home with the birds chirping and his hands placed casually in his pockets, confrontation is all he can think about. He lets himself in the door; his mother never locks it and walks in calmly.

His mother is sitting on the couch, stitching up a sock which has a hole in it.

“Mom. I’m home.” He says softly, and his mother greets him normally. Namjoon leans on the wall and his mother stares at him strangely, calling him over to sit and have some fruit. He declines, telling her he won’t be staying very long. “That car crash that happened two years ago.”

The needle in his mother’s hand stills.

“They said I had selective amnesia, right?”

The needle picks up speed, stitching faster and faster, his mother’s hand moving faster than light.

“What did I forget again?”

“What did you remember?” His mother asks, never one to beat around the bush.

“Mom.” He says, firmly this time. “What did you do to me.”

The sock is torn apart in his mother’s hands. “Namjoon,” She starts and Namjoon already has a growing urge to shake the truth out of her. “When you got into that crash two years ago, you came out of it with very little injuries. We were all so relieved. When you woke up, you didn’t remember Y/N.” All that fills the air for another moment or two is the spongy sound of silence.

The gap in this family became clearer than ever to Namjoon. He thinks about how everyone must have been in on the secret, even his sister. And he was left to suffer, wondering why his life seemed so empty after forgetting something he couldn’t clutch onto.

“And what?” He demands, screaming and throwing his hands out of his pockets. “Do you think you can just keep something like that from me? The love of my life, and you just decide to erase them from my memory?” His mother stills and looks up at her son.

“You didn’t remember Y/N. You lost contact with all your college friends, and then when I asked the doctor how selective amnesia worked,” His mother cleared her throat. “Sufferers often forget some parts of their memory. Relationships, talents, skills, certain areas or certain people.” His mother looks up directly in his eyes. “Sometimes, especially after going through a traumatic event, people forget certain parts of their memory as a coping mechanism. To erase bits of pain and regret.”

“I thought,” Her voice breaks and her face twists in regret and bad memories. “I thought maybe by forgetting her, I’d be saving you from more pain and hurt. I just wanted you to stop hurting”

Namjoon held eye contact with his mother for three full seconds before collapsing and gasping for air, lying with his head on her lap. All words of scolding, anger. All the confrontational tactics and all the accusations he’d thought of shooting towards her had gone.

“Hurts.” He let out through large gasps of breaths. “Hurts, mom.” He lied there, with tears threatening to spill out his eyes for the rest of the night, with his mother caressing his hair and apologising to him with tears in her eyes.

“Miss Y/N. I miss Y/N.” He hiccups out, and his mother wipes away his tears, but it feels different from when you used to do it.

“I know, I know.” The woman looking down at her son wonders why she put him in so much pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” The night carries on like that, with the lights eventually dimming and the night covers up the light in the sky. The mother son pair repeat their grievances and apologies to each other until the sun comes back up, peeking through the curtains and extending out their warm embrace as if it wants to comfort the hurting humans.

It doesn’t take long for Seokjin and co to come knocking on his door, sent by his mother who must have filled him in on everything, judging from the looks on their faces. It only takes one single glance at his friends, tilting their heads and all asking to come in for him to burst into tears. Ugly crying, with snot coming out of his nose and eyes bloodshot red from the nightmares.

Jimin is the first to reach forwards and bring Namjoon into a hug. Soon after that, the six friends surrounded Namjoon, comforting him with the warmth of their arms and soft spoken words of encouragement.

“You did well.” Someone mumbles into his hair.

“We’re all proud of you.” Someone else says.

Namjoon’s sweater sleeves are sopping wet with tears when he asks the boys to help him get into therapy.

Things went on like that for another while.

Therapy isn’t as bad as Namjoon had thought it might’ve been. He wasn’t forced to be vulnerable or open up or confront his worst fears. He certainly didn’t want to tell the truth about the world he’s thrusted in, for fear of getting thrown out of the building and into a mental institution.

Even his mother didn’t believe him the first time he told her about it. She urged him to visit a doctor. How could a therapist who doesn’t even know him believe the nonsense he spouts? Even he himself wouldn’t believe himself if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand. Slowly, but surely, he began to open up, and to his surprise, there was no calling of hospitals or kicking him out. His therapist sat there and listened like everything he was saying was valid.

He started eating again, mostly because of Seokjin, stuffing his creations down everyone’s throats every two seconds, claiming he needs opinions on his new recipes even though Namjoon’s fairly certain that the past three dishes of spaghetti were the exact same recipe.

Namjoon started to workout again with Jungkook, much to the younger boy’s surprise and happiness. They talked about their own struggles while panting on the treadmill and spinner. Jungkook eventually tells him that he also has a secret he keeps from the rest of the guys, which is his high school sweetheart who broke his heart so horribly that he still feels hurt from it.

Jungkook told him to cheer up though, because most of the pain fades away with time. It’s still there, ever as present, but other things will become more important to you and cover up a scar or a wound with blooming flowers.

“Like us,” He said cheekily. “Your friends.”

He talked to Yoongi most days of the week about nothing in particular. He enjoys the time with Yoongi because he’s the only one who never walks on eggshells around him. He still pelts him with pillows and roasts the outfits on Rupaul’s Drag Race with him. Taehyung and Jimin even helped him adopt a dog, an furry white Eskimo named Rap Mon which is literally now Namjoon’s entire life.

Would likely kill all of his friends if one of them hurt his precious baby.

Life is good, Namjoon learns. He gets better at his job. He never forgets you, but things seem to hurt less. But he gets relapses sometimes. Some days he wakes up screaming about the stupid lead filling up his throat. Sometimes he gets nightmares so intense he has to take medicine.

Therapy isn’t as bad as he painted it out to be, but recovery is ten times harder than he thought it would be. Some days all he can do is lie in bed or do nothing, thinking of you.

His therapist tells him that his life is more than his past memories. Both Yoongi and Hoseok agree, when he pulled up a random conversation about it late at night. Hoseok says that there’s never going to be a time where he won’t think of you, or still love you. Perhaps not as much as he once did, but he’ll never forget about you. Yoongi tells him he’s healing, and that they’re all proud of him.

Namjoon meets his friends, for the first time in the two years he’s known them. Taehyung has an extraordinary and (slightly strange) obsession over art museums. He’s been to almost every single one in Korea, and he dragged Namjoon over to one an hour away in Gangnam in the summer. Jimin is an amazing dancer, which Namjoon never knew.

Until Jimin brought it up casually, looking through old footage of his dance competitions. “Nothing big,” He said. “I used to dabble.” Namjoon’s eyes bulged out of his head and he told Jimin if that was ‘dabbling’, then he was wasting away his talent. He asked Jimin why he never made a career out of dance, and Jimin replied casually:

“I feel like if I start to make money off of it, and I’ll lose my love for it. Now that I haven’t really has time for it... I dunno. I feel like I’ve lost the talent a little bit.“

Namjoon told his friend that talent is nothing but a bunch of practice and time dedicated to a certain skill. Nobody loses talent, people just get a little unfamiliar with it. Jimin turned around in deep thought and told him he may just have a point.

Still, some days, he can do nothing but sulk around, feeling like a waste of space. Take today for an example. He walks down the street and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks, and he might be wrong, he thinks he sees you. The back of your head, anyways, but you’re wearing a red sweater with headphones over your ears and you turn around the corner.

Namjoon panics. He drops his coffee, which splashes all over his leather shoes and runs. He runs past the corner and he doesn’t know what on earth he’s doing but all he can do is run, and the wind dries his tears faster and faster, and he forgets all over again, that you aren’t here, that there’s no way he can go back and see you unless it’s in his memories, which he doesn’t even know how to control.

Somewhere deep in the depths of his mind, he knows something about this doesn’t seem right. That it couldn’t possibly be you, because he watched you go right in front of his eyes. He knows that in order to heal, he can’t chase after you or center his world around you. He knows all of that. But in that moment, he forgets that he still doesn’t remember everything about you.

He forgets that you’re dead.

And one day he’ll be free from this constant spinning. One day he won’t ever have to think twice when he cooks pancakes but that day and all that work he’s put in is the last thing on Namjoon’s mind and all he can think about is if that’s really you.

He sprints faster and reaches out, misses your wrist by an inch and ends up clutching at nothing but air. He heaves a huge breath, about to clap his hand over your shoulder-

Click.

tags; @jksbbyfacebunny @extremeobsessions101 @dwcljh @bishuthot @s0seo @stonyiscanon @cecedrake2217

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theinfinitybucky · 4 years ago

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Undercovers (Bucky Barnes x Reader) - Part Five

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are on an undercover mission as husband and wife, but she hates him and by accident begins a game of “Who Can Fake Better”.

Warnings: very brief nudity, cannon typical violence, minors not allowed to interact!!!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

You woke up the next morning hating yourself for every bit of what you had let Bucky do the night before. The regret panging through your chest was nearly unbearable. You sighed and pulled the white shirt off the floor to slip on over your bare chest. With feet hitting the cold marble floor of the hotel room, you walked to the bathroom.

Bucky was still passed out in the bed, taking in deep breaths as he slept. The man looked remarkedly peaceful for what you had done the night before. Right now, he was winning the game. What he had willfully manipulated you into doing was unspeakable. Even worse, what would the team say when they found out about what happened during this mission.

This was all Steve’s fault. He had forced you into this “situation” and not stopped it when another twist came. It had to be this with the target or his men watching the hotel room. That didn’t make this any easier. It was difficult to admit that you might actually enjoy Bucky’s presence. His rare smile. The way he kissed you like nothing else was left in the world but your lips.

Would it really be that bad if you liked him?

You brushed off the tough thought and began to brush your teeth. You met your own gaze in the mirror and shuddered with self-hatred. He hadn’t forced you into it. By the time the two of you were back in the hotel room, it felt right. The lingering regret was all about how you could go back to hating him.

“You okay, Sarah?” Bucky stood in the doorway, fully clothed unlike the last night.

You looked back at him and nodded. A wordless response. He could tell by the regret in your eyes and determined that it would be best to not push the boundaries that were being set. After getting ready for the morning in silence, both of you were discreetly slipping your gun into the blazer pocket when another text rang from Steve. A reminder to not forget about the meeting where you would be seeing the target today.

You would be going into separate meetings for the first two sessions then rejoining each other for lunch at the same table as the previous night. This was an unexpected moment to breathe after last night. The plan originally had you together in the sessions, yet this made more sense after the change in your job description.

After the two slow sessions, you met for lunch. Taking a seat at the table where you had sat last night, Marcus was already sitting when you arrived. It took to seconds to recognize who was with him, Eric Miller. This was concerning at best. A total nightmare at worst. Bucky, where are you?

Almost as if you had called him, he appeared behind you. You hated how he could appear out of nowhere without a sound being made. You glanced up to him from the chair you were seated in. You glanced to Eric Miller which received a tiny nod from Bucky. This was where things began to get dirty. Would you risk taking Eric and Marcus down in a room full of people or wait until the meeting time later. Or had they already exchanged the codes and doom was only impending.

The lunch dragged on forever with white lies being told back and forth between you and Marcus. No intel was gained after the hour-long lunch. It was almost as if they were playing with you and Bucky. An uneasiness continued to settle into your chest. Something was off here. It was only an hour before the codes were “supposedly” being exchanged in the hotel parking lot.

When 1:00 pm came, Marcus and Eric both excused themselves as if they were on a timer. You waited for them to be out of earshot. They both exited through the tall conference room doors. Things were about to get messy.

“I think I left something in the car, Chris.” You took Bucky’s hand and murmured. His eyes locked with your own. He inferred exactly what you were saying. Truly, you had been dropped off and there was no car in the parking lot. This was only a ploy to get you out of the next session and into the parking lot where the codes were being exchanged.

“I’ll come with you.”

You both got up out of your respective chairs and headed towards the parking lot. You were too far behind Marcus and Eric. You broke into a running pace with Bucky right on your heels. This could be too late already. You drew your gun and headed out the door. The hotel security guards were right behind you. Great… only making this more difficult.

Bucky ignored the presences as they called to the both of you.

Marcus and Eric stood by a black SUV. Marcus was taking a suitcase from Eric when you approached them. Marcus took the suitcase and Eric drew a gun quickly. Your blood ran cold. He didn’t even waste a second and fired a shot at you. Bucky jumped in front of you and blocked the bullet with his vibranium arm. It ricocheted off and hit the SUV with a metallic ping.

You didn’t take a chance and shot Eric in the knee without a second thought. Marcus dropped the suitcase and raised a gun in one swift movement. Bucky fired towards Marcus, but missed by about two inches when he dodged it. You ducked behind a random white sedan as another shot came towards you. The security guards began encroaching in with their own guns drawn. Breathing heavily, Bucky yelled to the security guards to back off and listed off credentials.

As he was distracted, you noticed Eric moving. His gun was too close to him from when he had fallen. You stepped toward him to disarm the man. You weren’t fast enough to get there before he would shoot you. The next moment shocked you. He didn’t aim for you. He aimed for Bucky who was not ready for a bullet. As if in slow motion, the gun fired. You screamed and jumped to take it. You were expecting it. He wasn’t. You could make it miss vital organs. You moved in front of Bucky and it hit your shoulder. The bullet lodged underneath your clavicle. You yelled in pain and fell to the ground. Everything went red for a few seconds… Then black.

_______

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked as he entered the waiting room where Bucky with his head in his hands. His face was red as if he’d been crying. His clothes were tattered. Dust and ripped holes scattered the fabric from his altercation with Eric and Marcus after Y/N got shot. Y/N had been in surgery for thirty minutes where they were pulling the bullet out of Y/N’s chest.

Sam tried to push his anger down with in him.

“You were supposed to protect her!” Sam grunted.

“The hotel security got involved.” Bucky tried to explain. “They-.”

“She still has a bullet in her!”

Bucky went still. He knew that this was all his fault. Y/N had jumped in front of a bullet to save him. He’d noticed it the moment the guards tried to disarm him. The bullet hit Y/N’s chest and he was left to take down four people. He went into semi-Winter Soldier mode when you were shot. It brought out a rage in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. This was all supposed to be a game. It wasn’t a game anymore.

Your eyes opened slowly. You looked to your left and saw Bucky asleep in a chair next to you. A sharp pain radiated through your shoulder where the bullet had ripped through your skin. An IV was hooked up to your left arm. You shifted in the bed. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open.

“Y/N!” He gasped. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

“No, I’m okay.”

“You nearly died.”

“One bullet isn’t nearly dying, Bucky. You of all people should know that.” You smirked. “Where are Steve and Sam? I know you’re not here alone.”

A bit of what Bucky thought was distain gleamed through your tone.

“They are downstairs getting some food.” He muttered.

“Oh, oka-.” You were about to continue when Bucky interrupted you.

“Why’d you do it, Y/N?” He paused for an infinite moment. “I’m awful to you.”

You thought about it for a moment. Did you save him because you might actually love him after the mission? You may have regretted the sex. Was it because you thought it was just for show? Or because you truly liked him and wanted it to be something more.

“I would never let anyone die. You might drive me insane, but I see that there is good in you."

Bucky took in the words for a second then leaned over the guard rail of the hospital bed. He caught your eyes and noticed you weren’t pulling away. He lips fell onto yours. The kiss was gentler than what you had shared in the hotel room and on the dance floor. His lips formed over your own and your tongues collided. He moved together as he carefully avoided your shoulder. Bucky laced his fingers in your hair.

You heard a gasp and pulled apart to see Steve and Sam standing in the doorway with cups of coffee.

Sam chuckled, “Told you it would work.”

Thank you for reading. This is the last part in this series and I enjoyed writing it sooooooo much <3 Please give a like, reply, follow or reblog for more content in the future. Also, you can request to be added to the tag list! I also am taking one shot requests go ahead and send your idea in to see it brought to life!

Tag List: @steveharrigntons @thebadassbitchqueen @farfromjustordinary @mela-noche @sstanbarnes @justab-eautifulmess @spideyycents @furiouscopshepherduniversity @sottisesreine @wintersoldat1943 @fookinsuckmecockmate

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beautifulletdownfics · 4 years ago

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Terrible to Meet You - A Harry Styles One Shot - Act 2, Let not the time discern

Harry wants to get out of the house. Alex wants to get home.

Alex meets Harry at at crossroads. Harry meets Alex on a one way street.

A coffee shop OU fic feat. lattes, lamingtons & that Great Unfathomable Feeling.

Story Page Here My Masterlist Here

Read Act 1, If at first we meet Here

Two of Us: 'This universe ain't big enough to keep us apart'

&&&

Harry went back to the cafe the next day. (And, after that, every day for a medium while)

There was something about it. Something about the tiny cafe he must have walked past a hundred times before but never took much notice of. Perhaps it was the way he felt the rest of the day after having been there. Or the fact the coffee was fucking good. But also maybe it was her—kind eyes, a foreign accent and a quick wit. It would take Harry's mind and body marginally longer than his heart to recognise what pulled him there.

Alex was surprised when he returned. Part of her was relieved, too. The other part of her was busy extracting the dagger of guilt that shot through her chest. Seeing Harry reminded her that she forgot to tell her flatmates the juicy The Daily Dose gossip about Harry Styles. And Harry walking up to the window a little before 8 am with a calm but reassuring smile on his face made something in her still, and Alex realised he wasn't gossip at all.

"Hi," he greeted her pleasantly, seemingly thinking nothing of the way his hand was tucked into the top of his running shorts to extract his phone for payment. (Alex's heart did a lusty little backflip) She saw a slither of a toned tummy and the way the elastic of the shorts folded over itself, "I'm back for more," he said.

More coffee, and more of whatever else it was packaged into the takeaway cups with it. Alex and Paul were Harry's first human interaction after returning from LA. And, where 24 hours prior his aching need had been to see literally anybody, it was now just a need to see more of this somebody. A person whose name he didn't know yet and who Harry had absolutely no reason to feel connected to at all. Knitted hearts aren't visible to the human eye, not when it isn't Looking.

He did though. Although the way she was now watching him with a completely blank expression on her face and a far off look in her eyes made Harry's confidence falter. He repeated what he'd already said over in his head looking for where he might've gone wrong. Harry came up blank. Was she completely freaked out by him already?

Paul rescued her from what Alex was sure was turning into a flushed moment for her. Did Harry really not realise what he'd said with his fingers beyond the elastic of his shorts? Paul's head appeared over her shoulder as a frown started to appear on Harry's face, "Careful Harry, she's a grump today."

Nobody blinked an eye at Paul using Harry's name before it was technically given to them.

"I am not," Alex insisted too quickly, too forcefully. Her elbow launched backwards, trying to catch Paul's gut. She really was a grump. But last night's wine was still causing her head to thump and her throat to ache. Tears and a bottle of red worked well in the moment but weren't as comforting the morning after.

Paul's eyebrows rose in Harry's direction, and he waved a hand out in front of him, expertly weaving away from her attack even in the tiny space, "See?"

"Ah," Harry nodded awkwardly and briefly looked at his feet.

"Doesn't like it when I start talking about universe stuff," Paul explained loudly, despite nobody asking for him to. "Very spiritually pragmatic, the Australians."

"Didn't know that," Harry added, expression turning to one of interest. He wasn't involved in this part of the conversation the previous day.

"Long black?" Alex asked because yes she remembered his order, and she had the defence of it having been less than 24 hours since she last made Harry's coffee in case anyone started raising eyebrows for another reason.

"Uh, yeah," Harry fumbled over how quickly the exchange turned to business, "Thank you."

She got to work but felt Harry's eyes on her as her hands ran on autopilot, stepping through the process. The click click of the bean hopper, the churn of the grinder, packing the head … Alex put the machine on to run and internally cursed Paul, who took himself into the back room, mumbling something about them running low on serviettes. A blatant lie.

Now, when she turned back to Harry, she tried to look calm and serene, like him. But she was already covered in coffee grind and couldn't be sure there wasn't a smudge of it across her face. Paul never told her when there was. Harry's heart was waving to hers widely.

"So … You're definitely not in a bad mood then?" Harry had an expression on his face that told Alex he was testing the waters, but the teasing note was there in just the right amount.

"I'm hungover, which is completely different," she provided.

His smile turned into a grimace, "Oh yeah, completely … Nothing worse … Self-inflicted misery."

Alex tried not to let Harry's awkwardness affect her and in doing so fell into an old pastime of hers; filing the silence with mindless chatter, "Exactly. And then if you add in some idiot going on about the universe and it's wonderful, eternal plans for my existence … I could just kill a man, you know?"

Paul, Paul is the man I could kill, she thought.

He didn't know, but Harry nodded obediently anyway, "You need carbs and coffee, not the cosmos."

"Thank you," Alex gave Harry a look that told him she thought it was obvious the two of them were right, "I mean, the downright gall of that man, trying to put the universe on me this year of all years. Absolutely bloody insane."

Harry tried to hide the instant smile that came to his face hearing her accent navigate absolutely bloody insane. "I'm Harry … By the way … Feel like we're at names."

"Alexandra. But it's Alex." She added quickly, ignoring the lovely, melodic chuckle that came from Harry, "Do you really think that this year, with a global pandemic, anyone can claim that the universe is conspiring for their specific good? Like, 'Sorry everyone about the pandemic, this is really about my destiny, so you're all just going to have to hang tight while that all falls into place!' This is a terrible year. The universe isn't setting up shit."

"Well, it's terrible to meet you, Alex," Harry grinned, stealing her word. She really was in a grump, and he loved it. But if there was one thing Harry knew how to do, it was charm and disarm. He had a feeling nothing would look as lovely as Alex with a blush he'd put there.

Alex paused where she was about to put the lid on his coffee. She felt her cheeks heat as the last few moments played over in her head—her ranting, Harry's introduction, threatening to murder a man—and then she took in the way he was watching her. A little pink-cheeked himself, amused but not appalled, a waiting look of anticipation on his face for what might come out of her big mouth next.

"I think I might still be a little drunk," she excused meekly. Despite herself, Alex thought she might have a little crush.

"You're handling it well," Harry provided kindly, taking the coffee from where Alex put it down in front of him. He waved his phone over the payment portal, waiting for the beep before locking the screen and going back to looking at her, "Drinking for any particular reason?"

"Oh," Alex's eyes widened, "I—

—"Sorry, that was intrusive of me."

"No, it's okay," she continued quietly, not seeing the way her softening had Harry frowning in concentration to tune into what she was about to say, "I've been trying to get home—back to Australia—for a while now. Flights keep getting cancelled or, on Saturday, I was bumped from one at Heathrow…. So we're back to square one."

Dread filled Harry instantly. He could see how upset Alex was, the heartache in her voice—the homesickness—and he hated this look on her, the opposite to the one he'd just daydreamed about. If there was one thing Harry knew it was what it was to miss home. There was no cure for it. A dozen ways he could offer to help burst to the tip of his tongue, but he held them back.

"I'm sorry, that's really shit. Have …" he hesitated to ask, "Have they put you on another one?"

She smiled through glassy eyes, "It's complicated, that's not really how flights home are working at the moment … But it's alright! I'm fine. I'll get there eventually. I got the refund for the first one, back in April, last week and Paul's let me come back to work here three times now so … This can't last forever, right?"

Harry didn't have an answer for that, he was in no hurry to return to his house as he took a sip of his coffee, "How long has it been since you were home?"

"I went back for a visit a little over two years ago," Alex flipped a button on the espresso machine in front of her, to distract herself from the subject but also the way Harry was watching her. If only she could see the way the hearts were watching each other. She started rinsing out her coffee mug under the stream of boiling water, "My sister came over for Christmas last year, though."

"I just got back from America," Harry provided without knowing where the urge to comfort this stranger was coming from, "I was only gone a few months, and it was a little hard to get back, it felt dreadful, so I can't imagine what it's like for you. That's a long time to be so far from home, especially now."

While he spoke, Alex started making herself a latte, for something to do in the moment and for something to hold onto if Harry stayed at the window.

"How long have you been in London?" He asked. How long have you been just around the corner? Harry thought.

When she looked over at him, Harry felt like she was seeing through him. There was something about her soft, brown eyes and the way they exuded kindness that had him buoyant with giddiness at the same time as feeling incredibly self-conscious.

"Four years now," Alex told him, "Was supposed to be just a 12-month adventure."

"Your family must miss you then."

She shrugged, "I think they're used to it now. Life moves on without you, which is strange at first. Tough to get used to, that the people who own you suddenly have lives you only know about from catch-ups and Instagram posts."

Harry didn't know how to tell her that he knew exactly what she meant. He'd been struggling with that very notion for years now. Home never left like the same home he remembered, and wherever he found himself living—LA or the road—never quite felt right either.

"I've loved it though," Alex added, "Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't. This year though … I just want to be home, London's… Lost something."

Harry watched her shake herself out of the sad moment, her face brightened, and he barely registered the way Alex said in a genuinely upbeat fashion that she'd just have to wait for her time. He smiled along with the rising of her cheeks and felt like he saw a transition between two feelings that was entirely healthy and okay. She wasn't pretending. Her graciousness and patience with life were astounding, despite the fact he'd equally seen her sadness as being genuine as well. The balance there was enlightening.

"Need to make the most of the bonus time you've been given here then," he tried hesitantly. The hearts nodded at each other, gleefully.

That had been the right thing to say, the smile on Alex's face amplified in agreement, "Exactly.”

3AM 'She's got a little bit of something' &&&

Alex was sitting on an upturned milk crate as Harry rounded the corner.

His step faltered but only because she was looking right at him as if expecting him to arrive. He smiled under his mask and tugged it down while he was still a reasonable distance away. Alex smiling at him, holy hell did that taste—the flavour of her spirit—feel good in Harry's chest. Each day for nearly a month he'd felt the same way every time he saw her.

Alex received a text message from Harry just after 7 am that morning. Unlike the ones he sent every other day telling her he was on his way (an old fashioned tip from his sister, to demonstrate to Alex that Harry was thinking of her) that morning Harry told her he wouldn't see her until the afternoon. All day, she waited. Her heart tapped its foot impatiently in her chest, a nervous ticking that made Alex clumsy and disappointed when every new customer wasn't him.

"Hello," Harry grinned back at her, because that was all he could do, really. In her presence happiness exploded out of him and charged his whole body faster than caffeine ever could. His shoe scuffed the concrete path again as he looked at the closed cafe behind her, "Did I miss something?"

Harry stopped a safe distance from her, not sure how this new level of interaction would go. He'd never seen her whole body all at once, part of her was always obscured by the cafe window. Alex in the flesh—in the whole—was like the first taste of chilli on his tongue, invigorating in a way that stole the breath from his lungs.

"We close at three every day," she stayed seated but pushed another crate towards him with her foot. There were brown smudges of coffee grind all up and down her shins, and he guessed the black jeans she wore to work were strategic.

Harry squinted the sign on the window by the door, he was always occupied by her and didn't need arbitrary activities like reading signs to keep him entertained waiting for his coffee, "Really?"

"You usually come in the morning," Alex said pleasantly, waiting for him to sit down opposite her, "Here."

Harry was overwhelmed, he really was, by the sight of a white takeaway cup in her hand, and he reached for it carefully, "What's this—Alex."

"Can't have you missing your coffee … Made it right before closing, had to put the tiniest drop of milk in there otherwise it would shit itself and taste horrendous," she laughed at his wrinkled nose at the mention of milk, he sniffed the lid just to tease her or to get her to roll her eyes at him blithely. It worked, "It won't kill you, promise."

"Says someone whose intestines know how to handle lactose without making you shit yourself," he borrowed her phrase. Sounded better when Alex said it, with the wideness and the breadth of her accent.

Alex tilted her head back and laughed. Really laughed and Harry didn't have it in him to be embarrassed or scold himself for how he just spoke about his bowels in front of her, because the sound is marvellous and so Alex. It's unapologetic and genuine and a touch off-beat, which he loves.

"Holy shit," she let out a long, shaking breath afterwards, holding a palm to her rib as if in pain. She was pretending not to notice how Harry stared at her while she was laughing as if extremely happy with himself. "You wear white bottoms far too often for that to be a daily worry for you."

"Oh, it's a worry," Harry insisted, mainly to keep the joke going. He felt like his face was about to crack in half, "I can't have people spiking my coffees without my knowledge," Harry took a sip but then pointed his finger at her playfully, "I'm going to have to keep an eye on you."

As if he wasn't already.

"Busy day?" Alex asks, watching Harry take a hearty sip of the coffee she made him.

"Yeah, I um … I had some, ah, work stuff."

"Oh?" Alex crossed one leg over the other and looked at Harry with (mock) interest, "What do you do for work?"

Harry's eyes bulged involuntarily, and his mind went completely blank. Did she actually not know?

Alex only let the horror play on his face for a few seconds, "I'm kidding! I'm kidding. Jesus, Harry, sorry. I was just having a go."

"You're an excellent actress, as it turns out," he swallowed down the moment of panic. It only ever happened once before, years before, that a girl he'd been interested in hadn't known who Harry was beforehand. It hadn't ended up going down well.

Alex asks Harry about the book recommendation she sent him the week before, whether he'd started reading it yet.

Harry held up a finger at her, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," he said, "But I haven't had lunch … I'd promised myself one of Paul's ham and cheese croissants."

"Well, you're shit out of luck, unfortunately," Alex told him, "He takes the keys with him, I can't break in and make you one. But the cafe on the high street around the corner stays open until five. You could try there?"

Harry felt like he was about to defecate himself, but it wasn't from the lactose, "Will you join me?"

Alex's eyes brightening instantly, but Harry didn't miss the way her cheeks reddened, "Sure. Of course."

"Great!" Harry coughed down his too-enthusiastic response then worried—as everyone did in 2020—that his physical reaction to her saying yes, the cough, would be interpreted as a symptom of something else entirely. He checks the time on his Apple Watch, "Should we go then?"

They walk in step away from The Daily Dose, and away from the previous pattern of their friendship. It strikes them both that this is the first time (both trip over 'first' in their minds as having the possibility to suggest it happening more often but their hearts have known all along, of course) they were out in the world together, the first time they were more than barista and customer.

Harry's hand touched Alex's forearm when they got to the cafe's door as he held it open and encouraged her to go inside. They ordered takeaway, Harry got a croissant (he was still working on the coffee Alex made him) while Alex ordered a tea. They then walked back a little way to where there was a small park with vacant seats Harry noticed on the way past.

"So, the book …" Alex asked him, the lid of her tea is off to let the heat escape. She’d crossed her legs and angled her hips towards him on the bench seat. Harry faced forward, heart hammering as he tried to remember how to use his voice.

Harry struggled to look dignified while biting into his too-hot croissant, the cheese burnt his lip, but he tried to hide it, "Oh, yeah, well, I haven't started it."

"I thought you said you wanted to speak to me about it!" She laughed.

"A ploy," Harry admitted sheepishly, "Was trying to figure out how to ask you to come with me."

In her head, Alex squealed. Her heart held two thumbs up at Harry's.

"How's the coffee," she asked, eyeing the cup in his hand.

Harry grins, knowing his next line is a winner, "Best in London, easily."

+++

GIve me all your best Alex & Harry theories Act 3, Hearts beat not fail - coming soon!

+++

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#fic: terrible to meet you #1dff #harry fic #harry styles story #harry fan fic #harry styles fanfic

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 4 years ago

Text

What if...? Part 8

Yeah, so we ended up with 9 parts (plus possibly an epilogue, depending on how long 9 turns out) instead of 4... or 5... or 7/8... As I said; I’ve given up restraining this story as you lovely, lovely enablers kept throwing encouraging fuel to the writing fire and muse molotovs at me. The comments and reblogs are cat nip to a writer and I am a weak, weak soul who can only say; thank you so much <3

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Part 8

Davarax has to be tired and Dulsissia can see places on his underarmor that is scorched and torn, which tells her he probably has new scars to join his old ones, but he ignores it all in favour of catching up with what has happened in the children’s lives.

Paz doesn’t seem to mind the others bombarding him with questions too, especially about the helmet, he’s grown even taller and seem to have gained some muscle, but Dulsissia feels a tiny twinge in her heart at that he also seem more quiet and subdued than before.

Maybe it is just the side-effect of having spent over a year with his father that close? Maybe things will become more normal now that Paz is back with the other children? Dulsissia hopes so. But she wouldn’t place any credits on it.

It’s surprisingly difficult to let go of them when the time comes, so Dulsissia aims the words to herself as much as the children when she explains that Davarax and Paz need to rest for a bit. And, yeah, get cleaned up. But how about they have a welcome home meal later?

It’s a bittersweet event. Dulsissia wants to kick herself when she watches Paz sit by the table and be unable to eat anything. His t-visor rests occasionally on the food, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Needing to distract herself from the sight, Dulsissia turns to Barthor. “Can you hand me the water, baby?”

Sighing as if greatly put upon, Barthor reaches out and hands her the water pitcher. “You know, I’m going to be the next to get the helmet. I’m not a baby, so maybe not refer to me as one?”

A completely irrational burst of anger flares up inside her and Dulsissia snaps her fingers at him. “Hey.” She snaps her fingers at the rest of them, gaining everyone’s attention. “I’m going to make something perfectly clear here and now. You? You are all my babies. All of you. I don’t care how old you are, how many helmets you put on, whatever right or wrong you do, whether you’re fifty and have babies of your own, even grandbabies, I don’t care; I’m going to call you my babies. Deal with it.”

Barthor flushes a deep red, Din blinks wide-eyed, Raga shrugs and Corin merely keeps eating as he resigned himself to his fate years ago. Paz… She has no idea how he responds. He looks at her, but the helmet hides his expression and he remains silent.

“I assume that includes me as well then?” Davarax drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Since you said ‘all of you’? Nice. I’m going to be the first baby ever with stubbles.”

That has the children laughing and Dulsissia to be the one blushing. She gathers herself and looks directly into his t-visor. “I guess so. Baby.”

The children laugh even more, but Davarax picks up on the suggestive tone of her voice and she can almost see him choke on his smugness. Hah.

At the end of the evening, Dulsissia makes sure to bundle up some of the food in a box that she hands to Paz by the door. “Here you go. I added some sweets too. Don’t tell the others.”

Paz huffs a faint laugh. He’s clearly spent time with Davarax too, by the sound of it. Then, after a moment of hesitation, Paz moves forward, slides his arms around her waist and hugs her close.

Closing her eyes, Dulsissia instantly leans down to wrap her own arms around him. “Welcome home, baby.” She whispers and her heart aches when she feels a faint shiver go through him.

And when the boy doesn’t let go, keeps holding on to her, a little too tight, Dulsissia has to fight the urge to try to pick Paz up and carry him like she’ll do to the smaller children.

Eventually Paz does let go, steps away and reaches out a hand, which Raga is quick to take and the children start to flood out of the room, until it is only Corin left, who starts cleaning off the table, and Dulsissia who walks over to the door to say good night to Davarax.

Leaning against the door frame, he reaches out and tucks a lock her hair behind her ear. “I really did miss you.” His voice so very soft and gentle.

Dulsissia struggles to look up at his t-visor, smiling. “Good.” She tugs lightly at the fabric just above his breastplate. “Because I missed you too. Are you okay? I saw the damage to your clothes.”

“Yeah, just minor injuries. Had to clean up a little rabble, but with Dez going through them like a hammerhead corvette, they weren’t a problem for long.”

Long enough for Davarax to be injured. Does Paz have scars too now? Dulsissia feels another rush of gratitude that they’d made it home. “You’re going to stay for a while now, right?”

“Absolutely.” Davarax’ gloved fingers come up to touch her lips for the briefest of seconds, then his hand move over to cup her face and he leans down so they can ever so gently touch foreheads, a modest touch in front of Corin’s suspicious eyes. “Good night, Dulcy.” He straightens and looks over at Corin. “Good night, Corin.”

“Good night,” Corin replies, “I’m glad you’re home again.”

“Me too.” Davarax replies, takes a final glance at Dulsissia and then walks back to his own room.

Knowing he’s right across the hall and yet also aware of how he needs to rest more than… anything else leaves Dulsissia squirming in her bed all night and very grumpy in the morning.

Her bad mood doesn’t get to last long. She and Corin have barely eaten breakfast before there is a knock on her door and she finds an uncharacteristically energetic Davarax.

“If you have something planned today, cancel it.” He blurts out.

Blinking wide-eyed, Dulsissia then raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Davarax turns to leave, but pauses and looks back at her. “And maybe tomorrow too. Yeah, cancel tomorrow too.”

He’s gone before she can ask any questions so she sends her son a quizzical look.

Corin looks equally puzzled and can merely shrug in response.

It’s about two hours later that Davarax appears again. He’s got a bag hanging on his right shoulder and the other children with bags of their own behind him. “We’re heading out.”

Curious, Corin wanders over to where Dulsissia is standing in the doorway and she automatically yanks him close so not get infected by whatever insanity has struck Davarax. “Out? Who? Where?”

“You, me, the kids.” Davarax gestures.

Dulsissia shakes her head, confused and increasingly worried. “But… it’s not allowed. Is it?”

“Not usually, no.” Davarax admits, gesturing her to come with them. “But I, uh, asked nicely.”

“We did it once before.” Raga pipes up, all smiles and excitement. “It was awesome!”

To her surprise, Dulsissia sees even Din is almost bouncing with happy energy. She looks over at her son, who is increasingly affected by the insanity despite her best efforts. He is grinning up at her with a hopeful look on his little face.

“Please, mommy? Please?”

“We’ll look after you two.” Paz declares.

Dulsissia looks over at Davarax, who tilts his head a little and says; “Trust me?”

Sighing, she shrugs. “Okay.”

It’s unnerving to to leave the Covert with the kids in tow. Heading into Nevarro by herself is scary enough, which means Dulsissia is ready to fire her blaster at her own shadow if it so much as looks at the children wrong.

Davarax leads them out of the city, he seems relaxed and confident enough, and Dulsissia actually feels a hint of fondness when she sees the less-than-shiny ship that had brought her and her son to safety.

Din actually runs ahead and Davarax presses the button on his vambrace to lower the ramp for the boy. And of course, where Din goes, Corin follows.

“I don’t get his fascination with that ship.” Barthor drawls, before casting a quick glance up at Davarax. “No offence.”

Davarax hums. “You’re riding in the back for that one, kiddo.”

“Oh, come on!” Barthor whines and Raga cackles at his misfortune before she jumps up on Paz’ back and he carries her on board the ship.

The surprises continue when the Razor Crest do not set course for space but heads west and keeps going west. Dulsissia peeks out the transparisteel, trying to tell herself not to be worried that Davarax is letting Din fly the ship more or less by himself and is fascinated by how the volcanic landscape turns more and more green and lush. Soon there are rivers and trees and even animal life.

It’s beautiful.

“Do you see it?” Davarax asks, standing next to to the pilot seat, one hand on Din’s shoulder and one hand on Corin’s shoulder as he stands next to the Mandalorian; mute with awe.

“I see it.” Din replies, flicking some switches and pressing some buttons. “Going in for landing.”

Davarax turns his head and shouts to the ones in the cargo area: “Buckle in, womp rats! We’re about to land!”

In her usual seat, Dulsissia flinches a little at the loudness but waves off Davarax’ sheepish apology.

She’s curious now. What is this place?

The landing is bumpy and a little scary, she can see Davarax about to intervene, but Din does manage to set the ship down without killing them all.

Outside the ship, they step into the gentle sunlight and the smell of damp soil and Dulsissia is amazed. She’s never seen such lush greenery. This is very different from the sterile enviroment of Seswenna, where everything is controlled and dictated by humans and what they deem to be in fashion, the polluted city she and Corin had met Davarax in or the dust-covered Nevarro.

Davarax picks up his bag and hers before gingerly nudging her with his shoulder, “Come.” and walks off.

She follows.

They come to a halt in a clearing and Davarax starts setting up what looks to be a camp site. He sets the children to different chores and only gives an absent sigh when he kneels next to what will probably become a fire place. “Paz, can you make sure,” Raga runs by him and climbs up the trunk of a nearby tree, “she doesn’t do that…”

Paz shrugs. “She’ll be fine. She got this.”

Davarax hums, not convinced but not visibly surprised by the incident or the response.

A little lost, Dulsissia stands at the outskirts of the site. She tries to hold on to Corin, but that only lasts for a couple of minutes before Corin frees himself to run after the others who take off with determination to finish their chore first. Watching in mild distress, she isn’t sure what to do with herself.

“Having you ever camped outside before?” Davarax asks.

Dulsissia shakes her head. The thought is a bit terrifying, but then she remembers that this last year she has been doing countless things she’s never done before. She can do this too. Taking a breath, she steps forward. “How can I help?”

The hours rush by. Davarax seems to be able to predict whatever madness they get up to, but Dulsissia struggles to keep up with the children exploring everything from tiny bugs to the massive creatures flying overhead, arguing, wrestling and climbing and generally getting incredibly dirty. Yet, she hasn’t heard them laugh so much in… ever?

“We should try to round up the rampant blurrgs and head back to the camp site.” Davarax says some time during mid-day. “We need to feed them before they try to eat each other…”

Dulsissia makes a thoughtful hum. Paz is somewhat clean, but Din and Barthor look like part mud-horns, while both Raga and Corin are more mud than child at the moment. “Yes, but… there is one thing we should do first.”

Davarax looks over at her. “What?”

She grins.

Fifteen minutes later, she wades into the river, still trying to tie up her hair, and proves to the others that stripping down to your underwear and going into the water isn’t going to kill them. Dulsissia learned to swim at a very young age, but she’d never been allowed to bring Corin out to teach him, and it sounds like the Covert children haven’t seen much of rivers and oceans at all.

The river here isn’t too deep, about waist height on her, and the temperature is cool but not cold.

Corin is the first to enter, following his mother like an obedient baby-porg, and once he is in; Din has to follow despite being clearly anxious of the liquid death trap. Raga will not be the accused of cowardice, so she stomps in next and grabs an anxious hold of Din. Barthor hesitates for a long time, but eventually he’s too curious to resist and joins them as well and then the splashing begins.

Davarax and Paz are the only ones who do not enter the water at all, despite the laughter and the splashing and encouragements from the others. Dulsissia suspects Davarax stays on land to keep Paz company.

After almost one hour, she wades back up on land, still laughing at a rather successful splash attack on both Corin and Din as they were trying to gang up on her. “Davarax?” While Paz is sitting cross-legged on the riverbank, Davarax is standing partially turned away and staring at the forest.

Instantly worried, Dulsissia inches over to him. “What’s wrong? Is there something out there?”

“No. No, nothing wrong. Everything is fine.”

Things are clearly not fine. He’s really tense and refuses to stop staring at the forest. “Then why-”

“Listen, if the kids weren’t here, I would be looking at you. Trust me, I would be looking. I would be looking so much. I would not stop looking. But they are here and… so I can’t. Okay?”

Oh.

Stupidly flattered, Dulsissia reaches out and gives him an apologetic pat on the arm. “I’ll get dressed.”

Davarax replies with a tense nod.

After they eat, Dulsissia is in the middle of trying to land a raspberry on the shrieking and flailing Barthor’s neck after he called her old when Davarax orders them up on their feet and to huddle together. He lifts his vambrace and declares it is time for a new holo-picture considering that their family has grown.

It’s a wonderful idea, it only saddens Dulsissia a bit when Davarax seems surprised when she insist on him being in the holo as well. Against all rules, he sets the vambrace on the ground and it scans them all together.

Dulsissia’s big challenge comes when dark has settled and the exhausted children are piled up together next to the camp fire, so deep into sleep that a Star Destroyer couldn’t wake them up. She tries to arrange her blanket on the ground, gingerly removing stick after nasty stick and pointy rock that is determined to poke her everywhere, but sleeping on the ground is not going to be easy.

“Having trouble?” Davarax asks, sounding amused. He’s sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree with his legs stretched out in front of himself, absently whittling away at a small twig.

“A bit.” Dulsissia admits with a sigh and gets up on her knees to stare down at her blanket.

“Hey…” Davarax calls for her to look his way and he sheaths the blade before tossing the twig away and nodding her over. “Come here?”

Smiling a little, Dulsissia gathers up her blanket and makes her way over. She settles next to him and as he lifts his arm to fit her under it, Dulsissia arranges the blanket to cover their legs.

Davarax does his laughter-huff. “I don’t need-”

“Shush. We’re sharing.” Dulsissia states, tucking their legs in before leaning back against him. She’s childishly pleased to feel his arm around her.

The ground is still hard, Davarax’ armor even more so, and still she can hear herself make a satisfied sigh just from being close to him again and being worn out from the day. She feels… happy. Content. “Today was nice. Really nice. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” Davarax says in a solemn voice, quietly, for her ears. “My only comfort while being away was the fact that my kids were in good hands.” He sighs. “Usually when I get back, they... One time I had to spend three hours persuading Din to come out from his hiding place. Do you know this is the first time I’ve come back to smiles instead of tears?”

Dulsissia closes her eyes for a moment, determined not ruin the moment with her tears, and she takes his hand between hers. “It’s like you said; they are good kids. They are. I’m just sad not everyone can see that.” She lifts his hand and presses her lips to the glove. “And I’m so very happy they have you.”

“Us.” Davarax pulls her a little closer. “They have us.”

It takes a couple of days for him to catch up on his other obligations to the Covert and only then does Davarax tell Dulsissia to appear thirty minutes before the children, just like that very first time.

“Okay, show me what Decco has taught you.” Davarax says as he walks into the training room in front of her. “Impress me, Dulcy.”

She doesn’t really think. She just acts, assuming he’s prepared. So when her foot shoves hard at the back of his knee, made easy due to her walking behind him, and Davarax goes sprawling with a squawk; Dulsissia is horrified and drops to her knees next to him. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Davarax rolls over on his back and sighs. “Nothing hurt but my pride.” He then actually laughs a little. “Next time I will clarify to wait until we have actually started the lesson.”

Dulsissia awkwardly tucks her hair behind her ear and tries a smile. “At least I managed to knock you down this time.”

“You knocked me off my feet the second you ran to protect your son instead of just fleeing when I shot those men in the alleyway.” Davarax replies in a fond voice. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since.”

Dulsissia’s heart does a flip. It hasn’t done that while he was gone. It feels nice. And a light touch makes her look down and she sees how he is reaching out two fingers on the hand next to her to brush them lightly back and forth across her knee. The contact feels even nicer. She remembers...

She looks down at the floor and her face burns. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t have to train today? Maybe we could… hide in your room for a bit? Do you want that?”

“No.” Davarax replies.

The embarrassment triples and a sting of humiliation hurts bad. She’d just assumed… Her mistake.

Davarax hoists himself up on his left elbow and his right hand comes up to cup the side of her face. “I need more. Less than thirty minutes? It’s not enough. It’s nowhere enough for me. I can’t. I’m sorry, Dulcy, but I need more. I need hours. I need to love you, hold you, savour you...”

His voice is raw with that very need, and the heat in Dulsissia’s face has suddenly nothing to do with embarrassment of humiliation. It feels like all of her is burning.

She lifts her gaze and looks at his t-visor. “Tonight then?”

Davarax’ breath hitches and he only barely manages a faint nod. “If you want to?”

Dulsissia breaks into an embarrassed laugh, having trouble believing this man is real. “I’m the one throwing myself at you here.”

“Technically you kicked me to the floor.” Davarax offers as a weak joke.

They both end up laughing and she gives his arm a half-hearted slap. “And I said I was sorry. Now get up. We have some training to do.”

Davarax grunts. “I thought I was the teacher and you obeyed my every word?”

“You are and I did, but that only ended up with you eating floor, so maybe we should change it up a little?” Dulsissia sends him a challenging look and that finally gets him up on his feet with the snort of an offended bantha.

Suddenly he’s all business and no play. Dulsissia tries several times, but she fails to send him crashing to the floor again.

Later, when the children emerge, eager to train, she stays to watch. She’s amazed at the progress her son has made since they arrived her. He is not as advanced and smooth as the others, but even without maternal bias involved, Dulsissia can see that Corin is becoming quite the skilled fighter. He’s got talent.

As for the other kids; Barthor lacks strength, but his speed is unmatched. Raga is quite the brawler, willing to take punches if it means winning a fight and absolutely fearless.

The only thing that saddens Dulsissia is the change in Paz. He still supervises the others, corrects them when they do something wrong, but when his fist connects with Corin’s cheekbone and he knocks him down; he does not apologize.

She wonders what Paz has seen, what he went through last year. Some scars aren’t physical.

After training, Corin asks if Din can eat at their place and Dulsissia nods. It’s the same question, every day, and she always gives the same answer. But today it also gives her the opportunity to ask a question of her own.

“Can I ask you something?” Dulsissia leans against the wall next to where Davarax is standing, prodding at his vambrace.

“Sure.” He replies, not looking up from whatever he’s doing.

“Din’s parents. His Mandalorian parents. Why did you choose them?”

Davarax pauses and finally looks up at her. “I didn’t. I mean, I agreed to it. I don’t know her too well, but I’ve served with his father in the Fighting Corps. He’s a loyal man. A good Mandalorian.”

“Din is not happy there.”

Davarax sighs and looks over at where the boys are disappearing out the door. “I know.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Dulsissia asks. “Or, is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll talk to them.”

It’s almost funny. Dulsissia would laugh if she wasn’t so frustrated. In her youth, she had waited impatiently for Antonia to fall asleep so she could sneak out to meet boys. Now, a mother herself, she is waiting for her son to fall asleep so she can sneak out to meet a man.

No, not just ‘a man’. Davarax. Her heart does another flip at the very thought.

“Mom, are you okay?” Corin asks, a little concerned, bless his soul. He’s sitting in his bed, reading, blissfully calm after a long day of hard work pretending to be a bounty hunter with the others.

Dulsissia looks over at him, realizes she’s forgotten to pretend to be reading as well and is just tapping a nail restlessly at the datapad instead. She puts on a smile. “I’m fine, baby. I’m just thinking about what to get you for your birthday, that’s all. You keep reading.”

Corin beams her a happy smile before obediently going back to his story.

Dulsissia closes her eyes and wills time to speed up.

Time seems to drag on even more slowly, but after about a million standard years, Dulsissia finally dares to slip out of bed and tiptoe out of the room.

Her heart is racing and her pulse is thumping in her veins and she’s not even in the same room as Davarax! At least this time she’s had the good sense to put on something more flattering than the white sack, plus made sure her hair doesn’t look like the backside of a wookiee. And when she gingerly knocks on the door and it opens to reveal Davarax without his armor, merely his clothes, she knows he’s been thinking about this as much as she has.

She steps inside the room, the door closes behind her and for a second she and Davarax are just looking at each other. Unbearable hunger pulsating between them. A craving so strong Dulsissia doesn’t even want to resist it. She wants to be loved, held and savoured.

The second she steps towards him, he moves towards her. When her hands reach up and her arms go around his neck, his hands reach down and take a hold of her hips, lifting her up like she weighs nothing. Holding on to each other like they die if they didn’t, he carries her towards the bed.

Davarax had said hours and he had meant it. Dulsissia is amazed to find his hunger doesn’t stop between the bouts of lovemaking that leave her gasping for air. Instead she shivers with soft happiness as he trails his bare hands over her naked skin and whispers his love for all of her, body and soul. There is actual reverence in both of his voice and his touch. He sounds like a man in love.

Dulsissia gets to learn him as well and memorizes it all. He has two new scars. His neck is really sensitive. He goes weak when her lips touches his skin. And she can almost lull him to sleep by gently running her fingers up and down his back for a little while. She loves him so much it hurts.

An interesting revelation comes when Dulsissia declares that those tiny refresher showers could not fit two people, not in a billion standard years, and Davarax proves her wrong. Now she can never shower again without blushing…

For the last hour, all they do is lie curled up together in his bed, sharing each other’s warmth, watching with lazy satisfaction as their fingers play together in a slow, pointless dance of touching, braiding, stroking.

Content. There’s that word again.

Dulsissia is sad to leave, by the time she’s by the door they have already been through three kov’nyns and she pauses a final time to burrow her face to his neck and inhale the scent of him before forcing herself to leave. Davarax doesn’t let go until he absolutely has to.

They will have this again, Dulsissia tells herself. Don’t worry. They will definitely have this again.

And while her own bed feels lonely and cold, it still doesn’t take long before Dulsissia falls into an exhausted and satisfied sleep.

Three hours later, Corin has to call her name twice before she reluctantly opens her eyes and forces herself out of bed to start the day. She’s still half-asleep when they eat breakfast.

“Are you sure you’re okay, mom?” Corin asks, frowning. “You look tired.”

Dulsissia hides her smile behind her second cup of caf. “I’m okay, sweetie. I promise. I’m more than okay. I’m really good. And to prove it, I am going to bake those sugar cookies today and you guys can have as many as you want after training. I’ll pack some for Paz. How does that sound?”

Corin lights up, beaming with delight. “That sounds awesome. You are the best, mom.”

“So I’ve been told.” Dulsissia mumbles with smug delight, sipping more caf.

She plans her day thoroughly, making sure to have time free when she knows Davarax will have time off and hopes that maybe they can spend time together. One of the first things she does is grab her cookies and head up to Nevarro while Corin and Din are working on some project with Barthor.

It’s kind of funny how several of her regular buyers are some of the scruffiest looking bounty hunters in the city, but Dulsissia knows they are a lot kinder than they look.

She does not expect, after finishing a transaction, to hear a horribly familiar voice.

“Dulsissia?”

Her blood runs ice cold, fear clamps around her heart, and Dulsissia needs a moment before she slowly turns around and faces the one who had spoken. It’s him. How is it possible? How did he find her? “Vecon.”

Short, dark hair combed back into slick order, the same cold grey eyes as Macero, the younger and less handsome brother, Vecon Valentis studies her from head to toe and then snorts a laugh. “It is you. What are you doing here on Nevarro? Wow. You look a mess, Dulsissia. How the mighty Motti has fallen, eh?” Vecon scouts the surroundings. “Where is the kid?”

Cold sweat is breaking out on her skin. Dulsissia tries to keep a neutral expression on her face. “I ran out of funds. Couldn’t feed him. So I left him on a different planet with some kind souls and told them I’d be back for him.”

Vecon looks at her, digests the words and ends up shrugging. “Oh well. We’ll find him. If he’s still alive.”

She will never let him get his hands on Corin. Never. Dulsissia turns to run, but four storm troopers are now standing there. She swallows hard, forcing the panic away, before turning back to face her former brother-in-law.

“Don’t bother trying to run.” Vecon drawls, picking up a package with cookies from her small make-shift table and he studies them. “My brother wants you back and I would hate to have to mess up that pretty face of yours.” He drops the cookies to the ground and smirks. “Are you going to come nicely? Please say yes.”

Dulsissia knows he’s hoping she’ll say no. While Vecon has nothing personally against her and probably won’t harm her unprovoked, she has wronged his brother and that cannot be forgiven. She could try to run, but odds are against her. Five of them, one of her. She has a weapon, but so do they and while they most likely wouldn’t shoot to kill, it would be easier to escape without a blaster wound to slow her down. Also, even if she did manage to run, where would she run to? There is no way she will lead them to the Covert.

No, better go with them and find a way to escape before they get to Macero.

Dulsissia sticks her chin out. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Vecon smiles and steps forward, his boot crunching the cookies under it, reaching out to twirl a blonde lock of her hair around his index finger. “Excellent.” He glances down her body. “Hand over your weapons, please.”

Of course he won’t let her keep her weapons, but Dulsissia still hesitates. Davarax had given her these weapons. They were gifts from him. That makes them precious to her. “What if I promise not to use them?”

Vecon chuckles and gestures to the storm troopers, who don’t hesitate to grab her arms and start pawing all over her to look for weapons. Fighting against them is pointless, but she still struggles.

“Bring her.” Vecon orders once the blaster and blade are claimed and they proclaim her safe.

Dulsissia tugs angrily to free herself from the soldiers’ grip on her arms, but she walks with them.

Get them away from the Covert. Get them away from her loved ones. Then escape. Somehow.

A meagre comfort is how the many eyes watching this will at least inform Davarax of what happened and her son will be cared for.

A massive vehicle is waiting at the outskirts of Nevarro and Dulsissia is brought on board with Vecon and the storm troopers to join another group already seated there. Every soldier present is watching her with curiosity, more than one white helmet tilts and gives them an almost innocent look of inquisitiveness, but she knows these are people who wouldn’t kill her if ordered to do so.

The drive is bumpy and uncomfortable, but Dulsissia barely notices. She sits, back straight and stares emptily ahead at the wall, thinking about what Corin will think when she doesn’t come back. The Covert will have no trouble uncovering what has happened to her, but the thought of the fear her son will feel is killing her. His father is suddenly so very close and he has lost his mother for who knows how long? Forever?

No. Not forever.

Dulsissia will find her way back to him. To them. She will.

They arrive at the base and she is brought inside by the ones who had dragged her out of Nevarro. Vecon is talking on some communication device, clearly rescheduling his plans as he has something more important to do; bring back his brother’s property.

Shortly after that, she’s brought on board a huge imperial ship and locked away in a small, bare room clearly designed for prisoners a lot more dangerous than her.

Dulsissia sits down on the hard bench meant to be a bed, draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She doesn’t cry. She refuses to cry. She won’t give Vecon that.

A meal is brought to her twice a day, but otherwise she is left to slowly rot from boredom and fear.

Then comes the day when an officer steps inside her cell and holds out a bundle of clothes towards her.

“You are to wear this.” The woman orders with cold distaste. “The Colonel will see you in fifteen minutes. Make yourself presentable.”

The doors slide open and Dulsissia steps into the room where Vecon is sitting. The table in front of him is covered with all kinds of luxury food that Dulsissia used to love and hasn’t tasted since she left home. The smirk on Vecon’s face says he suspects this fact.

Forcing herself to smile, Dulsissia walks over to the chair drawn out for her at the opposite side of the table.

“Better.” Vecon says, lifting a fancy looking glass with red liquid and giving her a mock toast. “Much better.”

He’s referring to the dress she’s wearing. A beautiful and smooth thing in a glorious teal colour.

Sitting down, holding on to her smile through pure will power, Dulsissia can’t hide the anger in her eyes. “I never pictured you for a man of fashion, Vecon?”

“I’m not.” The man confirms, taking a sip. “But I can’t have my brother’s wife wandering around looking like something… cheap.”

The insult burns. It shouldn’t, she knows that. There was nothing wrong with the clothes she had been wearing. But the words burn and she feels angry with herself. “I’m sure he will be very grateful.”

“Oh, I know he will be.” Vecon puts the glass down and picks at something on his plate. “He’s been very determined to find you, Dulcy.”

“Don’t call me that.” Dulsissia growls with such intensity and anger it surprises him.

Dropping whatever he was holding between his fingers, Vecon goes from surprise to amusement. Chuckling, he sits up straighter and pays actual attention to her. “Well, well, has the loth-kitten grown claws? Was that attitude I heard? Not just snooty Motti condescension, but actual attitude?”

Dulsissia gives him a sour smile.

Vecon shrugs and gestures for her to eat. “I like my women spicy, so I’m pleased to hear it. Macero, as you know, won’t like that one bit.” He takes another sip of his glass. “I’ve sent him a message and expect to hear back from him any day now. He’s on a mission, I cannot disclose his whereabouts as it is top secret, but I think he’ll take some time off to greet you on your return.”

Fear gnaws in Dulsissia’s belly. She stares at her plate, unable to eat a single thing.

“There is one thing I need to know.” Vecon drones on. “Where is the kid?”

“I told you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Vecon sets his grey stare in her. “And now I want you to tell the truth.”

Dulsissia just stares at her plate.

“Don’t make this difficult for the both of us.” Vecon says. “I will find him, eventually. You know that. I’m inclined to say he’s back on Nevarro, but then I also think you might have been more reluctant to leave if he was. Maybe I should level the place just to be sure?”

Closing her eyes, trying to block out his words, Dulsissia feels sick to her stomach. Vecon is capable of doing just that. She knows he is. Not merely because he has the soldiers and firepower to do it, but because he’d enjoy doing it.

Macero and Vecon are frightfully similar in many ways, but where Macero is cold and efficient, Vecon is less clever and more randomly cruel. It’s what has kept him from advancing further in the army, unlike his brother who has met the Emperor himself.

Macero wouldn’t care if an orphanage caught fire as long as it benefited him, Vecon would stay to listen to the screams.

“Just tell me, Dulsissia.” Vecon says with a friendly smile so fake it wouldn’t fool a blind man. “My brother wants his son back. He misses him. How could you take Corin away from his father?”

“Burn Nevarro to the ground. Bomb the planet from orbit. I don’t care.” Dulsissia bluffs, raising her gaze to meet his with cold contempt. “You won’t find him there.”

Clicking his tongue, Vecon studies her for a while and then gestures to the guards. “Take her back to her cell.”

Dulsissia gets up.

“And you can leave the knife.” Vecon says, not looking up from piling food on to his own plate.

Clenching her jaw, Dulsissia places the butter knife back on the table, turns and walks out of the room.

How many days has it been? It’s hard to tell in this coffin of a room. Dulsissia spends the time either lying on the bench or pacing back and forth the two and a half steps it takes from covering the distance from one wall to the next.

When two guards come to fetch her, Dulsissia is almost grateful. Her mind is tormenting her with all kinds of scenarios of what her boy must be going through so even Vecon is a welcome distraction.

They bring her to a different place this time. The door opens to reveal some kind of communication room and she sees Vecon standing there, in the middle of the room with his back towards her, and Dulsissia braces herself. Will it be more threats? Bargaining this time, maybe?

What she doesn’t expect it Vecon stepping aside and revealing Macero’s holo-image.

“Dulsissia.” Macero’s voice greets her.

“Macero.” Dulsissia whispers back. She can’t move. Can’t look away.

“I have been looking for you.” Macero says, his voice is flat but his eyes are angry. “I’ve been very worried. You can imagine my relief when Vecon sent me a message that he’d found you.”

Vecon grins.

Dulsissia says nothing.

“He also tells me you will not give up the location of my son.” Macero continues.

His son? Dulsissia feels a flicker of fury burn in her belly. He hadn’t shown one ounce of interest in ‘his’ son until there was talk about sending him away. Macero had been pleased when she’d told him she was pregnant, but she’d been more or less on her own for the next nine months except for when they were posing for her family. Macero had shown up again a mere hour after Corin was born, inspected the child and nodded with approval before leaving again.

Growing up, Corin had been desperate for his father’s attention and time, but he never gave it to him. “Do you even remember his name?” Dulsissia can’t hide the bitterness in her voice.

“Of course I remember his name” Macero does not take the bait. “Tell me where he is.”

“No.”

Macero stares at her with those cruel eyes of his and then turns his attention to Vecon. “Bring her to Seswenna. Stay with her and make sure she gets a lot of rest. She probably shouldn’t talk to anyone. It’s been a tough experience for my dear wife and she needs time to recover.”

“Understood.” Vecon replies, like a good soldier. He always did whatever his brother told him to do.

“Don’t do this, Macero.” Dulsissia asks, taking a step forward. “Just let me go. You won’t ever see me again. Tell them I died or something.”

“What I’m going to do is find my son.” Macero replies with cold contempt. “And you, my dear wife, will stop your pathetic whining and go back home. You are going to stay there, put on a happy face and give me sons and daughters.”

Exhaling sharply, Dulsissia shakes her head. “I’m not some pawn in your plan, Macero.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Macero doesn’t even blink. “That is exactly what you are. Our children will be Mottis and not even your family can deny that. They may dislike me, but they can’t turn their back on their own blood.”

She hates herself as frustrated and frightened tears well up in her eyes, but Dulsissia can’t stop it. “I won’t be a part of it. I refuse. Do you hear me?”

Vecon snickers and for a second there is almost pity in Macero’s eyes before they go cold again and he gives his final orders to Vecon and the holo-image blinks out.

Shivering, Dulsissia stares at the floor and tries to remember how to breathe. She is brought back to reality when something takes a hold of her chin and Vecon lifts her face to grin down at her.

“Let’s get you home, Motti Princess.”

Fury and disgust flares up in her and Dulsissia’s eyes narrow. “Always obeying orders from big brother. Always such a good little boy, aren’t you, Vecon? Trying and trying, but never as good as your brother. Never clever enough, never skilled enough, so you suck up to Macero and happily do his dirty work.”

Vecon flinches with anger and abruptly backhands her across the face.

It hurts. It snaps her face to the side, almost knocks her off balance, and Dulsissia can feel her cheekbone burn with what will become a bruise. But it also gives her the excuse and opportunity to spin back and ram her elbow with all of her might into Vecon’s face in a move that would have made her Mandalorian teachers proud.

She is rewarded with a very satisfying crunch, the sound of his nose breaking, and Vecon’s surprised bellow of pain, before the guards grab her and restrain her before she can do any more damage.

“Get her back to her cell!” Vecon howls.

Dulsissia doesn’t fight them.

She spends the next eternity staring up at the ceiling, lying on the hard bench and going over every possible escape attempt she can conjure up. From being on the ship itself, to the transport to Seswenna to her old home. She knows that house far better than Vecon. She can get away. The big problem will be getting off the planet.

It happens when one of the guards is entering the cell to hand her a plate with food.

The ship gives a violent shake, there is the sound of a distant explosion, followed by several others, and soon red lights are flashing and alarms are blaring out in the hallway.

“What is going on?” The guard asks a storm trooper running by the cell.

“We’re under attack!” Is the reply.

Dulsissia sits up. They’re being attacked? Could this be her chance to escape?

Before she gets the chance to do anything, the guard runs out and closes the door behind them, but Dulsissia doesn’t give up. The ship continues to shake, there are more explosions, and she starts to pace her cell. She has to be ready. This might be her moment. All she needs is the opportunity…

The door opens again and this time two guards run in to grab her. Vecon is standing out in the hallway and he’s not looking pleased. In fact, he’s sending almost nervous glances towards the back of the ship.

“What is going on?” Dulsissia asks, pulled out of her cell by the guards.

“We are leaving.” Vecon replies. Oh, he is definitely nervous. And don’t those explosions sound a little closer now?

“Why?” Dulsissia tugs to free herself but yet again in vain. “What is happening?”

As if to answer her question, there is the sound of blaster fire and she can see the flashes of light in the distance.

“He’s here, sir.” One of the guards says.

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” Vecon snaps. “Don’t just stand there! Stop him!”

The guards run forward to join the others fighting, while Vecon grabs Dulsissia’s arm and tugs her close. She notes that he’s also drawn his blaster.

Down in the hallway, the fighting is coming closer. The ceiling light at the very end gets taken out by an errant blaster shot so there are only slight flashes of what is going on when a weapon is being fired. The storm troopers are being pushed back by whomever is approaching.

Vecon slowly lifts the blaster and places the muzzle to Dulsissia’s head.

She hardly notices, can only stare as she sees a flash of blue armor amidst the chaos in front of her.

With deadly accuracy with his blaster shots, a lone figure is making his way towards them. A flick of a wrist sends a grenade into a room to take out some troopers popping in and out to fire at their opponent. A harsh kick sends a helmet flying from a trooper already on the floor trying to reach for their blaster nearby.

Davarax. It’s him. How? She doesn’t care. It’s him. He’s here and that is all that matters.

A group of guards emerge from a room behind him while the Mandalorian is focused on two death troopers in front of him, but before Dulsissia can open her mouth to scream a warning, Davarax activates his flame thrower and turns in a calculated circle to engulf them all. He doesn’t wait for the last trooper to fall before he’s already moving forward, lifting his blaster to shoot at his next target.

Davarax is completely indifferent to the shots fired at him, doesn’t react to the ones bouncing off his armor, merely keeps stalking towards them and takes them down, one by one. He comes with the smell of fire, blood and death.

A trooper jumps out of room next to him, blaster raised, but Davarax slams his elbow into the helmet so hard it shatters. The Mandalorian then pulls out a vibro-blades and throws it.

The blade flies through the air and takes down the one guard left standing.

The red lights are still flashing, alarms are blaring, there is thick smoke in the air, and Davarax is standing in front of Dulsissia and Vecon.

“Don’t, Mando.” Vecon warns. “I will shoot.”

“Not if he kills you first, Vecon.” Dulsissia says, eyes on Davarax’ visor. There is blood spattered all over his helmet and armor. If death had taken shape as a human, this is what it would look like. His quiet, looming figure would have terrified her if she didn’t know the heart behind it. He’s no threat to her. To everyone else on the ship, yes, but not to her.

Vecon draws a sharp, startled breath, and his finger is about to tighten on the trigger, but before he can squeeze it; Davarax’ grip engulfs all of Vecon’s hand and twists it, making him drop the weapon with a pained yelp.

Dulsissia breaks free and takes up position next to Davarax, staring at Vecon bent over in awkward twist due to the grip on his hand. “Tell Macero I’m never going back. He will never see his son again. And to leave me alone. If he comes after me or my family again, I won’t ask nicely to be left alone. I will kill him.”

Vecon sneers. “Tell him yourself.” And with his other hand, he rams a blade into Davarax’ side.

The Mandalorian jolts with a pained grunt and Vecon has one moment of triumph before Davarax ends his life with a well aimed blaster shot and lets him fall to the floor.

Dulsissia ducks under Davarax’ outstretched arm still aiming the blaster at Vecon to get to where the blade is embedded in him. “Oh. Oh, no. What-”

Davarax yanks the blade out and grabs her arm to make her look up at his t-visor. “We have to go.”

His voice. His perfect voice. It’s really him. She nods.

Davarax bends down, picks up Vecon’s blaster and gives it to her. “I need you to cover my back, Dulcy. Can you do that?”

She nods again.

They move and Dulsissia makes sure to fire at everyone who appears behind them while Davarax violently and without mercy ploughs through the storm troopers piling up in front of them to prevent them from escaping. Once they finally step inside the large hangar bay, Davarax turns, wraps one arm around Dulsissia’s waist and then they are flying up towards the ceiling.

A couple of blaster shots follow them, but mostly the chaos and destruction and sudden lack of leadership seems to have stunned the crew of Vecon’s ship, which makes it almost easy to climb into the vent and move through it. They emerge in a docking tube and Dulsissia exhales a weak laugh when she sees the side of the now beloved Razor Crest at the end of it.

“Go.” Davarax nudges her, then follows with blaster raised to cover their backs while they run towards his ship.

Dulsissia half expects Vecon’s ship to fire at them or at least pursue, but the big ship lies dead in the darkness and the Razor Crest can detach and make a run for it without any trouble. Yet it still takes over thirty standard minutes before Davarax stops pushing the engines as well as constantly checking the radar, only then does he finally lean back in the seat with a strained exhale.

Dulsissia unbuckles herself and runs over to hover next to him. She sees he’s bleeding in several places, his clothing is singed and ripped, the armor has countless new dents and scratches. Reaching out, her hands move from place to place and hover uselessly. Where to begin?

She makes a surprised squeak when Davarax suddenly pulls her close and hugs her tight.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yes, but you’re not.” Dulsissia says, trying to push herself away. “You’re bleeding. You’re hurt, Davarax. I have to-”

“In a moment.” Davarax says, not letting go, whispering; “Just… Please.”

And that is what breaks her.

Not threats or horrors, not death and destruction, but those softy whispered words.

Dulsissia wraps her arms around him, lets him ease her up on his lap and curls as close to him as possible while he holds her as close as possible.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Baby Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #what if

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