#Just wait until he starts wondering where the second one was installed

[brighteststar707]

The Bomb

When your heroes lose their shine and you start to see things clearly, you can only hope that it’s not too late to make right the things you’ve done in their name.

✦ Words: 1093

The roads all look the same, the cars all blend into one another, just more obstacles standing between Seven and the apartment. He already lost too much time packing everything without Vanderwood noticing, and even more time getting past them in the first place. It’s time Seven doesn’t have. Time that person in the apartment certainly doesn’t have.

Oh god, Seven thinks. Please don’t move.

He’s terrified of arriving at the apartment and finding smoke and rubble where they were supposed to be. He is too scared to even consider that possibility. It will be more blood on his hands he cannot possibly hope to ever wash away.

At least he’s on the road. His mind always turns off to some degree when he’s driving, narrowing down the world into just the three lanes he’s facing. It means he doesn’t have the space to worry about the aftermath of him running off from work, the consequences that are certainly going to catch up to him.

It does not, however, stop the sick twisting feeling in his stomach from churning on. Like the edge of a bandage just pulling up to show the wound underneath, his guilt had started to rear its head after V had given the apartment the all-clear. He should have known, he thinks. How do you forget a bomb that you installed in a building? How do you, in good conscience, allow someone to stay there? 

That line of questioning only leads into worse accusations. Because he can assign responsibility for letting someone stay in the apartment to V. But the bomb? That one is all his.

He can still remember it like it was yesterday. Rika bringing it up to him as casually as if she were suggesting lunch options. A bomb, to scare off potential threats to her and the data she held. Only as a threat, obviously, she had added afterwards. Like an afterthought. I’d never really use it.

She must have known even then, the power she held over him. He would have done anything for her if she only asked it the right way. And that she did.

Thinking back to it now, it makes Seven feel sick.

She had told him that she felt desperate, that she needed a way to feel safe in her own home. And of course Seven understood that. The paranoia, the inability to sleep because he was scared of people coming for him or Saeran. He had just returned from the USA and had been fitting his house with alarm systems of his own design. He never entered a room without looking for an exit first. So how could he fault her for her desperation?

Then came the compliments. He was the only person with the skills to build this. She trusted only him to build her something that wouldn’t backfire on her. Furthermore, he was the only person she could trust with this information. The threats, the protection she needed. He was the only one she told, and Seven liked the feeling of being her confidant. He was nineteen, had already faced so many horrors firsthand. He felt grown-up. He wasn’t a helpless child anymore.

After everything she had done for him, he rationalised, couldn’t he do this one thing for her? Who was he to question what she needed?

In the end, it took an embarrassingly short about of time for her to convince him to do it.

Once his concerns had been subdued, he managed to focus his attention on the building of the thing. This is the part he’s good at. Inbetween agency assignments, he studied the workings of explosives, turned over the various problems in his head until all that was left was to build.

He still has the blueprints in a drawer somewhere in his office. He should burn them.

He can still remember the feeling of the thing in his hands. Cold and foreboding, smooth, save for the few wires on the side. He had fitted the pieces together himself, like a sick sort of puzzle. He had been so excited to visit her apartment for the first time to install it. It had felt like a gift, to be able to help her when she needed him most. At the time, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she knew what she was doing.  

He had always had an idealised image of Rika in his head. She sparkled, a bright pillar of safety and solace standing in his world of shadowed figures and dark rooms. He couldn’t look at her directly but could only hope that her light would shine on him a little longer. Even after she died, this image had persevered. In death, she was tragic and kind and all her good qualities magnified.

How had it taken him this long to try and look at her directly? To squint through her shine and see her at the centre, to see the kind of person who would put others at risk for her own safety? Who would make him an accomplice in her paranoia?

He had felt proud at the time. Of his creation, of how he had managed to help her. Now, he just feels dirty. Exploited for his skills, blinded by his admiration, hopeful for her praise. He should have known better. She should have known better.

He hadn’t trusted anyone before he met Rika and V. He had trusted precious few people since meeting them. But these two who stepped in to look out for him and his brother even when they had no reason to, surely they were people he could rely on? He hadn’t questioned their motives before this. Maybe he should have.

The obvious questions are staring him in the face now, no bandage of denial and trust left to hide under. Ones like what lies have I covered for them? and if they asked this of me, what did they ask of Saeran?

But he is running out of time. The questions will have to wait.

He abruptly pulls the car over. He has come close enough to the building. The rest he will have to go on foot. So far, no smoke. But he is not in the clear yet.

Oh god, he thinks. Please let them still be alive. I’d do anything.

Seven starts to run. It’s too late to undo the things he did in the past, but he’s not going to let an innocent person die as a consequence of his mistakes. He’ll pay for that himself.

[threestarsinline]

Children's Books and Leather Jackets (Part II)

Jason Todd x reader one-shot

Summary: You couldn't love your job more. Or at least, that's what you thought, until Jason Todd started coming into the bookshop every week without fail, like clockwork. And then you form a connection that tilts your whole world on its axis.

Word Count: 15.5K (total of 29.2K)

Category: More fluff for you all (yes, more jsjs), (plus slight angst related to mutual pining, idiots in love, friends to lovers and typical Gotham villain stuff)

Warnings: Jason stealing your heart (and you stealing his)

Author’s note: Well, here you go babes, the second (and final) part to what once was just a one-shot but that became so long that I had to split it up (despite how much it broke my heart to do so). Hope you enjoy it!

<Part I

After that night at the dinner (that you didn’t ever want to end, though of course, sadly, it had to), everything stayed more or less the same. Jason kept coming into the bookshop several times a week, buying books and checking out some others.

Except that now, while you scanned the children’s books, as you knew what they were for now, you asked how the kids were doing.

Except that now, a lot of times when he came in the afternoons, Jason stayed in the bookshop with you until you closed, keeping you company.

Except that now, sometimes Jason brought food with him and had lunch with you.

Except that now, you texted each other practically everyday, carrying on conversations from the bookshop and talking about everything.

Except that now, your heart, instead of giving little jumps, it run whole laps every time you saw him.

And right now, you’re buzzing with nerves.

Because you don’t know where the line stands anymore, having become blurrier and blurrier with each smile, every longing look and every soft touch on his arm or the small of your back when you pass each other a lot closer than what is necessary.

And now you’re bouncing behind the counter, wondering if what you are about to do today is too much.

When that white streak that you love so much makes its way through the door, you can hardly wait to show him what you’ve found. Jason, like always, greets you with a smile and goes directly to the counter, not bothering with excuses anymore.

“There you are!” You exclaim, barely containing your excitement.

“Hi to you too.” He chuckles at your warm welcome as he finishes approaching the counter.

“I found it.” You say with a grin. Surprise makes its way across Jason’s features, immediately knowing what you were talking about.

“You did?” He asks in disbelief. You nod proudly and from under the counter, you slip out the third and last installment of a book series about the adventures of Daisy the giraffe. In the store you only had the first and the second one and the kids loved them. They had read both several times but were unable to see how the story ended since the books were quite old and very hard to find.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it.” Jason continues as he takes the book from your hands that are extending it to him. “You’re amazing, Y/N.” He looks back up at you with shining eyes. “How did you do it?” You shrug your shoulders.

“I just tracked it down.” You answer. The truth was that it had taken a lot of time and effort to find it but the kids’ joy and how happy you felt right now made it all worth it.

“You did a lot more than that, believe me. The kids are going to love it.” Jason says, glancing back at the book and then at you once again, his eyes full of admiration. “Thank you.” He adds almost breathlessly.

You nod in acknowledgement with a bright smile.

Jason had faced a lot of impossible situations during his life. Hardships that proved difficult to endure. From his days in the streets, to his Robin training and to his patrols as Red Hood.

But right now Jason feared that he may have found his greatest enemy. A problem hard to solve. A feat that will not be easy to achieve.

These damn braids.

Jason’s eyebrows are furrowed and he clenches his jaw in concentration. Despite having asked for help and Cass and Steph having taught him, he still was having trouble french braiding Lily’s hair.

He was in the area and decided to check on the kids, even though they didn't have a reading scheduled. After greeting the few that were there, Lily grabbed his hand and monopolized him.

She had asked him a few times to do her hair and he had tried but without much knowledge it had proved to be a disaster. At least now, even though it still felt a bit like an uphill climb, it seemed that his new skills were getting him somewhere.

They were sitting on some crates on the floor, Lily in front of him playing with her teddy and telling him his latest adventures as Batbear, making him chuckle at her great imagination.

He was working on the second braid when suddenly Lily fell into silence, deep in thought. He was about to ask her what was wrong when she finally spoke up.

“Do you like Y/N?” Lily asked, with the blunt curiosity characteristic of children her age.

Jason’s hands freeze on her blonde hair.

“Why do you ask?” Jason asks back nervously, afraid to give a clear response, as if after hearing it, Lily would run over to wherever you were to tell you. But she just shrugs her shoulders, lifting Batbear in her arms and examining his button-like eyes.

“She’s nice and funny.”

“Yeah, she is.” He coincides while slowly continuing to work on the braid.

“I like her. The other day she brought us all cookies from a bakery. They were delicious.” Lily continues, her voice acquiring a dreamy tone at the delightful memory.

Jason’s hands freeze once again. He had no idea you had done that. You hadn’t mentioned it to him. You had gone out of your way to buy treats for the kids and come here on your own on a non reading day.

Jason stands still on his seat, his gaze lost and thoughts clouded with you. He didn’t think that he could admire you more than what he already did, yet here he was, even more entranced by your kind nature.

“So you like her then?” Lily insists. She says it more in an innocent way rather than in the romantic sense, like when you meet a friend of a friend and they asked you if you liked hanging out with them. Just as Lily finishes her question, he ties up her braid and Lily turns her head, feeling him finish his work.

She catches sight of her reflection on a dirty window and lets out a delightful squeal that makes Jason jump in surprise. In an instant, the little girl is on her feet and admiring her hair from side to side, Batbear still in her grip.

Jason grimaces when he sees how the top of one of the braids is already starting to loosen and worries about what Lily will say. He still clearly needs more practice. But then-

“I love it!” Lily screams and Jason grins at her happiness. Ha, success. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She says in quick succession in a way in which the words jumble together and turns to give him a bone crushing hug, surprising for how little she is, and a sounding kiss on his cheek.

Then Lily sets off running, probably to show her friends her new hair, laughing all the way, completely forgetting about her earlier question. Jason can’t help but laugh under his breath too. He loves those kids.

He stands up and shakes his hands over his jeans to get rid of any possible dirt from the crate.

“Yeah, I like her very much.” Jason whispers, answering Lily’s question. His thoughts, as they usually tended to do, drifting back to you.

“Oh my god, what happened to you?” You ask him another day when he enters the bookshop with a black eye. He opens his mouth to answer but you interrupt him. “Let me guess, boxing again?” You say with eyebrows raised in a playful manner so that he doesn’t need to worry about a fake excuse. But he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Not this time, no.”

“No? Impossible.”

“Okay so, turns out that Damian, for whatever reason that I still cannot comprehend, threw his phone at Tim. But Tim ducked and guess who was passing behind him in that exact moment just peacefully enjoying his bowl of cereal?”

“No way.” You say breathlessly, a smile already pulling at your lips and a laugh making its way up your throat.

He nods and sees you put a hand over your mouth, trying to conceal your laughter. The sight makes him smile, despite the fact that the movement pulls at the swelling of his cheek under his eye, making him wince slightly at the pain.

“Sorry.” You say, failing miserably in containing your laughter.

“It’s okay, go ahead. It is funny.”

You then finally burst out laughing and Jason feels his heart swell, the sound having become his favorite in the whole world, like listening to his favorite song. And he can’t help but join in your laughter too.

“Though I did drop my precious bowl of cereal.” He adds with an exaggerated pout and you laugh even more, making him feel a radiating warmth that not even the sun could equal to.

“Oh, poor Jason.” You say.

As your laughters finally slowly die down, you round the counter and lift your hands to hold the sides of his face, turning him to see the eye better in the light.

“Are you okay though?” You ask in a low voice, serious now, almost like a whisper.

And with your hands holding him, Jason thinks that he will always be okay, no matter if he's drowning or bleeding to death.

“Yeah.” He whispers back.

Were you this close just a second before? He can clearly see how the lights of the bookshop reflect in your eyes now.

“Did you put something over it?” He nods. You tilt your head, not sure to believe him with how he hadn’t really treated the wounds on his knuckles that one time.

“Some ice.” You manage to coax out of him and you shake your head and click your tongue in slight disappointment. 

“Not enough.” You say, and just like that one time, with the bookshop empty except for you two, you guide him into the break room by his hand, sit him down and bring the first aid kit. You take an ointment from it and stand in front of him. You look down at him, asking for permission with your eyes and he gives an almost imperceptible nod.

One of your hands takes hold of his face to tilt him to the light and the tips of your fingers on the other start applying the ointment softly to help with the swelling.

Jason’s hands twitch to place themselves on your hips to bring you even closer but he grabs his own knees instead. He doesn’t have the right to do something like that. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend.

No matter how much he might want to.

So he contents himself with looking into your eyes that are concentrated on his wound.

He can feel the warmth of your body seeping into his with how close you are and he can’t help but close his eyes to savor it even further. 

He has never felt safer.

The silence of the intimate moment is deafening in the best of ways. He would gladly stay like this forever.

But then, just like a crack of thunder, cold surrounds him once again as you whisper that you’re done and retract your hands from him. You wash your hands in the faucet of the kitchen part of the break room and Jason follows your every movement hypnotized.

“Better?” You say as you return and sit in front of him.

With you? Always.

“Yeah.” He breathes out and he isn’t lying. He can already feel the swelling going down. “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing.” You say, shaking your head and shrugging your shoulders.

It’s like you don’t see how much you do for him, and not just for tending his wounds. Just everything in general. Your laugh. Your long conversations. And it kills him. It kills him that you may not know just how much he cares about you.

And it kills him even more that he doesn’t have the courage to tell you.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” You say and quickly get up to grab a heavy looking bag from the corner before coming back. “I went to my parents’ last weekend and I got these books that I thought the kids might like.” You start as you take the contents of the bag out and put them on the table for him to see.

He notices how you worry your lip and how your shoulders tense and he wonders why you’re suddenly like that. He then looks towards the several books displayed on the table in front of you two.

“Most of them are bedtime stories. My mom used to read them to me.” You start and then your small posture and uncertain tone clicks. You’re shy about this. Almost ashamed that he might think that this is something ridiculous.

As if he could think anything negative about you.

“They’re not much but I loved them when I was little.” You continue and as you tell him more about them, he can see with how much fondness you remember them and how excited you are to talk about them. The insecurity seems to leave your whole body as you get lost in your explanation of the books. 

Two of them are quite thick and you tell him that they have several different stories, from a prince and a princess that could only meet at sunrise or sunset since one of them could only be in the light of the moon and the other in the light of the sun. And that if they were exposed to the other light, due to a spell, they would die; to a story about a mother reading to his son.

Another couple of them follow the adventures of a mole at his house and at the beach and the books include a small mole cut-out that you move across the pages to make him follow the story. Another one is about a boy and his dog that go on a great adventure thanks to a magical blue balloon.

As he listens intently, he marvels at you. You really were the most thoughtful, kind and beautiful person that he had ever met and he couldn’t get enough of it.

He has to resist the urge to close the space between you and kiss you right there and then. But he decides against it. He liked how everything was going with you and he didn’t want to ruin it by suddenly rushing and risking everything.

Aside from the fact that you still didn’t know about a part of his life that he’s sure would make you push him away and send you running. Even though every time that he thinks about it, he’s considering telling you more and more, wanting to be completely sincere and honest with you, knowing how much you valued that.

“Sorry, that was a lot. This probably was a bad idea.” You say after you finish explaining all the books. You’re about to start picking them up to put them back in the bag when you feel his hand enclosing over one of your own, softly stopping you.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“No. These are great, Y/N. I love them and I’m sure that the kids will too. Thank you for sharing them.” He says looking into your eyes. You were sharing with him and the kids a very personal part of you that you held very close to your heart. And he wanted you to know how much he appreciated it.

He also gives your hand a small squeeze to show you how much he means his words and to encourage you. After a moment, you smile and nod.

“Tell me more.” He says.

At his genuine petition, you can’t do anything but carry on, your radiant smile matching his. “Okay.”

It had been a long time since you had played any of these types of games. But you really do not remember being so bad at it.

After the reading that day, the kids had suggested (or rather insisted) on playing hide and seek.

So here you were, running around the playground trying to find a good place to hide all while questioning your life choices.

Had you really been this bad at hide and seek as a kid? Then again, it is quite easier when you’re much smaller and you can fit almost anywhere. Try doing that as an adult.

You turn a corner of the nearby buildings, entering into a small passage between the back of it and a wall separating the playground zone from the rest of the block. You know that Lily has had to have finished counting already. You don’t have much time left.

In the passage there are some piled up crates leaning against the wall. You consider hiding behind them though you know that it’s not the best hiding place. However, you’re already here and you can’t risk going back into the open space of the playground if you don’t want to get caught.

Just as you start moving towards them a voice whispers your name.

You turn and find that the building has a small space that cuts into it with a back door. Due to the afternoon light, the space is covered in shadows and leaning against the wall you find Jason, hiding. 

You can’t believe that you missed him with his impressive build.

But the place seems to work as a great hiding place, almost in plain sight yet easy to miss. So, when Jason extends a hand inviting you into it, you don’t think twice before taking it.

Next thing you know, your back rests in one of the walls carved into the building that lead to the door and Jason is positioned in front of you in a way that, even if Lily were to pass by and notice you, she would only see him. At least at first.

Jason leans his head out of the space for a second to check if anyone is coming and then he comes back in front of you.

And then your breathing hitches in your throat when you realize just how close you are, even though there is plenty of space in the small opening of the building for you two to stand next to each other without problem. Yet both of you remain in your current position, not daring (nor wanting) to move a muscle.

Suddenly all your nerves are alive and buzzing, your senses heightened and all you can see, hear and feel, is him.

You're hyper aware of everywhere that he’s touching you.

His left hand on your waist.

His right arm at your side, brushing up against yours, shielding you from view.

Your chests almost touching each other.

Your hands on his shoulders, even though you have no idea how they ended up there. The urge to bring him even closer to you, practically irresistible.

You look up to find that his green gaze is already on you. Up this close you notice that there is a slight shade of aquamarine blue in them.

You feel lightheaded and dizzy but in the best of ways. It’s like you’re drunk, even though you have never actually drunk enough to feel like this.

You realize then that you’re drunk on him. You want to drown in him.

Then the scent of his cologne reaches you and you know that you’re intoxicated with this man in front of you.

And the best part is that he seems just as intoxicated with you.

You don’t know how you two get even closer but then his nose is brushing up against yours, your breaths mixing together.

He’s leaning a bit over you so maybe you should feel a bit crowded but you don’t.

You feel safe.

The safest that you have ever been. And the thing is that it doesn't even surprise you. Everything feels easy and safe and warm with him.

Like nothing could ever happen to you with him by your side.

And you’re absolutely addicted to the feeling.

Jason is breathless, as if he has just run a marathon. His breathing as heavy as yours.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest with how fast it’s going, thrill and anticipation pumping through your veins instead of blood.

Your gaze drops and you suck in a breath when he wets his lips.

Your own tongue darts out to mimic his movement on your own, when you realize that they’re already wet and that he was the one mirroring your previous action.

Your eyes go back up to his and notice that his pupils are dilated. You can’t help but think that yours look probably the same.

It seems like he’s asking a question with that mesmerizing gaze of his and your throat feels dry, as if you haven’t been able to drink water in days and the only person that can alleviate it is Jason Todd.

His gaze flits to your lips once again and returns to your eyes just as fast and they seem to be pleading you.

You can feel yourself nodding almost imperceptibly.

You’re not sure you have wanted anything more in your life. Your stomach flips.

You close your eyes, feeling the ghost of his lips on yours.

And then-

“Got you!” Lily’s voice rings out, like shattering glass, breaking the spell and bursting the perfect bubble that you two were in, before your lips are able to make any real contact.

And just like that, you deflate like an old balloon forgotten by a kid in a fair.

You have never been more frustrated in your entire life.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regain your senses, letting your pounding heart beat out the drug that the proximity to Jason Todd is, in order to come back to reality.

When you finally open your eyes, Jason looks just as frustrated and disappointed as you.

Your faces part, putting distance once again between them though your hands remain on his shoulders and his remain on your waist. Part of yourselves still refusing to let go of what had been about to happen, both of your breathings still heavy and deep.

“Come on, it’s your turn now!” Lily exclaims impatiently. She’s too excited about being able to hide now to really notice what was going on between you two.

“We-” Jason stops at how hoarse his voice is and clears his throat. “We’ll be right there.” He finally continues, though his gaze is still fixed on you.

“Great!” Lily chirps and she leaves the way she came, Batbear like always, tight in her grip.

You watch her go and when you look back up at Jason both of you have shy and embarrassed smiles. Sad for the moment that has left and unsure of how to proceed now.

You both suppose that keeping things how they are is the best course of action so very slowly and very reluctantly your hands leave each other. Not sure what to do with them now, since they still feel like magnets being pulled towards each other, Jason runs his hands through his hair and you fix your already perfectly placed clothes.

But as you two make your way towards the center of the playground, you both are hopeful that the moment will come again.

The road might have a few bumps on the way but it still goes on.

Jason didn’t know how it had gotten so late. He had meant to stop by the bookshop earlier and hopefully, after you closed, go grab dinner with you, as you two sometimes did now. But he had got caught up with patrol stuff with Bruce and now he would be lucky if he managed to catch you before you left.

Thankfully, he’s able to reach the bookshop twenty minutes before you close. But when he enters, you are nowhere to be seen. 

Rose and Jimmy are behind the counter, chattering between them and just like every time that he went into the bookshop and you weren’t there, he felt his whole body deflate. The idea of seeing you always being his driving force.

But just like that other time when he entered knowing that you worked that day but Rose had greeted him, worry begins to settle in him. Had something happened that had made you change your shift? Were you sick?

“Hello, Jason!” Jimmy says when he and Rose notice him.

“Good evening, dear.” Greets Rose.

“Hello. Sorry, didn’t mean to bother, I know you’re about to close.”

“It’s okay, you’re always welcomed.” Jimmy answers.

“It’ll be quick. I just wanted to see if Y/N was here, I-”

“Does this look right, Rose? I feel like-” You say, emerging from the bathroom but then you freeze in your step when you spot him. “Oh, hi, Jason.”

But Jason is unable to answer, in fact, he’s pretty sure that he has forgotten how to breathe because he’s stunned looking at you.

You’re wearing a very nice dress that you must have changed into in the bathroom, and it’s clear that you’ve dressed up for something.

You look beautiful.

You always do but Jason has never seen you so formal and it stirs up something in him. For a second, he can imagine that he’s come to pick you up for a date.

But the joy of seeing you doesn’t last long as he feels his throat dry and he swears that he can feel sweat begin to form at the back of his neck and run down his back. It takes him a second to understand those symptoms and the unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Dread. Panic.

Because what if you actually do have a date?

Had he waited too long? Neither of you were any experts on relationships but it really felt like you two were working towards something. But what if it was too late now? What if he had let time drag on too much and now he was forever stuck in some kind of friend stage? Just like when he didn’t tell you about why he checked out so many children’s books and then it had passed so much time that it became awkward for him to do so.

His mind is in a spiral now, racing with thoughts. In one of your many conversations and hangouts after the very first reading with the kids and the diner, you both had mentioned that neither of you were seeing anybody. It was an off comment, something that you tell a friend without thinking too much about the implications of it.

But the idea hung in the air. The idea that the persons that you two were seeing were each other.

But still, neither of you had said that out loud.

And the thing was that you two weren’t just friends. Or at least that’s what Jason felt like and he thought that you probably thought the same. You two had a connection there and you were heading towards being something else. Slowly but steadily and surely, you were building something.

Right?

Suddenly, he finds himself revisiting every interaction that the two of you have ever had. Every longing look, every soft touch and that oh so wonderful moment while playing hide and seek where you two had almost kissed.

He couldn’t have possibly imagined all of that on his own, could he?

If he thought that the memory of holding your hand while he helped you down the ladder that one time had been haunting, it was nothing compared to that moment.

That moment that had plagued his mind every damn day since.

Everything about it, how you had looked at him, the smell of your hair, your hands on his shoulders, your slightly parted lips, added to everything about you from the very first time he met you, like your smile or the soft tone of your voice, creeping onto his skin and taking a resident place there. Like ivy, carving marks into him, down his arms and up his back, clasping and biting into him, leaving him red and scarred forever.

The difference of those imprints with the scars that he had gained over the years of crime-fighting and suffering was that they didn’t hurt nor weighed him down. Instead, they lifted him up, invigorated him and softly caressed his skin, like your hands taking care of his wounds, reassuring him that everything would be okay. That with you, everything will always be okay. They showed how much someone cared about him and valued him.

The difference being that he would wear your marks proudly. 

And Jason finally decides that he doesn’t want to walk on the tightrope anymore. He wants to let go and fall into the void, take a leap of faith and come clean to you. Tell you that he’s in love with you and that he wants to be yours.

He can only hope that you may lay a safety net beneath him to fall into.

And if he’s not that lucky, he would have another invisible scar added to him, from both crashing into the ground and from having at least tried. And even though that one would hurt, more deeply and a lot longer than any physical one that he may have, you would have given it to him, and he would welcome anything that came from you with open arms.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to do all of that but what he does know is that before anything, he wants to be honest with you. Tell you about being Red Hood. You deserve to know what you’re going to get into (if you even decide that you want to), before you two delve into something deeper.

The only thing is that you two are already there. Too far gone for each other, even though Jason doesn’t know that you are. The one thing that he is certain about is that when he tells you, it will change the foundations of the road that you have been building together.

What Jason isn’t so sure of is if it will destroy them, or make them even stronger.

But something that he does know, is that right now is not the moment for any of that.

So, for the time being, he settles with greeting you back and eventually saying:

“You look… You look great.” Even though that is an understatement.

You smile and shyly look down, your fingers playing with the skirt of your dress.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He says, and while you two are busy looking at each other, you both miss Rose and Jimmy’s knowing looks and smiles. And before he can help it, he’s opening his mouth again. “So, uhm, do you have a date or something?” He tries to say nonchalantly, not wanting to sound too obtrusive, but the doubt killing him.

Your eyes widen and you chuckle, shaking your head.

“What? God no, just fancy family dinner. It’s my parents' anniversary. Since they’re visiting they decided to celebrate together.” You explain, and Jason can feel a wash of relief going over him, his racing heart calming down.

He hasn’t lost his chance.

“Oh, that’s nice. Congrats.”

You nod and grab your things, getting ready to leave before turning to Jimmy and Rose.

“Thanks again for letting me go early.”

“Of course, dear. And don’t worry about the dress, it looks perfect. You look lovely.”

“No problem, sweetie.” Jimmy adds before complimenting you too.

You kiss the couple’s cheeks in thanks before bidding them goodbye, Jason copying your words before opening the door for you.

As you two leave, you see Jimmy whisper something into Rose’s ear while putting an arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him. She chuckles and she kisses his cheek and Jimmy kisses her forehead in return.

Jason smiles at the fond interaction.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” You say, still looking at the couple.

“They are.” Jason says, already looking at you. You’re lovely too. “You’re going to the restaurant with your family now?”

“Yeah, I didn’t have enough time to spare after the shift to go back home so I had to change in the bookshop. My parents lend me their car in order to make it.”

Jason nods, trying not to look too disappointed at the fact that he can’t even offer to drive you there, and a comfortable silence settles between you, neither of you wanting to part ways yet.

But you have to go if you don’t want to be late so you sigh before speaking once again.

“I have to go.”

“Yeah.” Jason says, hands in his pockets. “See you soon then.”

“Bye.” You say and you haven’t taken two steps before Jason calls your name. You turn.

“You look very beautiful.” He can’t help but compliment you again.

You feel your whole face heat up.

“Thanks.”

You think about him the whole way to the restaurant but then again, when aren’t you not thinking about Jason Todd?

Jason has never been more scared in his life. Well, maybe he had, when he was in that damned warehouse. And then later, when he woke up after that without being able to recall who he was or where he was.

But this other type of fear... It's almost paralyzing, threathening to swallow him whole.

He runs as fast as he can, taking long strides, his rugged breathing making him have tunnel vision and only allowing him to focus on one thing.

You.

He hadn’t liked how close the situation had been to the bookshop from the very first moment that they had received the alert. Worry tight in his throat since he had always hoped not to ever have this kind of situation this close to you.

The bookshop’s neighborhood had always been one of the safest in Gotham, there were certain minor crimes, yes, which part of the city didn’t have them? But none of the rogues had ever attacked there.

You had once joked that you thought that the reason for it might be that some of the villains had family living there. You once even said that you could have sworn to have seen the Penguin accompanying an old lady that might have been his mother crossing the street.

Yet still, now an ACE Chemicals truck had been assaulted by Scarecrow and his henchmen. The truck wasn’t even supposed to be in the neighborhood in the first place, but the company and the police had received some information that an attack was being planned and they had decided to detour it.

And now you were in danger.

Jason keeps running with his hands clenched into fists that were turning tighter and tighter by the second.

He can feel sweat gathering on his forehead and he can almost hear a ticking clock hanging over his head as he puts some distance between him and the sickeningly looking mist of muddy green gas that had exploded in the truck.

The very same gas that was quickly spreading along the streets and that would reach the bookshop in a matter of minutes.

The first ones to arrive at the scene had been him and Tim, trying to control the situation until backup could arrive.

Scarecrow’s men were taking over the truck and before leaping into action, Jason threw Tim a look that even with the helmet on, Tim could perfectly understand.

If anything starts going sideways, I’m out of here. Going to her.

Going to you.

Tim was also aware of the fact of how close it all was to the bookshop and he just nodded, knowing how much you mattered to Jason.

They had been able to control the situation more or less as more and more police cars gathered around the truck. But then Scarecrow had finally made his appearance and everything derailed. At first, it seemed like they just wanted to steal from the truck but then something happened and the truck exploded.

Between the chemicals from inside the truck and whatever other things the villain and his gang always brought with them, the gas set off along with the explosion.

Scarecrow and his men scurried off immediately after, giving the feeling that that had certainly not been their desired outcome.

But the gas started spreading and they had no idea what chemicals were inside the truck or what the effects of it could be, but Jason wasn’t going to risk it.

And so, he took a quick glance at Tim, who already had his gas mask on, helping people on the street, and returning his gaze, Tim just nodded.

Go. We handle this here.

And with that, Jason set off.

The bookshop wasn’t actually that far away, just a few blocks, but Jason feels like he’s doing the longest run of his life and that time itself is slowing him down. He has also tried calling you but the line was already overloaded with all the emergency calls.

As he runs, he can hear through his intercom Steph and Duke shouting instructions to everyone nearby and Barbara guiding Bruce to track down Scarecrow.

His heart’s racing and when he finally catches sight of the bookshop, he feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest.

The sound of the door slamming open startles you in your place behind the counter. You turn your head to tell the person that had entered to mind their manners when you are met with a red stare that you had only seen in blurry pictures on the news and heard rumors about.

You take in a sharp breath as Red Hood closes the door and approaches you in quick strides. You freeze in your place, not because you are scared of him but because of the surprise of it. Especially when you look him over and your gaze can’t tear away from the brown leather jacket that felt so familiar to you.

Red Hood grabs your wrist, bringing you with him hurriedly into the break room. And though his grip is strong, you’re surprised to find that it doesn’t hurt at all. You can hear him talking and you know that his presence here can’t mean anything good, though not for you of course, you know that Red Hood wouldn’t hurt you, he didn’t hurt innocent people, but something must have happened.

However, you can’t seem to register any of his words, it’s like he’s saying something but you’re underwater, his words sounding muffled and jammed together.

Because for some strange reason you’re still fixated on his jacket.

He sets you down on the floor next to the sofa in the break room and crouches down in front of you. And then he does something that makes your brows furrow in confusion.

He calls you by your name.

How does he even know your name?

You want to ask him but everything feels so confusing right now, like a tornado spinning around you. You only manage to utter a weak “What…?”, before you can’t help it and your hands, with a life of their own, run over his arms, feeling the fabric of the jacket until they reach the lapels and grip them.

Your heart was already racing and your breathing labored from the whole situation but it seemed like they hadn’t reached their limit yet. Though you feel like they are surely about to do so. You can feel your heart go even faster as your mind begins spiraling with thoughts and you suck in a breath when the realization hits you.

Because this… This piece of clothing so characteristic of the vigilante in front of you, you had spent an awful lot of time staring and gawking over the man that wore it several times in your bookshop.

Because this… This is the very same fabric that your hands had touched while you had been inches away from kissing that very same man in an alley while you were playing hide and seek.

Because now that you were able to see it up close, you instantly recognize it.

How could you not? When you had spent so much time with its owner, laughing while you two ate lunch; admiring him when he found an interesting book on the bookshelves; feeling understood when you shared your worries with him; taking the opportunity to touch his arm anytime that you could, covered in this very same jacket, one of the few of this type that he owned; hoping that if you were to tell him how you feel, he would feel the same way; and wishing that you could kiss him without having to worry about the consequences?

Because this jacket belongs to the man that you’re in love with.

Because this jacket… This jacket belongs to Jason Todd.

And then everything clicks, how he works nights, the wounds on his knuckles, his occasional and strange run offs. Suddenly it all feels so blatantly obvious that you wonder how you didn’t see it before.

You know in your gut what it means but your brain is still catching up with everything going on around you to fully make sense of what your heart already knows.

For a quick second, the thought that maybe he shouldn’t wear the same jacket while patrolling and during his day to day, makes you want to start laughing. Though it’s true that unless you saw it more than once, several times and very close, no one would realize that they were the same jacket. But the reality of the situation around you helps you to rein in the inappropriate laugh.

And then your name being called again finally breaks you out of your thoughts, and the only thing that you can focus on is him.

Jason’s gripping your shoulders now, willing you to focus on him and needing to have some kind of contact with you to make sure that you’re okay. He moves frantically, his eyes quickly checking the front door of the bookshop through one of the break room’s windows that look into the main part of the shop, already seeing the mist of gas slipping under it, trying to calculate how much time he has left.

He’s been asking you if you’re okay and trying to explain what has happened but the sentences come out stumbled, his brain going faster than what his mouth can follow.

In his haste he doesn’t even register the change in the look of your eyes at your realization.

He knows what he has to do but he’s afraid of what it will entail. He wanted to sit down with you, tell you about being Red Hood and explain everything to you. He wanted to be hopeful that you may understand but now he doesn’t have the chance to let you know how he would have wanted to.

It feels like someone has pushed him from the tightrope beneath him, directly cutting it, or rather, that it has snapped over his own weight, not able to hold him and his secrets anymore, and now he’s falling and he can’t do anything about it.

And if you would have ever laid a net beneath him, he’s sure that you would cut a hole open in it now.

He’s about to break everything that you two have been working towards, a shattering earthquake destroying what once was a strong and beautiful road.

But it’s the only way to keep you safe.

And he would cut the rope sustaining him himself and willingly fall into the abyss if he had to to make sure that you’re safe. That’s the only thing that matters to him right now.

And that’s exactly what he does.

You watch perplexed as Red Hood takes the helmet off and you’re met with the sharp features and white streak that you love so much.

It really is him.

He’s Red Hood.

Jason is Red Hood.

Jason, who always seemed to be checking out children’s books, wearing leather jackets and making you smile like no one has ever done before.

Your Jason.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a weird mist start to seep through under the door to the break room that Red Hood- no, Jason, had closed after you two entered.

“Jason?” You whisper. He lifts his head up from where he’s been fidgeting with the helmet since he took it off to meet your gaze, and the broken look in his eyes makes your heart feel like it has been stabbed. “What’s going on?” He follows your line of sight and his eyes grow with worry.

“Scarecrow.” He mutters while turning back to the helmet, he pushes a few hidden buttons in it and you’re surprised to see how its panels shift, changing its shape slightly but still having a head-like form.

And then Jason turns to you, his hands lifting with the helmet towards your head.

Your face contorts with horror when you realize what he wants to do.

You immediately grab his forearms, pushing them down and therefore, the helmet too.

“What are you doing?” You say.

“I have to protect you. And we don’t know what the gas does yet so I’m not taking any risks.” He pushes the helmet towards your head once again but you repeat your previous action, preventing him from doing so.

“And you? What about you?” You ask desperately, the gas coming closer and closer towards you both.

Jason’s lips pull into a sad smile. “I’ll be fine.” He whispers. It’s like he has already resigned himself to something. You shake your head.

“No. I’m not taking it.”

“I have a spare small mask, don’t worry.”

You’re still so in shock from everything that you don’t realize that he’s lying, yet in the pit of your stomach you can already feel a pool of dread forming.

“But-” You start but he cuts you off.

“Y/N, listen to me. We don’t have much time. Do you trust me?”

Even with everything that has just happened, you don’t hesitate.

“Always.”

Jason nods and puts the red helmet over your head, the shifted panels allowing it to fit your head perfectly. Jason sighs with relief and looks at you fondly, his hands still on either side of your head.

Your hands come up to cover his own and he nods reassuringly. “You okay?” He whispers, and you nod.

Everything is going to be okay.

But then Jason starts coughing.

The gas has already reached you both and gathers at your ankles.

Your eyes widen and you reach for him as his hands let go of your head to support himself when he begins lulling to one side. “Jason!” You shout.

You can see his eyes losing focus, starting to get dizzy. While your breathing keeps coming in deep and clean thanks to the regulator built in the helmet, Jason seems to be gasping for air, like he isn’t getting enough oxygen or like his lungs are refusing what’s going in them.

And you finally realize that there never was a spare mask.

How could you have been so foolish?

You try to take the helmet off to give it back to him but it’s like it’s closed off. You press the buttons that you find on the underside at the back but nothing happens. You try everything but it just won’t come off.

Nothing.

You can’t take it off.

He must have locked it somehow, almost as if he knew what you would try to do.

You can’t protect him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” A cough. “ I swear I wanted to tell you.” Another one. “ I was going to.” He says between short breaths before finally collapsing onto the floor.

You grab him before his head hits the ground and you hush him gently.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, it’s okay.” Now it’s you the one holding the sides of his face softly.

One of his hands comes up to hold one of your own, and you can’t stand the look of utter adoration and affection with which he gazes at you.

Because you can’t help him.

And his look is as if he would be content to go this way, knowing that at least you’re safe.

And your heart breaks all over again.

The room is covered in gas now and it’s not until your vision becomes slightly blurry that you register the tears welling up in your eyes.

You cry for help but there’s nothing that can be done now. You also try calling 911, not caring what will happen if someone sees that he’s Red Hood. You just need him to be safe. But the line doesn't work. Jason begins to close his eyes.

“Hey, hey, no.” You urge. “Stay with me, stay with me.” Jason opens his eyes once more, fighting to stay awake, but you can see in them how he’s almost gone, his consciousness slipping away from him.

“Please.” You whisper, fighting the tears.

And then his hand holding yours falls limp.

And with it, your heart does too.

You shake him, call him, scream at him to wake up but it’s no use. Tears run down your cheeks now, raked sobs breaking though your chest.

You even try to take off the helmet again but of course, nothing happens.

You feel for his heartbeat, it takes you an agonizing second to feel it but it's there.

Weak and slow, barely perceptible, but it’s there.

Although you fear that probably not for much longer.

Fear and dread run through you, you don’t know how to fix this. You don’t want to let him go but he’s being pulled away from you.

And then the door to the break room bursts open.

You look up and there Red Robin stands.

And the way in which he shakes his hair away from his eyes with a movement of his head while looking around the room frantically, trying to locate you through the mist, makes your breath hitch in realization for the second time in the last few minutes.

Tim.

Then he notices Jason’s unconscious body in your arms and when his gaze meets yours, even with the helmet on he knows what you want to say.

Save him.

Your shifts at the bookstore have never felt longer. You had become so used to him and come to rely on his visits so much that now, without him, they only drag on and on and on, something that had never even happened before.

Even before him.

Your only solace being that he’s alive.

You often have to remind yourself of that fact when the memory of the fear of losing him claws back at you.

Jason is alive. He is okay.

After Tim found you two, he launched towards Jason, checking his vitals and addressing his state.

He told you that he needed to bring Jason to the batcave as soon as possible and you had immediately grabbed Jason’s hand, refusing to let go of him and profusely saying that you were going with him.

But Tim had only shook his head, explaining how Jason would kill him if he ever allowed you to not go to the hospital for a check up.

But you had fought him with tooth and nails, saying that you weren’t leaving his side anytime soon and Tim had no other option but to give up.

However, just as Tim was calling for Steph to come and help him with Jason quickly, you passed out.

Whether because of all the emotions and stress of those five minutes (because yes, since Jason first entered into the bookshop to protect you, it had only been five minutes, maybe even less), or because due to the shifted panels in the helmet, some gas had managed to slip in, you didn’t know.

Probably more the later than the former but still.

Next thing you knew, you woke up in the hospital. Thankfully without the helmet, Tim having probably managed to unlock it.

Through the doctors, nurses, and the news on the TV in the ER, you learned that the gas was dangerous but thankfully non-lethal. In most cases, like yours, people in the neighborhood who had only inhaled a bit just felt dizzy for a few hours or passed out for a bit.

In other cases, the most serious ones, like Jason’s, people were put into a coma-like state, with the lungs rendered to a point of near-exhaustion. But with good rest and the appropriate care, they would recover soon with no side effects.

Batman had managed to apprehend Scarecrow and just like the vigilantes had suspected from the beginning, it wasn’t a deliberate attack but a robbery gone wrong.

They let you go of the hospital that very same afternoon, with instructions that if you felt any kind of dizziness to come back. After your family (and Rose and Jimmy of course) checked in with you, you were finally able to grab a hold of your phone that had been left in the bookshop.

You were met with a text from Tim, how he had managed to get your number, you didn’t know, but it probably had something to do with the fact that all the Waynes were part of the Batfamily.

Or at least, that’s what you figured, once you were finally able to think with a clear head and digest all of your recent discoveries.

The text said that Jason had made it to the batcave safely, that he had been treated immediately and that he was resting now.

You have never been more grateful for anything in your life.

But that had been a week and a half ago. And you hadn’t seen Jason since.

You felt like a part of you had been ripped out and taken along with him. The absence of a vital organ leaving you empty.

Probably your heart, since it had left your chest and leaped itself into Jason’s hands a long time ago.

The neighborhood had been deemed safe after the gas dissipated and you were back to your job like nothing had ever happened, just like how it often was after any incident with a rogue in Gotham.

Life just went on. Gotham and its residents as resilient as ever. The fight and survival etched onto their DNA.

If there ever was something to admire Gotham for, its survival skills were definitely it.

You had wanted to see Jason immediately, and you had even called Tim so that he could tell you more about Jason’s state and tried to see when you could go see him but then your mother had called.

Your uncle had had an accident at work and he would need surgery.

Though there was some risk, it wasn’t a extremely dangerous procedure. But if there was something that all of your family had in common and that was characteristic of all of you, was that if something happened to someone, every single member of the family would come running to be there.

And you knew that you had to be there, you wanted to be there, but it still tore at your insides having had to leave without having being able to see Jason. But your uncle lived on the other side of the country and you had to take a plane that very same night to be able to arrive before the surgery the next day.

So, you had called Tim back, telling him that you had to leave, how bad you felt, how sorry you were and that you would try to come back as soon as possible. But Tim assured you that it was okay, that they would all take care of Jason, that it would take him a couple of days to wake up and be fully conscious and that he understood (and that Jason would too) that you had to go.

You nodded, trying to hold back tears and muff your sniffling due to all the stress that had taken a hold of you due to all the recent events. Tim had calmed you down and promised you to keep you updated. Helping you just like you had done when you met him.

Thank god for Tim Drake. You’re pretty sure that you would have lost it if it weren’t because of him. His reassurance a sign of a friendship for a lifetime.

And so, you left. Everything went well with your uncle and you were glad to have been able to see your family for a few days since quite a long time ago.

But when you came back, Jason wouldn’t see you.

It took Jason two days to wake up from the coma-like state, though he had been getting better and better with each passing hour, and a full day of only eating and sleeping before he was able to return to normalcy.

Still, when he first woke up, the only thing in his foggy brain was you. He asked about you as soon as he opened his eyes and Tim told him that you were okay but that you had to leave for a few days due to a family emergency, and that you had called every day several times to check in.

Jason let out a sigh of relief. Both because you were safe and because he didn’t know how he would have faced you if you had been there.

He was sure that you hated him now. Despised him. Sure, you had called to see how he was, but that’s just how you were, caring and protective. But deep down, he knew that you had to resent him for having hidden being Red Hood from you.

He was sure that if he saw you, the first thing that you would do was scream at him and tell him that you didn’t want him in your life anymore.

And he wouldn’t be able to bear that.

He didn’t know how he could ever go back to a life without you.

That’s why he refused to see you everytime that you reached out after you came back. Letting his phone ring out when you called, later just sending a quick text saying that he was fine, that he was just busy with some things in order to not worry you. He knew that it was unfair and that he was being an idiot but he didn’t know what he would do if he saw you, even though he knew that he eventually would have to.

And yet, despite all of that, he still couldn’t bring himself to fully cut ties with you. He simply couldn’t. Needing you at least in some way in his life just as much as he needed air. As well as the fact that he knew that he couldn't do something like that to you, at least not without explaining.

It wasn’t until Tim cornered him and talked some sense into him that he realized that he couldn’t put it off any longer. 

When Jason enters the bookshop, a chill runs through him as he shakes the drops of water from his hair. He had dreaded every single step that he took towards the bookshop, a cloud of shame hanging over his head. And then the universe had decided that he wasn’t miserable enough and so that cloud of shame had quite literally started to pour on him. He couldn’t help but think that he deserved it but still, it sucked.

He usually liked rain. Just not when he didn’t have an umbrella and was tethering on the edge of sanity while trying to hold the composure that he had created to give him the strength necessary to face you. And certainly not when he was holding a hot chocolate that he had bought for you; having already lost count of how many times he had previously done so when he came to visit you, in a sad attempt at a peace offering, even though he was sure that you would dump it on him; but that now surely was just cold chocolate.

Shit. He really was going to look like even more of an idiot than he already was.

“Jason?” Your soft voice comes through, like an antidote calming him instantly and soothing all his worries. Your presence, like always, making all of his dark thoughts go away.

Though that peace didn’t last long because you were here now and he couldn’t run now. He had to do what he had come to do.

Even though he still wasn’t sure what exactly that was, no matter how much he had tried to prepare himself. Had he come to apologize? Explain? Beg for your forgiveness? He had no idea.

It didn’t matter anymore because as usual, all his thoughts and working brain cells flew out of the window when he was near you. This time even more so than usual since he had never gone this long without seeing you. He just stands there, soaked from the rain on the entrance doormat, like a wet cat begging to be let home again after causing trouble and running out.

And you’re just standing there, in the doorway of the break room, looking at him like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing, as if he was some mythological creature and you didn’t dare to move an inch, either in order not to scare him away or because you were petrified in fear, Jason didn’t know.

And he’s just rendered speechless. His breath taken away from him as he takes you in for what possibly is the last time, trying to commit every part of your beautiful self to memory, all of those parts that he already knows by heart, before you kick him out of the bookshop and out of your life forever.

“Yeah.” He finally responds.

Great, Jason. Very eloquent.

No turning back now.

He gulps.

“Hi.” He adds, trying to act with normalcy but he winces when he realizes that it doesn’t match the situation at all. There really is no way of making this any easier, is there?

He expects you to start yelling at him, push him, anything. But you just keep staring at him. And then:

“God, you’re drenched. Wait here.” You disappear for a second and Jason can’t believe what has just happened, a bewildered look in his eyes. He expected anything but that. But he obeys, doing whatever you asked of him in his very nature, trying to move as little as possible so that he would only drop water onto the doormat. You return quickly and hand him a towel after taking the hot (cold) chocolate from his hands so that he can dry up a bit. 

You put the cup onto the counter as he shakes his boots on the mat, dries his face and ruffles the towel through his hair. When he finishes you approach him once again.

“Here, let me take your jacket. You're going to freeze.” Jason feels like he’s on autopilot as he follows your every direction, like a sailor the call of a siren. Not daring to move a single muscle or do any abrupt movement other than what’s necessary, afraid of breaking whatever is happening right now.

You hang his jacket on the coat rack by the door to dry a bit and then you turn back to him.

There’s a moment of silence, the only noise being the rain’s soft pattering against the windows, the dark clouds filtering the setting sun, casting the bookstore in a gloomy atmosphere though the place still maintains its warm glow from the few lamps turned on with a yellow and orange glow.

The place is quiet, not a single soul in the bookshop except you two. Jason made sure of coming around closing time so that you could be alone, without any other customers interrupting and, even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, the small hope of finding the bookshop closed and therefore having the perfect excuse to delay this another day.

But of course, the universe wasn’t going to have it. He never was that lucky.

Jason is so stupefied that he doesn’t move from the doormat as you take a couple of steps closer to him and look him over. Assessing him. Studying him. He avoids your gaze, not knowing what to do under your scrutiny.

He might as well be a cactus now with how rooted he is to the goddamn doormat. And then he sees how your feet join his on it and he can’t help the chill that runs through him once again, but not from the cold this time, but from your intoxicating proximity, so reminiscent of the one from the ghost kiss in the alley.

This is it, he thinks. This is when you finally push him from your life forever.

But then you surprise him once again, when without any trace of hesitation nor fear you touch his face. Sofly cradling it as if you might still care about him.

He doesn’t understand anything that’s going on right now. He has never been more confused in his entire life.

After so many months, Jason had come to know you in such a way, so intricately well, that he could read you like a book. Just like you with him. But now, Jason is seriously questioning that because he has no idea what is going through your mind right now.

He finally gathers the courage to look at you, still afraid of what he’s going to find, but you’re not even looking at him.

Your gaze is fixated upon the small cut at the end of his left eyebrow.

A reminder of the Red Hood duty from the night before. How he had managed to get a wound there even with the helmet on, he had no idea.

He sees your eyebrows furrow and your expression change to one of worry.

And then your hands run down his sides until they take a hold of his, inspecting them over after taking the towel from them.

And you sigh, disappointed in finding what you hoped not to be there. The skin on his knuckles broken once again.

Jason feels like a stranded boat, lost at sea, the water around him lulling him to its will.

That’s you.

The rain continues on as you turn slightly and flip the sign of the bookshop to closed before locking the door.

As a lightning strikes in the distance, flashing momentaneous light into the bookshop and illuminating your soft features, you take Jason’s hand and just like several times before, you drag him to the break room, but this time, instead of on a chair by the table, you sit him down on the sofa.

And he lets you. He gladly lets the sea take his boat wherever it wants to. Even if it’s to his own demise.

You take the blanket resting on the arm of the couch and drape it over him, making sure that it stays on his shoulders before you take the towel back to the bathroom and for the third time, you grab the first aid kit there.

You return to the break room and not even your shuffling steps make his lost gaze go towards you.

Despite his big frame you had never seen him so small, curled onto himself, head hung in shame; and it makes your heart clench. He looks deep in thought, grabbing the edges of the blanket so that it stays wrapped around him, as if he’s contemplating how to say whatever he has come to say to you.

But you don’t care. He could stay quiet the whole time if he wanted to.

Because at least he was here.

And honestly, your first instinct at seeing him back in the bookshop had been to run to him and hug him like your life depended on it and never let him go. But you had ultimately decided against it, not wanting to scare him away.

His presence there still felt almost like a mirage to you, after having gone so long without seeing him for the first time ever since you met him.

So, it was a very welcomed step from just sending you short texts letting you know he was still alive and well.

And you couldn’t blame him. Like always, you two worked by taking your own time, giving each other space.

And you knew that Jason had a lot on his mind after the gas incident. In the chaos of it all, he had told you that he had wanted to tell you about being Red Hood before and you wholeheartedly believed him, knowing that it wasn’t something that you could just tell anyone at any given moment. And now he had to deal with the reality that now you knew about that part of his life.

And you had a feeling that he thought that you would push him away for it. Resent him. When it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Because now you saw the whole picture that Jason Todd was.

And you know what?

He still was your Jason.

He still was the man that you were in love with.

Someone to whom you felt connected in a way that you had never felt before. Someone that was your friend and that always managed to make you smile. Someone that was always there for you when you had a bad day. Someone that reads to kids in his free time. Someone that tries to make this city better and protects its people as a vigilante. Someone who goes out of his way to visit you, a completely normal and ordinary woman who runs a simple bookshop. Someone that didn’t hesitate in sacrificing his own safety for yours.

Yeah, you were still very much in love with that man.

And if he needed some time to come back to you, that was fine with you because you knew that he wouldn’t just leave you like that. During the last few days you could even have sworn to have seen him peering through the windows into the bookshop in passing, but when you focused a bit more, he was gone. Or at least that’s what you hoped, the string pulling you two together too strong. 

No matter how much it had pained you to have the person holding your heart keeping you at arm’s length.

Because a day or two more of waiting and you would have stormed into wherever Jason was and told him how much he meant to you until that stubborn head of his realized how you weren’t ever letting him go.

You also hoped that he didn’t resent you, for not having been able to be at his side when he woke up. Something that you will never forgive yourself for, no matter how you knew that it couldn’t have been any other way.

You sit down next to him and place the first aid kit on the coffee table in front of the sofa, getting all that you will need to heal his wounds ready. You take one more look at them and your heart clenches.

You don’t like how he doesn’t seem to take full care of himself.

Because to you, Jason Todd was a treasure. A treasure that you will never be sure how you had managed to be able to find.

And he should be treated just like one.

And that’s exactly what you intend to do.

You follow the same process as the last time to take care of his knuckles, Jason quiet and avoiding your gaze the whole time, before moving onto the cut on his brow.

You raise your hand with a cotton patch to put some antiseptic on it and your eyes finally meet his. The green in them, like always, lighting up your insides, a forest in which you would gladly get lost in.

Jason looks at you as one of your hands takes a hold of his chin to tilt his head while the other one begins treating the cut.

And Jason feels like dying when he sees the flash of pain that crosses your eyes because he knows that he’s the one who put it there.

From the very first time that you healed him, he could see how you didn’t like seeing him hurt. Yet he still had let you see his wounds and tend to them more times after that.

He really usually does tend to his wounds. Except that very first time with his knuckles that he had been so tired he had only cleaned them. But after feeling your soft hands taking care of him for the first time, it was like he didn’t want his wounds healed anymore unless it was you the one who did it.

And so, subconsciously, selfishly and guiltily, he barely tended to them, just what was strictly necessary, a desperate attempt and blind hope of you maybe wanting to heal him in order to feel your delicate touch, that Jason was sure did a lot more for his wounds than whatever any kind of medicine could do.

Your touch not only mending his wounds but also healing his soul and soothing all the bad thoughts in his mind.

But right now, Jason wants nothing more than to get on his knees and do whatever you ask of him. Anything to make the slight hurt that briefly passes your eyes go away. Beg if it's necessary.

He thinks that apologizing may be a good starting point.

“Y/N…” He begins but before he can go on any further you hush him, almost like you want to enjoy the silence and this moment of intimacy as much as possible.

Then you reach for the first aid kit again, taking a steri-strip from a pack that you had bought, along with some other extra items, knowing that the basics of a normal first aid weren’t going to be enough now that you knew that he was Red Hood.

You put it on the cut, careful of not hurting him. Jason watches you mesmerized, still not believing that you haven’t kicked him out yet.

Then, you take a normal band-aid to put over the strip, just to be extra safe but mainly because you want to see him smile.

“Is that a Hello Kitty band-aid?” He asks in disbelief, breaking the silence, as he watches you open the band-aid with the pink, red and white doodles.

“Yup.” You say as you put it, covering the cut and fully hiding it from view, Jason not putting any kind of resistance to it. And your heart clenches blissfully at the small smile that pulls at Jason’s lips. Oh, how much you had missed it, your own personal kind of drug. And you can’t help but mirror him too.

“Thanks.” He whispers once you’re done patching him up. You give a slight nod in return.

You pass your thumb softly over the band-aid to make sure that it doesn’t fall off and then you meet Jason’s eyes again, that look just like a kicked puppy’s. Shining with oncoming tears and wide in fear of what is going to come next.

“I owe you an explanation.” He finally says with a sigh of resignation and you shake your head.

“Jason, you don’t-”

“No, let me do this. I need to do this. It’s the least I can do, I owe it to you.” He says, taking your hands in his, one of which still was caressing his eyebrow and stares at them as he can’t help but begin to rub soft circles into the back of them.

Goosebumps raise all over your skin.

Jason takes a deep breath before he starts talking. It seemed like you still cared about him but would you still do so once he finally explained everything and told you the truth?

He didn’t want to get his hopes up. But he knows that he can’t delay this anymore. He doesn’t want to.

As he begins, a cracking thunder sounds in the distance, shaking the foundations of the road that you two have been building together to its core.

The question being, would it stand the storm?

You listen to him intently. He doesn’t look at you once, instead deciding to focus on your joined hands. Grabbing onto a last part of you before he lets you go forever.

“And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I totally understand that you may not want to see me anymore. I betrayed your trust and that’s unforgivable. Some of the things that I’ve done…” He shakes his head. “I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Please know that. You mean so much to me. And even though it breaks me having to remove myself from your life, I know that it’s for the best.”

“Jason, I-”

“No, no. Let me finish please.” He continues ranting. “I promise you that I won’t let the feelings that I have for you get in the way. I will go out that door tonight and never come back again. I’ll let you get on with your life.”

You’re fairly sure that he doesn’t even realize half the things that he’s saying. It’s like he has opened a gate and now not only is he apologizing and telling you the truth about everything, but he’s also letting his feelings for you finally come to the surface, unable to stop himself. He’s so caught up in everything that he leaves them out in the open without even realizing it.

And you just want to smile. Because Jason Todd has feelings for you too. And he has just said it out loud. You try to conceal your beaming smile to not scare him away. He’s way too much into his own head now, spiraling around the fact that he has to remove himself from your life as some sort of self-imposed punishment and in order to at least spare himself a part of the pain that would come from you outright kicking him away.

But you would never do that. Because even with everything that he has just told you and the things that he hasn’t yet, because you know that his story is a lot longer than what an evening can hold and holds a lot more things and very much darker ones than what he has revealed for the moment, you still want to be here with him. You still want him in your life.

Nothing could make you want to stay away from Jason Todd.

Not even himself.

And if there’s one thing that you’re stubborn about is that you’re always there for the people that you care about.

You just need to make him see that. To make him see how important he is to you. And you’re going to do everything you can so that he does.

You call his name again, trying to center his attention back to you but he keeps rambling.

You can only think of one thing that might finally make him stop and listen to you while also making him realize how you feel about him.

You have never done something as bold as this before. And there’s still a knick of doubt in the back of your mind, but the mere possibility of Jason leaving and the fact that the safety line that you two had drawn about your friendship and your feelings is fully difuminated now after his unintentional confession, almost as if it had never actually been there, has you determined. You want to think that it would turn out right.

And if not, at least you would get to do something that you had wanted to do for a very long time.

So, after firmly saying his name once more, and one of your hands getting out of his hold and tilting his head towards you, just when his eyes finally, finally, lock with yours for a quick second, you press your lips to his.

It’s not a long kiss and there isn’t much movement but you hope that you’re conveying everything that you feel for him and more. You can tell that Jason’s caught by surprise but it doesn’t take long at all for him to slowly press his lips against yours, returning your kiss. He lets himself melt into it and you do too. You feel warm all over and then you both sigh against each other, the two of you having fallen off the tightrope and finding that not only there’s a safety net beneath you, but an infinite number under it, one after the other, in the impossible case that one might break.

A soft place to land, a warm embrace.

You think that you could die happily right now.

You part, not wanting to overwhelm him but just from that taste you can already feel yourself slightly dizzy in the best kind of way. You slowly open your eyes and see Jason already looking at you, not believing what has just happened. You take a deep breath. Might as well put the nail in the coffin now. Cement the road.

“I’m in love with you Jason. All that makes you be you. Including being Red Hood. And I’m not going anywhere. And I really, really hope that you aren’t either.” You whisper.

“I’m a mess.”

You tilt your head with a small smile. “Aren’t we all?”

“Are you sure?” He whispers back, caressing your hair, still giving you an out, a last chance for you to escape him and all his problems, before his instincts take over and he latches himself onto you forever and never lets you go.

You nod, not faltering in your resolve. “Yes.”

“I’m in love with you too. I love you.” He says next and nothing has ever felt so liberating. Jason feels light, floating. And all he wants to do now is say it over and over again, just in case that you might still not be aware of how much he loves you.

“Good. That’s very, very good. I love you too.” You giggle, pressing your forehead to his, your noses brushing each other. Jason grins.

“Can you do that again?” He asks, his gaze dropping to your lips, already knowing that the day that he goes by without tasting them will be torture.

Your smile widens even more, if that’s even possible, and you kiss him once again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

After that, everything stayed more or less the same. Jason kept coming into the bookshop several times a week, buying books and checking out some others.

Except that now, he also kissed you everytime he did so.

Except that now, you went on very official dates, not ones that could be mistaken by a friendly hangout.

Except that now, you paid a lot more attention to any news about Red Hood.

Except that now, you always patched him up.

Except that now, you spent nights in each other's beds.

And right now, you’re very confused.

Your brows knit as you try to understand what is in front of you. The computer screen showing the details of a book order that you had made for the bookshop a while ago but that hadn’t arrived, not making any sense.

You’re so concentrated that you barely register the jingle of the bell above the entrance door. Out of the corner of your eye you feel a figure come to stand in front of the counter.

“Just a second, please. I’ll be right with you.” You say almost automatically, trying to see if you can just wrap your head around what you’re reading on the screen, though you doubt that a few more seconds will make any difference. But still, you’re adamant to try.

“It’s okay. I’m just looking for my girlfriend.” The figure says and your head lifts up so fast at the voice that you should be worried about getting whiplash. But you don’t care.

Because there he is.

Jason Todd.

Your boyfriend.

You still feel giddy inside every time that you think about it.

You let out a small gasp before your lips twist into a wide smile and you might as well be The Flash with how quickly you round the counter and wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Jason’s smile is just as radiant as yours as he watches you come to him and gets ready for when you crash into him, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and giving you a slight spin when your feet lift off the floor due to the force of your hug.

He closes his eyes and breathes you in while he hugs you and brings you even closer to him, if that’s even possible. Your bodies merged into one in your embrace.

Never in his wildest dreams would Jason have ever thought that he would find himself in this situation. One in which you rush to meet him glowing with happiness. One in which he gets to kiss you without the fear of being rejected and one in which he’s able to call himself yours. He never would have believed any of that when he stepped foot into the bookshop that fateful night, which he was sure would be the last time he would ever get to see you.

He still can’t believe how lucky he is to have you. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you want him. That you accept all of his demons and that you help him fight them. That you love him. He will never take it for granted.

God, he loves you so much.

Your feet touch the floor once again but he doesn’t let go. He lets his senses overwhelm with you, everything about you enveloping him and not letting him feel anything that isn’t you. Your scent, the feel of your hair tickling his cheek, your arms around him. He doesn’t want to ever let you go.

He’s finally home.

Two weeks and a half is too long without you.

You think the very same about him as you do the exact same with him, your senses taking every part of him in, committing him to memory once again, even though you already know them like the back of your hand.

The feel of his soft hair as you run your fingers through it, just like you had dreamed so many times before, the scent and feel of his leather jacket beneath your arms.

God, you love him so much.

You finally pull back and look up at him with stars in your eyes. And then, without sparing another second, he dips down to kiss you. Or you pull up to kiss him, you’re not sure.

The only thing that matters is that his lips are finally back on yours and that’s all you need to know. You kiss him deeply, savoring him after being apart for so long and he kisses you back just as eagerly, loving the feeling of finally having you back in his arms.

And just like everytime that you kissed, like the very first time, it feels like a dream. Because you still can’t believe that he’s yours and that you’re his.

It was a long time coming.

But it turns out that you two are still human and therefore still need to breathe, so you both pull away but only what is strictly necessary to regain your breaths. Your chests and foreheads are still pressed together and lips inches from each other, so close that you can’t tell which breaths are his and which breaths are yours.

Your fast beating hearts falling into the same rhythm, syncing once again, going as one.

One of your hands holds the side of his face, softly caressing his cheek, so smooth that he must have shaved that very same morning. You feel his grip on your waist tighten.

“What are you doing here?” You finally say between giggles, the drug of his proximity, like always, making pure happiness run through your veins.

“Wrapped the case early.” He answers breathlessly before not being able to resist anymore and kissing you again.

You can’t help the smile on your lips while you kiss him and you can feel another one pulling at his own. When you separate once again you smile at each other, your eyes shining with love and affection for one another.

Jason had left earlier that month to help Dick with a case in Blüdhaven for a few days but then the thing had gotten bigger and dragged them all the way to Metropolis, making his trip longer than what he had first anticipated.

And then earlier in the week he had told you that he wouldn’t be able to return until the end of it. But here he was. Holding you in his arms and kissing you on a peaceful Wednesday afternoon.

“Everything went well?” You ask, not daring to tear your eyes away from his, only perhaps to steal a quick look at his lips.

“Yeah. All good.”

Before either of you can say anything else or even try to kiss each other again, Rose, Jimmy and Charlie, all of whom had been chatting over coffee in the break room, emerge at all the fuss.

“What’s all this?” Says Charlie with a smile as you and Jason disentangle, though he keeps you tucked into his side with a respectful arm around your waist.

“Just a young lovers reunion, Charlie.” Answers Rose.

“Sorry for intruding on, kiddos.” Adds Jimmy.

“It’s okay.” You say.

“You must be this Jason that I’ve heard so much about.” Charlie comments.

“Yes, sir. And you must be the famous Charlie. Nice to meet you.” Jason answers while shaking his hand, though not before throwing you a glance that makes your cheeks heat up in embarrassment and hide your face in his shoulder for a second. So you talked about me too huh?

“You too. My grandchildren are going to be devastated that you’re with someone now, darling.” Charlie says jokingly towards you now.

“Sorry, Charlie.” You respond with an apologetic smile.

“It’s good to see you, sweetie.” Says Rose to Jason to which Jimmy nods in agreement.

“It’s great to be back home.” He answers and you feel his hand give your waist a slight squeeze.

Shivers run down your spine.

You look up at Jason lovingly, a gaze that he returns, and you’re so lost in each other that neither of you see the smiles and look of recognition that the elders have in their faces, having themselves experienced a love like yours that still lasted to this day.

“Go, honey. Take the rest of the day.” Rose offers. You turn to her surprised but you can’t help but to also be excited at the possibility of going out with Jason already. Maybe to see Lily and the other kids, since Jason hadn’t seen them since he left, though you had of course shown up to check on them and continue with the readings, or maybe to eat something at Millie and Ruby’s.

But you don’t care as long as Jason’s with you. There were so many possibilities and you two had all the time in the world. And you were going to seize every single second of it. You two had wasted enough time already.

You also already know that Jason’s either spending the rest of the week at your apartment or you’re spending it at his.

“Are you sure?” You ask Rose.

“Yeah, go have fun, kids.” Jimmy confirms. You thank them before smiling brightly at Jason and then going to get your bag and coat.

As you and Jason make your way towards the door, Charlie speaks up once again.

“You’re treating her right, I suppose.”

Jason looks at you as he opens the door of the bookshop before turning back to Charlie.

“Always.” He says without hesitating and Charlie nods, glad with his answer.

The elders watch you go, happy that you two have each other. They watch how Jason moves the hand on the small of your back to take your hands between his and blow into them to warm them up in the cold Gotham air. And how you then zip his jacket all the way up, adjusting the collar so that it would protect him as much as possible, both of you smiling and looking at each other fondly, before you disappear from their view hand in hand.

Because as it turns out, it isn’t really a surprise when the road stays as strong and sturdy as ever after that cracking thunder.

Because that night, the days after and over time, Jason told you everything. About his past, about his family. And over time all that you did was fall even more for him, loving every part, every scar that he decided to show you. And he did the exact same for you.

Because in the end, he still was your Jason, the kind and handsome young man who always checked out children’s books and wore leather jackets.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[daydreams-after-dark]

What's your fanfic fantasy? part 1

↳ tag list: open

Chapter Contents.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 //

Pairing: fem reader + Chan + Jisung

This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

Chapter Summary: You're enjoying a drink with Chan until he starts asking about the smut you read.

Warnings: This first installment has no sex (but the next is fully sex including a threesome!) but talks about sexually explicit content, fantasies, references to sex and masturbation, explicit language, eventual threesome in next installment.

You sit on the leather lounge really confused about how the conversation ended up here.

“So… “ Chan starts, “do you enjoy reading them?” he smirks as he asks this.

He is such a cheeky bastard.

He isn't talking about stories in the media, or news articles, or interviews. Nope. He is talking about erotic fan fiction. Smut. About him. About him and his rock band SKZ. And that you've been reading it.

You have known Chan for a long time. Years now. You'd met on a creative project. You're musicians, and have often worked creatively together on and off for a few years. You were so excited when Chan invited you to his holiday/work retreat to work on a new project with him and a few of the guys from the band for a couple of weeks.

You're staying in a beautiful holiday home, more like a mansion really, on the coast overlooking the ocean. It’s a sight to die for.

Chan loved to work. He worked all day. He worked well into the night. He worked all the time actually. A workaholic. You wonder if you would get to let your hair down, and just hang out, which usually ends up with you bantering and laughing together for hours.

You didn’t have to wonder for long. It's your first day here, and it hasn’t taken long before you've hit “banter territory”. In fact it has now moved beyond “banter territory” and into some unknown, and quite frankly scary, uncharted territory, and you don’t have a map for this particular terrain.

Even though nothing has ever happened between you and Chan, and likely never will, you often seem to end up flirting. Hinting at things in a fun, non serious way. But never taking it further (although your mind has drifted much further than you'd ever admit).

Chan’s a safe flirt. Which means he makes you feel safe enough to push the envelope without a sense of awkwardness or feeling a need to take action or follow through. You seem to just prick tease really.

It’s just fun and games right? Right? It was always… cheeky and lighthearted and absolutely never serious.

Until now.

You feel flustered and a little sweaty. You try to shift in your seat to get more comfortable and to ease the sense of your legs feeling like your circulation has been cut off, but the leather couch is sticking to your legs. You shouldn’t have worn a mini skirt. A uneasiness builds up inside of you.

You pick up your sparkling water from the leather upholstered chaise-slash-coffee table and take a big sip, biding your time before you answer.

You're sitting in one of the living areas that that has a big floor to ceiling window that takes advantage of the ocean view. It’s getting dark out there now.

Chan sits on a second leather coach to your right where he is waiting for you to speak. You bring your attention back to his question “do you enjoy reading them?”

You'd been talking about the fandom and some of the thirst tweets and naughty edits that are out there about his rock band SKZ, and somehow the conversation escalated into how you had read some of the fan made fiction about the group.

You wish you hadn’t even mentioned that you read smut. Why did you do that? You were only going to tease him about the situations, positions and activities that he and his band members have been involved in, fictitiously of course.

Unfortunately for you the teasing hasn’t had the desired effect, and the tables have been turned on you. Instead of making him go red, or teasing him about it, and having a giggle - in the safe zone of “banter territory” - you were the one blushing while his expression had turned dark and devious.

You look him in the eyes to see if you can read his thoughts.

He is still waiting for your answer.

He is still smirking at you. Fuck. This is so awkward.

“Well …?” he raises an eyebow. “do you enjoy reading them?” he repeats himself. You actually have to answer him then? What the fuck do you say?

You're not quite sure whether to give a lighthearted response and shift the conversation to something more… vanilla, or match him with the dark, sinister vibe. Or, you could just be honest and nonchalant, and act like it’s no big deal. Yeah you might go with that. You're an adult after all.

“Well, yeah I do actually.” you say matter-of-factly, completely disregarding the dark look in his eyes. You think you've come off calm and unaffected by his energy, but on the inside you're burning up with embarrassment, or is it shame? Or something else?

You want to hide. You realise you're holding your breath and you do your best to exhale gently and calmly.

Chan puts his drink down, a simple coke, on the coffee table-chaise and sits back on the leather couch. His skinny ripped jeans are so very tight and his legs are parted a little bit too wide for polite chit chat. How fucking rude! He’s playing games with you.

It surprises you when you a feel dull ache in your core. You want to be pissed off at his confidence, not turned on. Why does this dark energy seem so alluring? This isn’t the Chan you're used to, and you have a feeling this situation is going to become less polite by the minute. You're not sure how it’s going to pan out, but you're terrified. Or are you? You can’t quite tell if this is terror or anticipation, or - arousal?

He brings a hand to his chin as though deep in thought, rubbing his fingers against his lips, and not taking his eyes off you for even a second. Then he nods his head as if he has just made a decision with himself. Is he is having as much inner dialogue as you are right now?

“Tell me more?” He coaxes, his voice is low and deep.

Tell him more? Shit. What are you supposed to say? That you lay in bed reading about how he and his best friends suck each other off and rail each other in the ass? And then you touch yourself over it as you imagine you're there actually watching it? Or that you imagine each of them inside of you while the others watch?

Is that what he wants to hear?

You cross your legs hoping the tension will go away, but all it does is intensify the feeling.

No, absolutely not. This is too far. You can’t tell him more. You won’t tell him. It’d be too… vulnerable. Intimate. You shake your head.

“No,” you start. “I don’t think we should keep talking about this.” You sigh and look at him pleadingly. But the look in his eyes tell you he isn’t going to let this slide. And part of you doesn’t want him to either. If you're honest, you're scared, embarrassed and want to run and hide, but part of you does want to tell him, to confess to him, see his reaction. What would he say? What would he do? You wanted to know. You needed to know.

Despite your resolve to say nothing, you open your mouth ready to blurt it all out anyway.

“You’re right.” Chan cuts you off, and some of that darkness shifts from his eyes. He grins his cheeky fucking grin at you and you feel that sense of kindness and friendliness he has return just a little bit.

But..

Your heart sinks. Why do you feel disappointed?

“It’s none of my business what you enjoy reading”. He chuckles filling his glass up with more coke. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. We can change the subject.” Chan leans forward to peer closer to you, the room has gotten so dark and only a few lamp lights are illuminating the room in a soft glow.

“I’m sorry.” he says with pleading eyes. “I was just curious, you know?” He leans back again. “This is kind of an area that I don’t know anything about you in”.

“Chan,” you exasperate, “It’s normal for people to not know other people’s fantasies!”

You clasp your hand over your mouth. You've said too much.

“Fantasies? No one mentioned fantasies.” He’s caught you out. Chan’s devious eyes are back but it’s coupled with a devious grin too. Doubly dangerous. “Hmm..” he pretends to ponder “so let me get this straight. You read the dirty fiction and then fantasize about it happening to you? Or,” he takes a sip of his drink. “you make up your own little scenarios of my boys filling you up and fucking you senseless?”

“Chan!” You're shocked at how accurate his accusation actually is. And equally shocked how your body is responding. You're thankful it’s dark because you're pretty sure your nipples are rock hard. You're also thankful he is hasn’t outrightly asked if you fantasize about him.

So much for changing the subject.

“Do you?” he knows he almost has you admitting everything to him.

You tip your head back and let out a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll tell you more. Then you can fucking stop being so pushy and move on.”

Chan claps his hands together excitedly. “Right then”, he says and excitedly shuffles over a little closer to you. You feel like you should get him some god damned popcorn.

“You’re right. I read the stories, I touch myself, and I imagine my own scenarios.” You flail your hand around in some weird gesture and try to keep the explanation as minimal as possible, surely he doesn’t need to know actual details.

Chan waits for you to elaborate. Apparently he does need to know more details.

You roll your eyes. “And yes, I imagine them filling me up and fucking me senseless." you finish.

He looks satisfied that you've admitted it, and proud too, like his boys had actually had sex with you and that it was somehow thanks to him. “Except..” you start. What are you doing?

Chan looks at you curiously. “Except? Except what?”

You hesitate but decide to continue. “Except, even though he is so fucking hot and he’s the best drummer I’ve seen, and so very sexy, and his lips are just delicious, no matter how hard I try, and even though I want to so badly, I can’t seem to envision Jisung inside of me!” you confess.

Oh my god, what did you just say?

You look to Chan to see what his reaction is. He looks amused but mildly distracted. His gaze keeps shifting over your shoulder ever so slightly even though his attention and words are directed at you.

“So what you are saying is,” he focuses his eyes back on you. “that you can’t picture Jisung fucking you?” He smirks and leans back against the back of the couch resuming the confident lazy posture he had earlier.

You swear he’s hard, his pants seem a little too tight and you can see a bulge protruding, fighting against his pants. But it’s too dark to really tell, and perhaps your imagination is getting the better of you. You wonder what it would feel like to straddle his lap and grind against him, to make him harder and to relieve this tension building up in your body.

“Do you want to?” Chan jolts you back to reality, his attention is one hundred percent back on you, but something feels off.

“Huh?” You stare blankly, taking your eyes off the bulge in his pants.

“Do you want to be able to imagine Jisung fucking you?” he repeats casually, but dead serious.

Do you want to imagine Jisung fucking you? You consider what might be the thing getting in the way of you being able to picture it. Is it that he seems so young and fun that you can’t see him taking charge and being aggressive, and maybe that’s what you're into? You can’t really put your finger on it. All you know is you do want to imagine Jisung inside of you, fucking you. Well yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t? How was admitting it to Chan going to help?

“Yes,” you declare anyway. Really! What are you doing?  “and it’s so fucking annoying.” you add. Your throat is so dry, but elsewhere you're beginning to feel a little wet.

Amusement washes over Chan’s face and his eyes dart over your shoulder again.

You swallow hard even though your throat feels like a hard lump, but before you can do or say anything, Chan leans in close to your ear. His breath is hot against your neck and cheek. Fuck he’s close. Fuck he smells good.

You hold your breath waiting for Chan to speak. He lingers for what feels like forever.

“Jisung thinks that’s so fucking annoying too.” It was barely a whisper. He pulls away from your ear and gestures behind you. “Don’t you, Jisung?”

Your heart suddenly pounds so hard you think it’s going to fling out of your chest. Your jaw drops and dread begins to take over you. You feel hot and dizzy. You snap your head in the direction of Chan’s gaze only to be met with Jisung standing in the doorway. The dread intensifies and you're filled with shame. You want to hide.

Fuck.

↳ tag list: open

@rylea08 @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @rixenluv sorry if you’ve been tagged again, I am having issues to tagging again.

[euphroseia]

Forever and always

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Word count: 1.5k words

Genre: idol!au, fluff with a bit of angst

Warnings: Mention(s) of god, being agnostic, LDR, some kissing scenes but not explicit just wholesome, honestly. I think that’s all. Let me know if I missed some!

If you liked my writing, please give me a reblog. I’d appreciate it and it will help me a lot! You can also let me know your thoughts about the story here. Thank youuuu! 💗

It all started by subscribing to the bubble for JYPnation; and honestly, you were very reluctant at first. Is this even worth my money? Will I really be communicating with my bias here? Oh my god, this ain’t some kind of scam right? You asked yourself these questions before actually paying. And here comes the exciting part: choosing the artist to receive. This wasn’t a hard decision to make, after all, you installed the app for him��for Hyunjin. 

After receiving the first message of greeting, the one where he thanks you for being bubble’s friend, you were already ecstatic at this moment. Oh, god, Hwang Hyunjin, I cannot wait for you to actually message me. And so, the magic begins.

“Hello, Y/N” 

“Y/N, Good morning”

“Y/N… Y/N… Y/N!!!”

“Look, I painted your profile although I know that’s not you.”

At first, you were sure he is just like this because he was supposed to do this, and most importantly, he might be doing this to everyone, and you shouldn’t be paying too much attention and affection to all his actions towards you; however, messages like these started with everyday texts, and the days turned to weeks, and weeks soon arrived to almost a month, which means you’re approaching the end for this subscription. When you subscribed to bubble, you planned on changing a member every month that passed by, not until Hyunjin messaged you something you could never decline. 

“Y/N~, I know you’re reaching a month from being with me, please don’t choose another member :(( I’ll be good please don’t leave me.” First of all, how did he know I’m planning on switching to another member? Second, why did he have to be this cute? And MOST of all, why is he doing and saying this to me??? This were the things you asked yourself after what he had said

You don’t know how things went to this miracle but the only thing you can do is thank god for allowing you to subscribe to bubble, you’re an agnostic by the way, because if you didn’t, then maybe you won’t be laying in this fluffy bed with a long haired blonde beautiful man beside you. 

Now, this might sound like a dream come true, it is, of course; but dating an idol has its fair share of pros and cons. Greatest of all pros is that you don’t need to collect all his photo cards anymore because he sends you his selfies everyday. Also, the fact that he updates you of his schedule every time? A heavenly feeling of assurance. You can honestly state a list of pros covering a whole yellow pad paper back-to-back, but you’re not going to dwell with that too much. For cons, first and most exhausting of all for you, your relationship has to be hidden. Not that it’s a secret for both your family and his, and stray kids, but having to be extra careful around everyone is the hardest. You want to tell the world that you’re dating the one and only Hwang Hyunjin and that he loves you and you love him more than anything else; but that’s just how you can imagine things for now. Next, you are in a long distance relationship. He’s in South Korea and you’re in New Jersey, USA. Oh, what a nice 12-hour time difference. 

Having to be beside him right now is a rare moment, first time even, for the both of you. He can’t go to you since it will be a dead giveaway to everyone that he is indeed seeing someone in New Jersey. So, since your anniversary is nearing, a few months back, you started saving money so that you can be with him, which leads you to this situation—hugged by the most beautiful person on earth you could ever lay your eyes on. He looks even wonderful now that he’s sound asleep, you feel peaceful with his presence. You wish for this moment to last forever, you’d give up everything just to have him stay by your side; but you know this isn’t something you can really hope for. 

Being an idol has its pros and cons. Doing a job they truly love and enjoy, but having eyes around them any time of the day, anywhere they go. Making their fans happy makes them happy as well, but also being robbed off of their freedom. People expect them to be perfect while also prying on their private lives. 

Dating ban wasn’t on his contract, at first you thought there would be no problem because of that, but why would JYP allow his artist to date someone like you? An average person who isn’t even a top student in the least. How can he allow Hyunjin to date someone who isn’t the prettiest and popular in some ways? This is why your relationship is hidden, because if people find out about this, their boss would not even protect him about your relationship, and you don’t want to be a burden to him and the group. 

You hate that you’re thinking like this despite all the constant reassurances Hyunjin has given you. He’s the sweetest person you know and you’ll ever have. You didn’t notice the tears welling up in your eyes not until a drop had rolled down the side of your eyes, to the bridge of your nose and to the pillow you were lying on. You also wouldn’t notice that Hyunjin was already awake if he didn’t suddenly sit up and hold your right cheek with his palm.

“Why are you crying, darling?” You softened with the pet name. You have always adored him calling you that.

“Nothing, love, just thinking about how lucky I am with you,” you said and smiled softly at him.

He’s lying down again and pulling you closer into him. Your head is now pressed against his chest, you can even hear the beating of his heart. In moments like this, you’re in the most fragile state; you want to be protected more than you want to protect him.

Although muffled, you heard clearly what he said after a short comforting silence. “I’m the lucky one here. I got to date my crush and now we’re celebrating our one year together.” 

“I love you, Hyunjin.” At this point, you don’t even understand why you were crying.

He pulled away and cupped your face. “I love you too, Y/N. Don’t cry, my love, please.” He cooed and kissed your forehead. Down to the tip of your nose. Then your philtrum, and finally, your lips. It was a comforting one. The most wholesome kiss he ever gave you. You’ve always felt amazing in his arms and his kisses, but this one made you feel very safe with his touches, you’d never want to break the kiss. 

As he pulled away from the kiss, he reached for the drawer of his bedside table. It took him a little while before he got what he was looking for. He sat down and pulled you with him, making you two now sitting up on the bed. He held your hand and pulled it up so that it was on eye level for the both of you. On his right hand, there you saw what he was rummaging for in the drawer, it was a ring—a promise ring to be exact.

“Happy anniversary, my darling. I’m sorry that we’ve reached a total year together having our relationship in this situation. I may not be able to tell the whole world how much I love you, but I hope you know that I genuinely do,” now, you’re both a crying mess.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel insecure and small for keeping our relationship a secret, but please know that my heart holds you dearly and that I am really proud of you. My gift for you is this ring, this will hold all my promises for you that soon we’ll get to be a normal couple just like everyone. Soon, I’ll be able to hold your hand in public and we won’t have to be scared of getting caught. Until then, please let me hold onto you for as long as you’d allow me.” You wiped his tears, while yours are pouring heavily all the way to your neck.

“May I put this on you?” He asked. He didn’t really have to ask but you nodded. Smiling as he slid the ring on your left hand’s ring finger. It fits heavenly, like it was specially made for you.

“Happy anniversary, my lovely Y/N. I love you forever and always.” He kissed you again, the same loving kiss a while ago, and then proceeded to pull you into his arms, snuggling his head on the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Hyunjin. Always in all ways.” You said as you allowed yourself to melt into his arms.

Who would have thought that, what was a reluctant decision at first, will bring you to this—to him.

This might not be the perfect love story you expected, but you’re grateful you get to spend and write every chapter of it with him, and you don’t plan on asking for more than to be with him for the rest of it.

[leslie-lyman]

And I’ll Be All in Clover

Summary: Marcus attends the White House Easter Egg Roll and finds someone he did not expect.

Pairing: Congressman!Marcus Pike x nameless OFC/f!reader

Rating: G

Word count: 3.2k

a/n: Oh hi there. It’s been a minute, huh? Remember when I promised this update like three months ago? I’ve been tinkering on and off with this installment forEVER and finally finished it! Note that we find out some more about Marcus’s mystery lady from Part 1 here; she is referred to only with she/her pronouns and no defining physical description, so you can read her as a female reader insert if you like, though she does have a specific job and background in this story. If you’d like to be notified when I post new writing, please follow my writing update blog @leslie-lyman-writes and turn on notifications.

Part 1 || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

———

“Alright, who is she?”

Marcus flinches, startled at the sound of Linda’s voice. He turns towards the door of his office where his chief of staff is standing, one hip resting against the door jam.

“What are you talking about?”

Linda shakes her head, wild black curls swishing back and forth over her shoulders.

“Don’t play dumb, Marcus. It doesn’t suit you. You’ve been moping around the office for three weeks, staring off into the middle distance, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because you’re daydreaming about the defense budget or campaign finance reform. So who is she?”

Linda is astonishingly good at reading people. It’s part of what makes her such an effective chief. But Marcus is also astonishingly easy to read, and Linda knows about his history with women better than most.

It’s especially embarrassing that he can’t actually answer her question. And the shame at being caught out makes him raise his hackles in defense.

“You know, just because I may have been a little quiet lately doesn’t mean it’s automatically about a woman,” he huffs. “Not everything with me is always about a woman. I’m capable of caring deeply about lots of things. Maybe I’ve been mulling over what I wanna say at the NASA hearing this week. Or wondering whether Jackie Evers is gonna agree to co-lead our economic development bill. Or wrestling with the fact that San Antonio remains the most impoverished major city in the nation.”

“Marcus…”

“Three hundred and fifty thousand people below the poverty line, Linda,” he continues, working himself up. “And what are we doing to make it better? Children going hungry, undocumented families scared for their lives, lead pipes in the walls and guns on the streets, money for fighter jets but none for child care, and you think just because I’ve been a little moody lately that it’s about a woman? You’re really gonna just walk into my office and assume that any change in my mood has to be about a woman?”

Linda waits until he’s gotten it all out of his system, watching him rise from his seat and gesture more and more broadly with his hands the more indignant he becomes. When he finally stops, breathing like he’s just run a hundred-meter dash, she simply raises one eyebrow and says:

“So what is it about, then?”

Marcus meets her stare with his own for a few seconds, then deflates entirely, flopping back into his chair.

“It’s about a woman.”

Linda has the good grace not to lord her correct assumption over him. She merely hums at the satisfaction of being right and wanders over to stand in front of Marcus’s desk. She tosses a small envelope at him, which he catches with a start.

“What is this?”

“A distraction.”

With a small frown Marcus opens it, pulling out a slip of official-looking card stock.

“The White House Easter Egg Roll?”

“Rebecca was supposed to go with me and Olivia, but she has to work. So now I have an extra ticket.”

“I suppose that I should be flattered that I’m your second choice right after your wife.”

Linda rolls her eyes.

“Oh please. You need to snap out of this funk you’re in, and perhaps getting outside and touching some grass will help. And if that grass so happens to be on the South Lawn at a wholesome family event where President Ramirez will also be in attendance, along with a certain senator whose support you need to get the drug treatment court money included in the omnibus…”

Marcus looks up, suddenly interested.

“Jones will be there? How do you know?”

“Because I know everything.”

Marcus has yet to find that to be untrue.

“He’s been dodging my calls for weeks.”

“I know.”

Linda can see the wheels turning in Marcus’s brain based on this new information, and knows that he’s probably already jumping ahead to formulating what he’d say to make his pitch for the money to the senator.

This is what Marcus needs: a cause and a plan.

“I’m gonna need updated stats on — ”

“Yeah.”

“And I’d like to look over the list of organizations that have come out in support again, too.”

“Yup.”

Marcus stares hard at the base of the lamp on his desk without really seeing it as he thinks things through.

“If I could just talk to him about it, if I could just lay out the case for this funding, I know I could convince him to do it. I know I could.”

Nearly twenty-five years in politics has made Linda nothing if not a realist. But to see the fervor with which Marcus clings to his convictions, to his belief in people and in their ability to do the right thing, threatens to chip away at her more jaded edges. She can’t bring herself to try and rein in his optimism, so she gently changes the subject.

“Olivia will love to see you too. It’s been too long since she’s gotten to hang out with her Uncle Marcus. And maybe you could try and have some fun while we’re there? You know, relax a little bit? There’s usually a few celebrities who show up to this thing. There’s a rumor going around that Bad Bunny might make an appearance this year.”

Marcus lets out a bark of laughter.

“That’s funny,” he says.

The look on Linda’s face remains unamused.

“Y’know, cause it’s the Easter — ”

“Shut up, and don’t be late.”

The sounds of Marcus chuckling follow her all the way to her office.

———

The White House Easter Egg Roll dates back to 1878. Egg rolling had become a popular Easter Monday event for Washington, DC’s children in the 1870s, who would race their eggs down the west grounds of the United States Capitol. In 1876, Congress outlawed the practice out of concern for the impact on the Capitol grounds. Two years later, President Rutherford B. Hayes initiated the first White House Easter Egg Roll as a new alternative venue for the tradition.

In its present form, thousands of families descend upon the South Lawn every Easter Monday for an event that has become essentially the world’s most tightly secured garden party. The titular egg roll is still the main event, but the vast grounds that stretch from the White House’s Truman Balcony down to the edge of the Ellipse also boast all manner of food stations, educational activities for kids, a proper Easter egg hunt, a petting zoo, various costumed characters, and a performance stage.

The United States Marine Corps Band is halfway through a rendition of “Easter Parade” when Marcus, Linda, and Olivia enter the grounds. It’s a beautiful day for the event; April weather in DC can range from sleet to blazing sun, but today is downright idyllic. Fluffy clouds float across the clear blue sky over the nearby Washington Monument. The South Lawn gleams emerald green, covered in a sea of people in mostly pastel outfits.

Dressing for an event at the White House is usually a formal affair, but per Linda’s advice Marcus has foregone a tie and opted for the most springtime-like shirt in his closet: a button-down in crisp periwinkle under a suit a shade too bright to be considered navy. A Congressman’s business casual.

Olivia is, as predicted, overjoyed to see the man she’s called Uncle Marcus since she learned to talk. She remains glued to Marcus’s side as they wander the grounds, stopping to load up on sugary snacks and feed handfuls of grain pellets to the baby goats at the petting zoo. Her long black curls and boundless energy mirror Linda’s, and before long she has grass stains and dirt streaks on her pink Easter dress but neither of her chaperones is concerned. Stains will wash out, Linda had told Marcus once, the fun she had getting them is far more important.

It’s more fun than Marcus has had in a long time. It’s a beautiful day with people he considers family, but there’s a twinge of something he feels deep in his gut that threatens to spoil it for him.

Envy.

He would be hard-pressed to find a situation that makes more clear than this one that which he lacks: a family of his own. He’s surrounded by the shrieks and laughter of children, the sight of moms and dads cheering their kids on as they race eggs down the steepest part of the South Lawn’s slope. He’s spotted many of his colleagues here, other members of Congress with their families, happy and together and full of love for each other. There is no doubt in Marcus’s mind that he loves Olivia, but nothing can ever change that fact that she isn’t his.

After the painful saga of his divorce and the whole mess with Theresa, Marcus had thrown himself not long after into the drastic career change of running for office. That had consumed eighteen months of his life and had worked wonders in keeping him so busy and exhausted that the idea of venturing out into the dating world again had been pushed from his mind. His singleness had even become something of an object of fascination to the public. Politico had dubbed him “Congress’s Most Eligible Bachelor” not long ago on what must have been a particularly slow news day. But now…

He’s starting to think he’ll never stop yearning for it, of finding that someone, that connection, that partner. Of having what everyone else does: a happily ever after. And he’s also starting to fear that it might never happen.

“I don’t see Jones yet,” Linda murmurs to him as they clean their hands after the baby goat encounter. Oh right, he remembers. This is also technically a work event.

“Somehow I can’t picture him willingly spending much time near farm animals,” Marcus replies.

Linda makes a noise of amused agreement before Olivia suddenly lets out a squeal of excitement.

“Mom, mom, look! It’s Bluey!”

Sure enough, the cartoon’s titular dog has made an appearance near the performance stage to the audible delight of seemingly every kid here. Olivia grabs Linda’s hand and starts trying to drag her over.

“You know I’d hoped when she turned five she’d move beyond her Bluey obsession, but it hasn’t happened yet,” Linda mutters to Marcus.

“The trials of parenthood,” Marcus grins.

“I’ll take her over there, why don’t you go do a lap and see if you can’t run into a certain senator?”

Marcus nods.

“And you looked at the latest stats on recidivism?” Linda calls over her shoulder as Olivia impatiently leads her away.

“Yes! Now go get your kid a picture with that dog!”

———

Marcus wanders. He stops to say hello to some of the other Members he knows and is friendly with. Several times it’s other people who stop him. He’s a more recognizable face than most other elected officials, despite his short tenure on the job, and every few minutes someone comes up and asks for a selfie.

There are also professional photographers mingling about from the ever-present White House Press Corps, the gaggle of reporters from all manner of news outlets assigned to cover the White House. Marcus runs into a journalist he’s spoken with a few times from CBS News and grants him a quick interview for the outlet’s TikTok about what his first Easter Egg Roll has been like so far. But there’s no sign yet of the senator he’s hoping to speak with.

He’s wandering past the section of the lawn where Jorge Ramirez, the First Gentleman, is reading from a picture book to a group of children when he notices a camera pointed in his direction out of the corner of his eye. He turns in the photographer’s direction and before she even lowers her camera recognition hits him like lightning.

The woman from the botanical gardens.

The surprise is written all over his face and he knows it, but he can’t muster the wherewithal to school his expression into anything more neutral before he hears the click of the camera’s shutter. But when she lowers the device, she’s smiling at him, and the unexpected delight at seeing her again has him grinning back.

She walks over to him, inspecting the photo she’d just taken on the camera’s display. She’s dressed in black trousers, a white blouse, and comfy-looking sneakers, a black camera bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hello again, Congressman,” she says.

“Hi,” is all Marcus manages.

Something from their first meeting occurs to him then that throws cold water over his excitement.

“I thought you said you weren’t press.” He tries to keep his tone as light as possible.

She fishes an ID badge on a lanyard out from around her neck and holds it out for him to see. It’s not the standard press badge all credentialed reports are required to wear when on White House grounds. It’s a staff badge.

“You work for the President?”

“I do.” She tucks the badge away. “I used to be press, but I’ve since come over to the other side.”

“Ah.”

The chatter of a thousand people surrounds them. Not far away the band finishes a medley of Disney songs to a round of applause. But to Marcus it all feels very far away. Instead he’s hyper-aware of every detail about her: her fingers fidgeting a bit nervously with the camera she still holds, the white flash of her teeth between pretty pink lips, the mismatched earrings she wears (one a carrot, the other a bunny).

“I didn’t get a chance to get your name, before,” he says.

She gives it to him, and the knot he’s carried around in his chest for weeks wondering who this woman is loosens.

“Marcus Pike,” he returns, holding out his hand.

“Oh, I know,” she replies teasingly. Her grip is firm and sends a little shiver of electricity up Marcus’s spine.

Being an FBI agent meant that Marcus was used to projecting an air of authority, to having people sit up and take notice of when he spoke. But being an elected official deferred upon him even more authority whether he felt it was earned or not, it made his time, his attention, be in great demand. If you knew who he was, you probably wanted something from him. And people were so impressed by him, so deferential to him, so flattering and accommodating. Many of his colleagues let it go right to their heads. But all it did was make Marcus constantly second-guess who he could trust.

There’s nothing of that here with this woman. What he sees is the curve of her lip and the quirk of her eyebrow and what he hears is her Oh, I know but what he feels is that she fails to find his status impressive or intimidating and how refreshing that is. How rare, these days, for him to have a conversation feeling like someone is talking to him instead of his title.

“I’m so happy to see you again,” he tells her. “I…regret that our conversation in the gardens got cut short.” He hopes she doesn’t take that to mean he’s blaming her.

She shrugs, attempting to look nonchalant, her bag shifting at the movement.

“I know how it is with Members. I didn’t want to impose on too much of your time.”

“You could have,” Marcus blurts out before he can stop himself.

“You could have,” he repeats more quietly. “Talking with you…it was the best part of my day. Of my whole week. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.” About you, he adds silently, but doesn’t say aloud.

The teasing edge to her smile fades, replaced by something shyer, more genuine.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it either,” she admits.

Warmth blooms in Marcus’s chest that has nothing to do with the bright April sunshine.

“Could I — could we talk more, sometime?”

“Are you asking me out, Congressman?”

“It’s Marcus, actually,” he says with a coy grin, finally finding the ability to flirt again that usually comes so naturally to him.

Something in her face falters, a flash of disappointment.

“Not here, it’s not,” she murmurs, “not right now.”

Her eyes slide past his to glance about at the crowds of people around them. Guilt clenches in his gut as reality floods back in, the bubble around them bursting and the sounds of the crowds around them suddenly returning to full volume in his ear. How could he be so careless? He’s a Member of Congress, she’s a White House staffer, and right now, she’s working. There are still power dynamics here that he’s completely forgotten about until this moment.

“Oh, fuck, you’re right. I’m so sorry, forget I said anything—”

“Don’t be.” She shakes her head at him, eyes wide. “What I meant by ‘not right now,’ is that—it’s not that I’m not inter—” She blows a raspberry with her lips and swipes a hand over her face.

“What I mean to say is, I should be done with work today by seven. If, if you’d like to talk more. Which I would very much like, for the record.”

She reaches into her camera bag and pulls out a crisp white business card and a pen, scribbling a phone number down on the back. He takes it from her when she holds it out to him, their fingertips just barely brushing.

“Hey boss!” The sound of Linda calling for him from over his shoulder is a rough yank back to reality. He turns to find her walking towards them, a giddy Olivia in tow.

“Senator Jones, three o’clock.” And sure enough, off to Marcus’s right, he spots the man in question, sun gleaming off both his bald spot and his veneers, talking with several other men in stuffy suits and ties.

Linda looks past Marcus at his no-longer-a-mystery woman, then back at him, the look on her face telling him that she’s immediately figured out who it is he’s been talking to.

“I’m sorry,” Marcus says, “I can’t believe I’m doing this again, but I gotta—”

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “Looks like we both have to get back to work.”

Marcus sighs, fingers tightening on the little card he still holds.

“Happy Easter, Congressman,” she says.

“Happy Easter,” he replies with a murmur of her name, and finds he likes the way it feels on his lips.

———

The rest of the day passes in a blur.

He has a good talk with Senator Jones (he thinks, he hopes), he gives three more impromptu interviews, he eats too much chocolate with Olivia before carrying her back to her mother’s car. He grabs Chinese takeout on the way back to his apartment, a sparsely furnished one-bedroom in Navy Yard, and fights the urge every step of the way to google the gorgeous White House photographer whose number is burning a hole in his pocket.

There’s so much he wants to know about her. And he could so easily find out so much if he wanted to right this moment, her whole career likely just a quick google search away, but he resists. Don’t dive in so quick, he tells himself. Don’t rush. Besides, he wants to hear it all from her herself.

He punches in the number at 7:02.

It rings only once before she answers.

“Hello, Marcus.”

[onboardsorasora]

Absolutely obsessed with ur tennis AU. Cannot wait for more instalments.

🥺🥺 omg hi! I cherish every ask I get about this au (honestly because I don't expect them) incidentally I wrote this yesterday during the Ladies' Finals.

Part 7 | Part 9

Pt 8 (how have we gotten here already?!)

Daniel wiped the sweat off of his brow as he cycled, in an attempt to cool down his body. He made a face when he felt the grit of clay still on his palm from when he had fallen onto his back in relief of his success.

He'd made it to the semis, by the skin of his ballsack. His opponent had a lot of unforced errors in the last few sets, mistakes he made that gifted Daniel with the points needed to gain advantages.

He felt Michael clapping him on the back, no doubt breathing a sigh of relief that they made it through.

"That was a fuckin' close one." Daniel greeted.

"But you made it. We live to fight again." Micheal, ever the optimistic one.

"C'mon, let's get you through media." Blake chimed, looking up from his phone to smile.

Daniel nodded blearily, exhausted. The match has gone on forever, they had been fairly evenly matched. His opponent tended to have more bad days than good and it was unfortunate for Daniel that today was one of his good ones. They made a charismatic pair though, so he knew at the very least, they gave the world a show.

Clambering off the bike, he accepted a cool towel from Micheal and dragged it down his face and neck in appreciation. He traded his sweaty match worn shirt (designed to look like one of his favourite party shirts) for a dry version of the same and the three men followed a volunteer down the maze of hallways to meet the media.

Sitting behind the desk of a thousand microphones, Daniel drank some of his electrolyte drink from a sponsor approved bottle and smiled winningly at the crowd. The questions at the very least were all easy, mentally he knew he couldn't manage anything more taxing. They asked him about his opponent, how he felt about all of the exciting long rallies of the last few sets and how he felt about his opponent's outbursts.

"It always sucks to knock out a fellow Aussie, Nick and I'll have a pint later."

"Those rallies were some of the best I've had all year, I can always count on Nick to bring the heat haha."

"I mean, with Nick I know there's a possibility for anything, so I just focus on me and my own game."

He felt good, they didn't know who his opponent would be, that deciding match up not happening until tomorrow. So Daniel felt confident that they'd let him go about his way with no more questions to ask.

"One last question, if I may." Came a voice from the back of the room. Daniel smiled for the female journalist to continue. "This match up created a social media frenzy as one would expect for the two charismatic Australian players that everyone love to talk about. And we couldn't help but notice that you seem to have collected a new fan base. Outside of the usual tweets and messages from footballers, cricketers and other tennis players, we also saw an uptick from the motorsport community. Have you found some new friends?"

"I was wondering where we were going with this," Daniel chuckled which brought out a smattering of laughs from the group. "That was a long question, but yeah I guess I have. I was at the Monaco Grand Prix a few weeks ago and I started collecting new friends like Pokemon." He stretched his arms behind his head, flexing his biceps a little in his amusement.

"A few world champions too, Max Verstappen and Fernando Alonso to name a few." She continued, open ended.

Daniel's smile twitched at hearing Max's name in the context of tennis. At hearing Max being spoken about by people who didn't know him in his sport. He was sure he caught his reaction before anyone else clocked it but it definitely threw him for a second. He was tired but his media brain was always on auto, especially after that 'Australian Open' fiasco.

"They get the best tickets." He replied with a laugh. The assembled group of journos laughed with him and then he was allowed to leave. He did so gratefully, eager to get away from all the cameras and hot mics.

Michael greeted him with a bottle of water and Blake with his phone, the device still vibrating intermittently. Daniel could only imagine how uncontrollably it was going off just twenty minutes ago.

The brain rot guided him to the middle of his notification panel to his text thread with Max. His dick twitched heart flipped seeing that his last received message was an image. Surly Maxy Max wouldn't send him nudes while he was playing for his life!

Surreptitiously he looked around before opening the text thread, his heart thundering in his ears so much that he was not listening to whatever more than likely important information Blake was giving him. The messages loaded up and it was actually two photos. Both not nudes, disappointingly.

The first was a picture from above of Max, still in his driver's suit, folded down to his waist, sitting in his motor home and watching his phone screen intently. Past the brim of his ever present hat, Daniel could make out the brown of the clay of the Roland Garros courts on the rectangular device.

He couldn't fight the tender smile that bloomed on his face even if he wanted to. Something bloomed in his chest, an itch that he'd been starting to associate with Max.

If he couldn't fight the smile at the first picture, he sure as hell wasn’t planning to stop the happy grin from dominating his face at the second. A screenshot of ticket confirmation for the Men’s Semifinals at Stade Roland Garros with Max’s name peered up at him from the screen.

“What’s got you so chuffed?” Micheal asked warily.

“Max is coming to the semis.” Daniel grinned at the two men who rolled their eyes in fond exasperation. He deserved it, he knew he’s been insufferable lately. But he just couldn’t help it.

“You sure you can focus without making googly eyes?” Blake teased.

“I’ll be focused I swear!”

“DR not sure if you know this but you can’t suck his dick while you play.” Micheal deadpanned, smirking as Daniel doubled over in honking laughter, drawing the eyes from people lingering in the wide hallway.

“Oh shit, what if I have to play Novak…maybe he shouldn’t come…” Daniel stopped walking, his face going through multiple complicated emotions. He wanted Max to watch him play for sure, but if he had to play Novak he wasn’t sure if he’d want Max there for the possibility of him being destroyed.

“Let’s not think like that, you don’t even know if it’ll be Novak. We cross that bridge when we get to it, besides, you can beat Novak.” Blake with the logic ladies and gentlemen.

“Just have Max promise you like a blowjob if you win or something. Give you that extra bit to play your heart out.” Aaand trust Mikey to bring the extra logic.

[moonlightndaydreams]

What's your fanfic fantasy Part 1

Premise: OFC + Chan + Jisung 18+ fanfic. Stayce has been friends with rocker Chan and his bandmates for ages. What happens when she goes on a work retreat with them and Chan decides to tease her about the smutty fanfic she read.

Kind of an AU (the guys are in a rock band), set in a seaside mansion. It's an sample of my longer fanfic on ao3 called "What's your fanfic fantasy?"

Warnings: This first installment has no sex (but the next is fully sex!) but talks about sexually explicit content, fantasies, references to sex and masturbation, explicit language, eventual threesome in next installment

I sit on the leather lounge really confused about how the conversation ended up here.

“So… “ Chan starts, “do you enjoy reading them?” he smirks as he asks this.

He is such a cheeky bastard.

He wasn’t talking about stories in the media, or news articles, or interviews. Nope. He was talking about erotic fan fiction. Smut. About him. About him and his rock band SKZ. And that I’ve been reading it.

I had known Chan for a long time. Years now. We met on a creative project. We’re musicians, and have often worked creatively together on and off for a few years. I was so excited when Chan invited me - Me! - to his holiday/work retreat home to work on a new project with him and a few of the guys from the band for a couple of weeks.

We are staying in this beautiful holiday home, more like a mansion really, on the coast overlooking the ocean. It’s a sight to die for.

Chan loved to work. He worked all day. He worked well into the night. He worked all the time actually. A workaholic. I wondered if we would get to let our hair down, and just hang out, which usually ends up with us bantering and laughing together for hours.

I didn’t have to wonder for long. It is my first day here, and it hasn’t taken long before we’ve hit “banter territory”. In fact it has now moved beyond “banter territory” and into some unknown, and quite frankly scary, uncharted territory, and we don’t have a map for this particular terrain.

Even though nothing has ever happened between Chan and I, and likely never will, we often seem to end up flirting. Hinting at things in a fun, non serious way. But never taking it further (although my mind has drifted much further than I’d ever admit).

Chan’s a safe flirt. Which means he makes me feel safe enough to push the envelope without a sense of awkwardness or feeling a need to take action or follow through. We seemed to just prick tease really.

It’s just fun and games right? Right? It was always… cheeky and lighthearted and absolutely never serious.

Until now.

I feel flustered and a little sweaty. I try to shift in my seat to get more comfortable and to ease the sense of my legs feeling like my circulation has been cut off, but the leather couch is sticking to my legs. I shouldn’t have worn a mini skirt. A uneasiness builds up inside of me.

I pick up my sparkling water from the leather upholstered chaise-slash-coffee table and take a big sip, biding my time before I answer.

We are sitting in one of the living areas that that has a big floor to ceiling window that takes advantage of the ocean view. It’s getting dark out there now.

Chan sits on a second leather coach to my right where he is waiting for me to speak. I bring my attention back to Chan’s question “do you enjoy reading them?”

We’d been talking about the fandom and some of the thirst tweets and naughty edits that are out there about his band SKZ, and somehow the conversation escalated into how I had read some of the fan made fiction about the group.

I wish I hadn’t even mentioned that I read smut. Why did I do that? I was only going to tease him about the situations, positions and activities that he and his band members have been involved in, fictitiously of course.

Unfortunately for me the teasing hasn’t had the desired effect, and the tables have been turned on me. Instead of making him go red, or teasing him about it, and having a giggle - in the safe zone of “banter territory” - I was the one blushing while his expression had turned dark and devious.

I look him in the eyes to see if I can read his thoughts.

He is still waiting for my answer.

He is still smirking at me. Fuck. This is so awkward.

“Well …?” he raises an eyebow. “do you enjoy reading them?” he repeats himself. I actually have to answer him then? What the fuck do I say?

I am not quite sure whether to give a lighthearted response and shift the conversation to something more… vanilla, or match him with the dark, sinister vibe. Or I could just be honest and nonchalant, and act like it’s no big deal. Yeah I’ll go with that. I’m an adult after all.

“Well, yeah I do actually.” I say matter-of-factly, completely disregarding the dark look in his eyes. I think I’ve come off calm and unaffected by his energy, but on the inside I am burning up with embarrassment, or is it shame? Or something else?

I want to hide. I realise I am holding my breath and I do my best to exhale gently and calmly.

Chan puts his drink down, a simple coke, on the coffee table-chaise and sits back on the leather couch. His skinny ripped jeans are so very tight and his legs are parted a little bit too wide for polite chit chat. How fucking rude! He’s playing games with me.

It surprises me when I a feel dull ache in my thighs and pelvis. I want to be pissed off at his confidence, not turned on. Why does this dark energy seem so alluring? This isn’t the Chan I’m used to. I have a feeling this situation is going to become less polite by the minute. I’m not sure how it’s going to pan out, but I am terrified. Or am I? I can’t quite tell if this is terror or anticipation, or …arousal?

He brings a hand to his chin as though deep in thought, rubbing his fingers against his lips, and not taking his eyes off me for even a second. Then he nods his head as if he has just made a decision with himself. Is he is having as much inner dialogue as I am right now?

“Tell me more?” He coaxes, his voice is low and deep.

Tell him more? Shit. What am I supposed to say? That I lay in bed reading about how he and his best friends suck each other off and rail each other in the ass? And then I touch myself over it as I imagine I am there actually watching it? Or that I imagine each of them inside of me while the others watch?

Is that what he wants to hear?

I cross my legs hoping the tension will go away, but all it does is intensify the feeling.

No, absolutely not. This is too far. I can’t tell him more. I won’t tell him. It’d be too… vulnerable. Intimate. I shake my head.

“No,” I start. “I don’t think we should keep talking about this.” I sigh and I look at him pleadingly. But the look in his eyes tell me he isn’t going to let this slide. And part of me doesn’t want him to either. If I am honest, I am scared, embarrassed and want to run and hide, but part of me does want to tell him, to confess to him, see his reaction. What would he say? What would he do? I wanted to know. I needed to know.

Despite my resolve to say nothing, I open my mouth ready to blurt it all out anyway.

“You’re right.” Chan cuts me off, and some of that darkness shifts from his eyes. He grins his cheeky fucking grin at me and I feel that sense of kindness and friendliness he has return just a little bit.

But..

My heart sinks. Why do I feel disappointed?

“It’s none of my business what you enjoy reading”. He chuckles filling his glass up with more coke. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. We can change the subject.” Chan leans forward to peer closer to me, the room has gotten so dark and only a few lamp lights are illuminating the room in a soft glow.

“I’m sorry.” now he has the pleading eyes. “I was just curious, you know?” He leans back again. “This is kind of an area that I don’t know anything about you in”.

“Chan,” I exasperate, “It’s normal for people to NOT KNOW other people’s fantasies!”

I clasp my hand over my mouth. I’ve said too much.

“Fantasies? No one mentioned fantasies.” He’s caught me out. Chan’s devious eyes are back but it’s coupled with a devious grin too. Doubly dangerous. “Hmm..” he pretends to ponder “so let me get this straight. You read the dirty fiction and then fantasise about it happening to you? Or..” he takes a sip of his drink. “you make up your own little scenarios of my boys filling you up and fucking you senseless?”

“Chan!” I am shocked at how accurate his accusation actually is. And equally shocked how my body is responding. I’m thankful it’s dark because I’m pretty sure my nipples are rock hard. I’m also thankful he is hasn’t outrightly asked if I fantasise about him.

So much for changing the subject.

“Do you?” he knows he almost has me admitting everything to him.

I tip my head back and let out a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll tell you more. Then you can fucking stop being so pushy and move on.”

Chan claps his hands together excitedly. “Right then”, he says and excitedly shuffles over a little closer to me. I feel like I should get him some god damned popcorn.

“You’re right. I read the stories, I touch myself, and I imagine my own scenarios.” I flail my hand around in some weird gesture and try to keep the explanation as minimal as possible, surely he doesn’t need to know actual details.

Chan waits for me to elaborate. Apparently he does need to know more details.

I roll my eyes. “And yes, I imagine them filling me up and fucking me senseless”. I finish.

He looks satisfied that I’ve admitted it, and proud too, like his boys had actually had sex with me and that it was somehow thanks to him. “Except..” I start. What am I doing?

Chan looks at me curiously. “Except? Except what?”

I hesitate but decide to continue. “Except, even though he is so fucking hot and he’s the best drummer I’ve seen, and so very sexy, and his lips are just delicious, no matter how hard I try, and even though I want to so badly, I can’t seem to envision Jisung inside of me!” I confess.

Oh my god, what did I just say?

I look to Chan to see what his reaction is. He looks amused but mildly distracted. His gaze keeps shifting over my shoulder ever so slightly even though his attention and words are directed at me. It’s shitting me a bit, especially after admitting something so personal. What, am I boring him now?

“So what you are saying is,” he focuses his eyes back on me “that you can’t picture Jisung fucking you?” He smirks and leans back against the back of the couch resuming the confident lazy posture he had earlier.

I could swear he’s hard, his pants seem a little too tight and I can see a bulge protruding, fighting against his pants. But it’s too dark to really tell and perhaps my imagination is getting the better of me. I wonder what it would feel like to straddle his lap and grind against him, to make him harder and to relieve this tension building up in my body.

“Do you want to?” Chan jolts me back to reality, his attention is one hundred percent back on me, but something feels off.

“Huh?” I stare blankly, taking my eyes off the bulge in his pants. Is he a mind reader now?

“Do you want to be able to imagine Jisung fucking you?” he repeats casually. Casual but dead serious.

Do I want to imagine Jisung fucking me? I consider what might be the thing getting in the way of me being able to picture it. Is it that he seems so young and fun that I can’t see him taking charge and being aggressive, and maybe that’s what I’m into? I can’t really put my finger on it. All I know is I do want to imagine Jisung inside of me, fucking me. Well yeah, of course. Who wouldn’t? How was admitting it to Chan going to help?

“Yes,” I declare anyway. Really! What am I doing?  “and it’s so fucking annoying.” I add. My throat is so dry, but elsewhere I’m beginning to feel a little wet.

Amusement washes over Chan’s face and his eyes dart over my left shoulder again. I get a sense that something isn’t quite right.

I swallow hard even though my throat feels like a hard lump, but before I can do or say anything, Chan leans in close to my right ear. His breath is hot against my neck and cheek. Fuck he’s close. Fuck he smells good.

I hold my breath waiting for Chan to speak. He lingers for what feels like forever.

“Jisung thinks that’s so fucking annoying too.” It was barely a whisper. He pulls away from my ear and gestures behind my left shoulder. “Don’t you, Jisung?”

My heart suddenly pounds so hard I think it’s going to fling out of my chest. My jaw drops and dread begins to take over me. I feel hot and dizzy. I snap my head in the direction of Chan’s gaze only to be met with Jisung standing in the doorway. The dread intensifies and I’m filled with shame and I want to hide.

Fuck.

Read Part 2 here.

[lostnfounder]

[The following is a transcript of an interaction that took place between Lostfield Reporter Ruth Shirbon and “William Keane”.]

[The recording starts to the sound of hesitant, quiet footsteps and muttering.]

R: Can’t believe I’m out of data already. Ughhh. Worst timing ever. 

[A pause for a few seconds, the footsteps slowing to a halt.]

R: Oh no. Where do they keep student files. I forgot to look that up. Fuuuuck.

[The footsteps pick back up again, echoing through the empty hallway.]

R: [Sighing.] I guess the office is a good place to start. I just hope there isn’t an alarm on that door like there is on the main one.

[As they walk, they seem to get more confident, walking at full stride down the long corridor.]

R: God, this place is still… weird. Did they ever install security cam- oh, yep. Hello. Hopefully no one is actually checking this footage. 

[A brief pause, and then a quiet thud on metal.]

R: Heyyy, old locker. Wonder who’s using you now. They probably don’t have nearly as many cool posters, right?

[Dead silence.]

R: Haha, yeah…

[Suddenly, she gasps quietly, and as the recording falls silent again, there’s a distant sound of rustling paper from somewhere down the hallway.]

R: [Whispering.] Oh. Fuck. Is someone else-?

[The sound has stopped.]

R: Am I making that the fuck up…??? No one should- be here. On a Saturday. Other than, like, janitors, or something, but that’s… But there weren’t any cars in the parking lot?? God, okay, yeah, maybe I’m just going crazy.

{I was NOT.}

[Slowly, the footsteps pick back up as they continue. There are no other indications of life within the building until they round the corner and hear the sounds again.]

R: [Whisper shouting.] OKAY. DEFINITELY NOT GOING CRAZY.

[There’s a soft thud as she flattens herself against a wall to peek around the corner, sighing with partial relief when there’s nothing immediately there.]

R: [Still whispering.] Shit, the office door is open. 

[When nothing happens for a few seconds, aside from the continuation of somewhat aggressive page flipping, they slowly begin to creep down the corridor towards it.]

[The door creaks slightly as she opens it slightly more, but the sounds don’t stop, growing louder as the microphone nears their source. The room is completely pitch black.]

[A pause, for a few seconds, only filled by more rustling.]

[And then a click as Ruth flicks on the lights.]

[There’s a figure low to the floor, hunched over an array of discarded paper sheets and files. It’s seemingly engrossed in the reading, until the lights are turned on. He shrieks, quickly turning and pressing itself against a nearby filing cabinet. It appears terrified.]

[Ruth also screams and nearly falls backwards.]

R: Wait, wait, hold on, YOU???

{It’s “Will”. The one from the van and the one that’s been harassing me in my asks.}

W: YOU’RE KIDDING ME. HOW DID- THE SAME PLACE, AGAIN. 

R: UGHHH. WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE.

[The figure relaxes somewhat, still seemingly on edge.]

W: When I got new eyes, I... saw this place. I saw it was the highschool my fucking “file” said I went to. Figured my student files would still be here, even if put away. Soo..

[It gestures at the papers.]

W: Tadaaaa. Here we are.

R: Uggghhhhh. You can’t just steal the files before I come looking for them. I have an actual mystery to be solving! What are you even gaining from this? Just want to make your lie more convincing?? It’s not going to work on me, dude.

[He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, staring blankly.]

W: I mean this with the most respect, what the actual fuck are you on about. The fuck’s going on?

R: I’M THE ONE NOT MAKING SENSE. SURE. YOU HAVE SANS EYES, BRO.

W: THEY’RE ROBOTIC, DUDE. FEEL THEM IF YOU WANT, IT'S JUST METAL!

R: NO???

W: GOOD! CAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TAKE THEM OUT! 

R: Uh. Actually, I was thinking more like- OH SHIT LOOK OVER THERE!!!

[“Will”’s head turns to the side, its body tensing up again. Fearful?]

[Ruth, immediately, takes a few steps into the room, reaches down, grabs one of the folders, and runs out again. Air rushes past the mic loudly.]

[There’s a shocked yell, before Will follows. His footsteps seem heavily, almost lethargic in their movements.]

W: DUDE! WAIT UP! WHY ARE YOU RUNNING SO FAST?

R: HAHA!! YOU FELL FOR IT!!

W: I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN??

R: That was like, the oldest trick in the book, man! 

W: I didn’t know that, dude! Give me my files back!

R: No!!! They aren’t-

[There is a short yelp and then a loud thud as Ruth trips and falls onto the tiles.]

[The footsteps behind Ruth skid to a halt next to them, and a concerned Will is heard, near the microphone.]

W: Fuck! Ruth, are you okay?! Are you hurt?!

R: No! I mean- yes, of course I’m- Stay back!! [Paper crinkling as she clutches them closer to herself defensively.]

W: Hey, Hey! I’m not gonna take them, I just…fuck, that looked like it hurt. Are you sure you’re okay?

R: Ughhhh, stop trying to trick me. I’m not going to trust you, demon. Trusting one with watching my car was enough.

[Will looked..hurt? By this, and moves back a little.]

W: Do I… Do I look like a demon? I bleed and piss like every other fucking human.

R: Why are you bringing piss into this. Jesus christ man.

W: It was something... nevermind. You’re the one making it weird dude, it’s just part of the body.

R: Can you just, like, leave me alone?? [There’s a sound of heavy boots stepping onto the floor as they stand up again, unsteadily at first.] I don’t understand why you need to be so hung up on impersonating him.

W: [Angrily, seemingly exasperated.] I am not impersonating anyone!! I’m a fucking human being, called William Keane, and I am so fed up of people telling me who the fuck I am! I’m a person! I just want to find out who the fuck I was after being through a shitshow for three years! Is that so much to fucking ask?! [He had tears running down its face. He just looked so tired.]

R: [Sounds slightly shaken up.] Whoa, whoa, okay, man. It’s not that serious. 

W: It… isn't that serious? [It barks out a mournful laugh.] I’ve been told for so fucking long, that I’m something I’m not. “The Archivist”. That fucking... I... You cant... you can’t blame me for holding onto my identity.

R: I’m not blaming you for anything, I just- Goddd, I just wanted to get in and out of here, this didn’t have to be a whole thing. Please man.

[Will dives for the papers Ruth is holding, trying to grab them.]

R: Whoa, WHOA!! NO!!! HEY!!!

W: I NEED TO KNOW, RUTH!! I'M SORRY!

R: YOU DON’T NEED TO KNOW ANYTHING! I DO!! LET GO!!!

W: I’M THE PERSON THEY’RE ABOUT! NO!!!

R: NO, YOU’RE NOT.

[Will slaps at Ruth’s hand, not doing much damage.]

[Ruth shouts in dismay and does the exact same thing back, and soon they’re both just batting at each other while Ruth attempts to keep the papers away from it.]

W: Please I just... I need to know… wait. 

R: If you point over my shoulder and say “Look over there” I will bite you.

W: I mean, yes but also. Listen.

R: What do you-

[Faintly, there’s a sound of distant sirens, which seem to be getting progressively louder by the second.]

R: Oh, fuck. 

W: [Quieter] Shit. The door. Ruth, take them and leave. Get out of here.

R: [Hissed.] What?? No, what about- I mean, what are you planning?? Why would you just let me-??

W: Because I don’t want you hurt! I.... [Will pauses, seemingly trying to rebuild its composure. He looks at the floor.] I'm sure I have family out there, maybe. I… please. Just go, I’ll… I’ll deal with these fucks.

[The sirens are very loud now, like they’re right outside.]

R: I-

[There’s a shout from outside the building.]

?: COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!!

R: Ohhhh fuck oh fuck oh shit. 

W: Ruth, hide. Please. [Will steps backwards, in the direction of the entrance.]

R: Dude- how?? They- They probably have the building fucking surrounded by now!!

W: Hide under a desk or something? I think, as long as I make it seem I'm alone... man, it’s the only idea I have. Please, I... I don't want you to have a criminal record because of me. That's... it.

[There’s a sound of a door slamming open somewhere down the corridor.]

R: I never should’ve fucking come back here. 

[A cacophony of different voices erupt, none of them really discernable, as pairs of footsteps pound down the hallway. Everything gets louder for a moment, like the device has been taken out of a pocket, and then cuts off abruptly as the recording is stopped.]

[Transcript end.]

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

It is only 3 o'clock. And yet the day has already been busy. I slept well but perhaps not enough. So I woke up with a raised eyebrow and it took me a long time to realize that the sun was in my eyes. I woke up and, after seeing my father, tired and discouraged to see him suffering again and again, I decided to go up to my little green room to make arrangements and wait there in any action for the arrival of the doctor. Upstairs, I had to stop for a second in my impulse. There was sunshine and a festive air... and you, everywhere. A hint of sharp pain, insurmountable nostalgia and a suffocating sweetness forced me to take back a lost moment.

I stayed there until noon and when I came down, I would have been at a loss to say what I had done there. I float in a kind of plenitude, in this life pushed to the paroxysm that you made me know and where joy, sorrow, hope, despair, desire, nostalgia, recognition, satisfaction, everything mixes, exhausting everything, pushing everything, devastating everything to make everything be reborn and start again. I needed you. I screamed, I screamed; I needed you to hear me and answer my call. O happiness! The answer was there: your two letters from Monday and Tuesday were there and they were just as I wanted them.

There are times when death doesn't mean anything anymore, and before I go any further and move on to less happy events, I want to answer your letters first. Don't be afraid, my darling. Luckily, life still loves me enough to never abandon me, and the fact that I even complain about it and revolt against this boredom that is winning me over and this desert where I am struggling is proof of this. What would I have to ask her if I didn't feel her value in me, her echo near or far? And then... those who are born alive, die alive and I even wonder to what extent life does not go beyond their existence... but where am I going? Forgive me, my love; I am going astray. I just wanted to assure you of something that you never doubted; even at the moments when I feel the deadest soul, a thousand embers are there that fizzle in silence and that all the ice in the world would not reach. These thousand embers, I reserve them all for you. They are waiting for you, as well as the ashes - alas.

As for the external life that you advise me, this one is too indifferent to me at this moment. It does not exist. My desires can't touch her at any minute. I regret, moreover, because it distracts me, perhaps, and I must say and confess that during this absence I have only one idea: to distract myself, because the pain I feel is too acute to find the slightest pleasure in it and my courage is a little weakened after these last months of tiredness. I'm glad you rented a piano. It is a living soul, suddenly installed in the house. I didn't know that F [rancine] could play so well.  Why doesn't she work?  Push her again. Give her the boldness she may lack. If she can do something big, it would be a real pity to stop along the way. How are the children? And your mom? And your brother, should he still be with you?

But these questions bring me back to my day and the sad events of the morning. The doctor, who has recovered from cystitis, came this morning to see my father who has had a sore throat and a slight fever for two days. Alas! An infectious pharyngitis has just set in and blurred everything again, before the first serum injection. All this would be nothing if he didn't suffer from it, but it is very painful and complicated by the fact that he can't breathe well except through his mouth, which dries out his already wounded throat. Moreover, he, who is never hungry, no longer eats, having too much difficulty swallowing, and all the admirable patience he has shown up to now has disappeared and has given way to an impotent revolt that I can't look at for long without having my heart in a vice.

We will start the aerosols again tomorrow and from this afternoon the nurse will come every three hours to give him extra shots of penicillin. What misery, my love! What misery! If you only knew! Finally, I always hope, with all my heart, that a day will come for him when he will feel at least a little relieved, and that he will not leave this earth without having again shared moments of rest. For the moment it is especially necessary to arm oneself with patience, to help him, as much as possible, to find his own and to wait. But there are hours when one no longer understands this continual crushing that is inflicted on him and that nothing can justify, and then one would bite if one had something to bite. Here we are.

But the clock is ticking and I must begin the cure. Maybe tonight, if I'm not too tired, I'll write to you again. The more I hate words, letters, paper, ink, the more time passes and these words add up to each other, the more I feel the need to write to you. It is incomprehensible. I love you, my darling, my love, my beautiful love. Oh, no; I don't want to beat you today, but I want to kiss you, kiss you, kiss you again, kiss you until I lose my breath and until you are in front of me and I can't push you away because of my lipstick. Ah, that day! This moment!

Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, February 2, 1950 [#165]

[daidonzo]

Chapter 2 - King meets Pawn

The Beach had been slowly filling up with people.

Savine walked through the corridors of the resort, wearing nothing but a white bikini, a gun on her right hand.

Occasionally someone would come up to try and talk to her. Flirt with her. Become friends. They were interested in many things - where was she from (Clearly not Japan), what was she doing here (Survive, just like the rest of you), which games had she already played (You'd be surprised), what was her favorite movie (American Psycho. Always have identified myself with Patrick Bateman) or which kind of music she enjoyed listening to (None). The answer to all of those questions was always the same: silence. Their faces would fall, usually after a few minutes, and they would scurry away.

Now, they avoid me like the plague.

It is better like this.

I don't need company.

Posing as a player had been fun, entertaining.

It almost felt like being alive, those seconds after they game had started and the rules had been explained, the feeling of excitement, or something that resembled it enough, building in her throat. The heart beating fast. The thin layer of sweat covering the skin due to tension.

Is it bad that I enjoy the games so much?

No.

They did this to me.

Didn't they?

She shook her head. She was the King, the King of Spades, even if nobody knew… Yet. The moment a shred of doubt was planted in her mind, she wouldn't be able to do this any longer.

And I want to keep doing this.

Don't I?

She nodded towards Aguni, who was already in the room where the Hatter would talk to the executive members of this wonderful utopia. One could argue the militant was the only person she was close to. They didn't know anything about each other, but at least Savine tolerated his presence. When they had to renew their visa, they would also typically go play games together. I am strong for a woman, but he is stronger than most men. It never hurts to keep one of those close.

She positioned herself in a corner, as she usually did, crossing her arms over her chest.

Waiting.

Observing.

The board started coming in. She had been there since nearly the beginning, her status of citizen in the Borderlands allowing her to know stuff others wouldn't. So she had arrived mere days after Takeru Danma, now better known as the Hatter, had decided to found The Beach, an oasis in the desert that was this cruel, barbaric world. A comforting place where all players could be together, play the games together and get cards together. Cards for him, of course.

What a pity he is losing his head.

His obsession with the cards was getting worse and worse every day. At the beginning, there had been only two rules: you must always be wearing a bathing suit, so that you could not hide any weapons in your clothing, and you were free to live your life as you wished. Until some players had hidden cards from him and he had chosen to install a third one.

Death to the traitors.

Takeru was convinced that once he would get one of each card, he would be able to go back to the real world. Savine had to keep a smile from forming on her lips.

Yes, Hatter, get all the cards. Do it. Then, it's my time to shine.

A wrinkle appeared between her perfectly shaven eyebrows - she put the effort to look good even in this wasteland of a place - when she saw someone she didn't recognize entering the room.

A man, at least half a head shorter than her, with dark eyes and blonde hair to his shoulders. He was wearing a bathing suit, yes, but also a white hoodie. He had his hands in his pockets and was, just like her, attentively observing everything around him. Everyone around him.

His eyes met hers. He waved in her direction, after a few seconds.

She didn't wave back.

The meeting started. Savine didn't intervene in any way. She was part of Aguni's crew, not the Hatter's. Which meant she just had to stand there, look as threatening and menacing as she possibly could and pretend to not have more than two brain cells.

'First, I'd like to introduce you to Chishiya, the new member of our board.'

So that's your name. Chishiya.

Savine didn't exactly know why, but she didn't like him. There was nothing intimidating about him, being a short and skinny-looking little thing, even if he had a pretty face, but there was something else. Something coming off him in waves. An air of superiority, something that made her skin turn cold despite the heat.

And everyone around him seemed to notice. Niragi, who was at his back, shifting uncomfortably his weight from one foot to the other. Ann, sitting in the chair beside him, putting as much distance as possible between her body and his.

You don't look like it, but you're dangerous. And, as the Hatter was saying, he had brought more cards to the Beach than anyone, ever before.

'More than you, Savine.' Takeru added, now turning to face her.

She smiled. Only with her mouth - her eyes cold like death.

'Someone had to, sooner or later.' She simply shrugged.

Chishiya looked at her again, undaunted.

She was in a vile mood.

And was still when she left the meeting, an hour later, aggressively walking towards the door, her face as soft and sweet as her eyes were hard. She wanted to leave as soon as she could, knowing that if she looked for it, she would easily find something else to make her even angrier.

That little man - Chishiya - stopped her just as she was crossing the door's frame.

What do you want, you stupid idiot?

'Can I help you?'

'I just wanted to check that it did not bother you. Not being the one who brought the most cards any longer.' He had an apologetic smile on his face.

I am the fucking King. There is nobody above me, nobody! You arrogant, self-important ass!

'Oh, no, don't worry about it. I don't really care.' She smiled as sweetly as she could.

'I think you do.' His expression had turned serious. He was still smiling, but it had changed completely, only one corner of his mouth bent upwards. There was a hint of diversion in his brown eyes, darker than hers.

'You think wrong.' Savine's tone had also change. Now it was sharp, like a knife. If you could have stabbed someone with a sentence, Chishiya would be lying on the floor on a pool of his own blood.

'We could help each other.' To what? Do you want me to get you something from the top shelf?

'I could kill you if I wanted to.'

'You have more brains than all of the other militants together. You won't.'

'Look, Chishiya…' She rolled the 's' in his name so hard, she practically hissed it. 'Just so that we don't get off with the wrong foot…'

She leaned towards him, only few centimeters separating her face from his and looked him dead in the eye.

'Leave me the fuck alone.'

And just like that, pushed him out of her way without any care, and continued walking.

What an annoying little creature.

[timptoe]

As the Revel Meets the Day

And this is the second piece, which I wrote in less than a week. Four times someone sees Shepard in pain, and one time Shepard finally, finally has peace.

Because sometimes, even during the longest night of the longest year, you get a glimpse of the light returning.

Read it on Ao3.

--

let me die, let me drown lay my bones in the ground I will still come around  when the time for sleep is through

over hill, over dale through the valley and vale do not weep, do not wail I am coming home to you  - The Oh Hellos, “Thus Always to Tyrants”

—

pain

awful, excruciating pain

why

why can I feel pain

I shouldn’t be here

I should be done

I made the choice

a choice between three, but not a choice 

not really

only one option, pull the gun, fire at the weak point blow the whole thing to hell blow all of them to hell for us for them for him

Kaidan

I’m here

Kaidan

—-

He grunts as the bulkhead in front of them collapses forward. “That was too easy,” he mutters into his comm.

“Commander Bailey, what is that?” comes the low, terrified voice of the kid on his flank. Not a soldier, not even an adult, just a teenager he’d found huddled in a corner of the Presidium when the Reapers invaded. One of the few survivors he’d managed to hide in a burned-out storefront while the Reapers transported the whole goddamn Citadel to Earth. 

Earth. He can see it up there, in the cracks—the chasms—in the ceiling above his head. The automatic mass effect fields  are holding the air in for now, but he’s got no idea how long that’s gonna be for, not since that wave of red energy burst through the Citadel and fried anything with an on switch, from the internal communications array to his gun’s targeting computer to the fucking keepers. 

But not everything electrical. Not the mass effect fields automatically keeping gravity constant and the atmosphere stable. Not the helmets he and the kid are wearing on the off chance the atmosphere becomes unstable. And not the display screens all around the station, every one of which had started displaying the same message in the instant before the red wave swept through.

FIND HIM. And a set of coordinates.

“That,” Bailey says, answering the kid’s question, “is what we’re looking for. I think.”

It’s a pile of rubble, but it’s not. He’s no expert, but even with just a glance he can see that the tech half-buried amongst the twisted metal and sheared polymers is far, far beyond anything he’s ever seen on the Citadel or in any Alliance installation. He can’t even begin to guess what some of those pieces do, or even what material they’re made of. And really, he doesn’t care.

FIND HIM.

Somebody needs to be found.

“Alright folks,” he calls into his comm, gesturing to the gathered team behind him, “just like the last two times.”

Getting to this part of the Citadel was no mean feat. Along the way, they’d encountered more than a dozen other survivors who’d somehow survived the Reaper invasion, some of them drawn this direction by the message on the screens, others needing to rescued from rubble just like this.

Well. Not just like this.

But rubble’s rubble, and the team seems just as determined as Bailey to figure out what that final, unblinking message means. So they go to work.

It’s hours of digging. Hours of moving massive pieces of who-the-hell-knows-what. Hours of breaks, working in shifts, wondering out loud what that red wave was, why all the Reaper troops they encountered on the way were dead, why the Reaper ships they can just barely see through the chasms in the ceiling seem to be just floating derelicts, who it is that’s waiting under the rubble. Hours.

Until the moment comes.

“Commander, I think I found something!” the kid yells into his comm. Immediately, Bailey’s on his feet and running, lead in the pit of his stomach. He stops where the kid’s crouched, struggling to pull part of a bulkhead up.

Up and off of a pair of N7 greaves.

Bailey’s heart stops for the barest of moments. Holy shit. Then he bellows, “Over here!”

In seconds, dozens of hands have joined his and the kid’s, clutching at the bulkhead, lifting it carefully, revealing more of the buried figure. Precious seconds tick by as more of the rubble is cleared, more of the body is revealed, legs crushed but held together by state-of-the-art armor, chestplate all but melted away, bits of metal fused to the skin underneath but moving—somehow moving—with labored breath. The unmistakable red stripe on the right pauldron. The face, bruised and bloodied almost beyond recognition. Except for the single, piercing blue eye that locks onto Bailey.

“How…” Bailey says breathlessly.

“Who is it, Commander?” the kid asks.

Bailey kneels down next to the figure, gently takes his broken hand, feels the fingers weakly grip his. Something stirs within him, an emotion he doesn’t dare name, something he hasn’t felt since the Reapers took Earth. 

Maybe it’s gonna be alright.

He squeezes back and whispers, “It’s Shepard.”

Read the rest on Ao3.

[homestarretrospective]

#42 - Marizpan's Answering Machine - Version 1.0

Date: Fall 2000

And so, at long last, we come to our first actual series on the site, Marzipan's Answering Machine.

While this obviously isn't my favorite series, especially compared to the likes of Teen Girl Squad or Cheat Commandos (which I think you can understand), and while it isn't all too visually interesting most of the time, I've always had a soft spot for these.

It's my honest belief that one of the strongest signs of a good and funny character is when they can make you laugh on just dialogue alone.

I also kinda forgot how early into the lifespan of the site these things were. I always thought these started around the same time as the sbemails, but I guess not.

Anyways, so what about this first installment?

You're never gonna believe this, but it's not the best in the series.

Yeah, there was really only one that managed to get a chuckle out of me, that being Coach Z's, with the rest just being kinda forgettable.

I said in my previous review that I wasn't a fan of Strong Bad's early personality, and these first couple MAMs are really where that shows the most.

He gives Marzipan a prank call, which would go on to be a running gag throughout this series, but it doesn't really work here.

It's juvenile, which is on its own totally fine as that would be a trait that'd stick with Strong Bad arguably up until today, but it almost feels too juvenile for him, with him in this toon prank-calling as "Mr. Nobody from the Toilet Patrol".

I do like his second call though where he has to end up calling her normally anyway because he's having trouble picking up eggs.

The other calls don't have as much going on, in case you were wondering. Homestar and Pom Pom are at a movie theater and are waiting for Marzipan, and Strong Sad just wants his CDs back.

Overall, it's a somewhat forgettable answering machine, albeit not outright bad. We all have to start somewhere.

[nancypullen]

Where Was I?

It’s been a busy few days, where did I leave you? I think we were stuffing our faces with Valentine food.  I’ve been on a celery and salad kick since then - my arteries need scrubbing.  Since then we’ve made more progress on the kitchen (hardware added, sink and faucet ordered, quartz counters ordered) and I love it more every day.   Here’s the hardware -

They’re a warm, oil-rubbed bronze finish and Mickey made short work of attaching them to 28 cupboards and drawers.  My hero.  That’s why you see a glimpse of his shop vac in the second photo - he even sucked up sawdust from his drill as he worked.  His mama trained him right.   We finally chose and ordered our countertops. I spent a long time shuffling and staring at samples.

I thought I’d be more of a fan of the sort of soapstone sample - the rectangular, dark tile that’s middle left.  Maybe I should have waited until we had the hardware on and viewed hem that way. Nah, I knew that I was getting the right vibe from some of the beige pieces.  I zeroed in on one that is a few shades darker than the cabinets, but in the same family. Not too cool, not too warm, has a soft, creamy feel, that sort of thing.  

I didn’t like the really busy samples at all.  The darker options seemed too harsh in the open concept (I hate that phrase) floor plan we have. Beige worked best, but some were too light, some were too gray, and the sample named Taj Royale was baby bear’s chair - just right.

Our installation date is March 10th and I can’t wait.  Hallelujah! In even better news, Matt arrived yesterday!  He came home to spend his birthday week with us and it’s already been fun. Tomorrow he’ll be 38 and there’s absolutely no way I can have a child that old. NO way. How did that happen?? Obviously, I was a child bride. When Matt and I are together something weird usually happens.  We’re both freak magnets, and we thoroughly enjoy that.  Today we went out and about on a couple of errands but it was all very ordinary. Bummer.  We’ll try again tomorrow.

One of the stops that we made today was at an auction house.  There’s a company in Denton that deals in estate sales and that sort of thing and they have an auction every week.  During the pandemic everything went online and they’ve never gone back to hosting live auctions.  They post a catalog of items every Sunday and customers have all week to scroll through it.  On Saturdays and Sundays they throw open the doors so you can inspect the goods, and bidding ends on Monday, with auctions closing every few seconds.  We have lost our ever-loving minds over this stuff.  Last week we picked up two Cracker Barrel rocking chairs for less than the price of one.  Score!  I bought a gorgeous large mirror to start a makeover of the downstairs powder room...and only paid four dollars for it. The cheapskate in me is quivering with delight.

Here’s the mirror, stashed in the garage.  You can see the rockers too!

Don’t judge that corner of the garage. It’s a work in progress.

I’ve picked up batches of gorgeous picture frames for a few dollars. Mickey won the bid for a beautiful Longaberger storage basket with a wooden lid that is currently storing vinyl and paper in my craft room. It’s so nice. We turned Tyler and Jamie on to the auction sit and they’ve made a couple of fabulous purchases.  Yesterday’s auction had some wonderful patio furniture that I wish I had a need for - and it went cheap.  We did get these great wicker trunks for the master closet, perfect for keeping things tidy.

They’re in excellent condition and you know I love pretty storage.  I couldn’t resist this adorable baby doll cradle.

It rocks perfectly.  I’ll clean it up and make it sweet for the grandgirl to tuck her baby into. You know there will be rosebuds and lace involved. One of the items that Jamie purchased was an exceptionally nice faux plant. She’d been shopping for one for their home office, and as you know they’re ridiculously pricey.  I sent her pics from the auction house of three different plants and this was the winner.

She won it at just over the five dollar mark.  She’ll fluff it up and put it in a pretty pot and she’s saved herself about a hundred bucks. I’m giddy over the bargains.

Mickey purchased this thing.

He says it’s a saw, and that giant rolling case has some saw-related paraphernalia in it.   He’s looking toward retirement and thinking of making frames (for his millions of photos) and doing a bit of woodworking like his dad did.  I’ve shared a few of the purchases the Pullen family made, and left out a bunch of odds and ends that were smaller. A wooden desk organizer, vintage bowls, etc.  Mickey was working today and the Edgewaters are over the bridge doing the same, so I told everyone that I’d be happy to pick up all of the winnings.  I love doing it and it makes me look like a big spender.  BUT...I forgot that our SUV is in the shop (that’s another story) and we have a rental.  A little sedan with a trunk just about the size of that doll cradle.  Matt said he’d come with me to help load up and I warned him that I might have to make three trips.  Those big wicker trunks, that enormous saw and case, the large plant, the cradle, the odds and ends...oh dear.  Luckily, I raised kids in the generation that played countless video games and Matt’s Tetris skills kicked in.  We filled every nook and cranny of that little car and got it all home.

It wasn’t purty but we got ‘er done. Now I’ve got to wrap this up and get dinner on the table.  I started a pork loin in the crockpot about 11am and I’ve got taters and green beans to roast. I’ll add a balsamic glaze to the pork loin and serve it all to these hungry boys.  Later I’ll sneak upstairs and wrap the last couple of gifts for the birthday boy and tomorrow we will celebrate him. Sounds like a recipe for a wonderful day. I hope you’ve got something on the calendar to look forward to - anticipation is half the fun.  If not, put something on the calendar - “treat myself to a facial” or “picnic in the park”.  Oh gosh, stretching out on a blanket with a good book after a picnic lunch sounds like something I need to schedule.  Choose something you’d enjoy and make it happen.  Life is short, might as well make it sweet. Sending out love, grab some if you need it. Stay safe, stay well.

Nancy P.S. I typed this super fast, I’m sure I’ll look at it later and cringe over the typos. Have mercy.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Or

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

[tough-girl9]

Make Us Stronger (Data x Female Reader)

Mechanical Rose Series Part 4

Mechanical Rose Series Part 1: First Base

Mechanical Rose Series Part 2: Android Mine

Mechanical Rose Series Part 3: Exobiology

Mechanical Rose Series Part 5: Mother Knows Best

Mechanical Rose Series Prequel One-shot: Crush

Summary: After a terrifying encounter, you find yourself struggling to feel safe with your dear android. But you know you can't lose this relationship that means so much to you, and you won't let anyone steal it away, so you and Data begin the journey to reclaim your trust and perhaps even grow far closer than you were before.

Content warning: this story is a bit darker than prior installments of this series. It contains a scene of sexual assault (violent non-consensual kiss done to the Reader), along with conversation about this event and resulting trauma throughout the story. There are also some vague, implied references to rape (which did not occur). The story deals heavily with the emotional and physical trauma following sexual assault.

Rated: T

Also posted on AO3

-------------------------------------------------

You're in your quarters when the Red Alert starts.

You had just finished up your shift for the day in Science Lab Two, had gone back to your quarters, pulled off your shoes and replicated yourself a Samarian sunset, and put your feet up when the siren begins to blare.

A moment later, the Captain's voice filters over the intercom system. "All personnel and civilians, there is a current ship-wide security alert. Please proceed calmly to the nearest room and lock the door. Do not open the door for anyone whatsoever until the Red Alert is canceled. Please remain calm; our security team is handling the issue. Thank you."

The intercom turns off. Setting your glass on the coffee table in front of your couch, you go to your door and lock it, then return to your seat and your drink. This isn't the first Red Alert you've been through, but you'd be lying if you said something inside you didn't still clench with worry. The siren's blaring is impossible to ignore. You take a sip of your drink, set it down, pick it back up, set it back down without taking another sip, then rise and walk over to your window. You're one of the crew members lucky enough to have an "edge" room, a room on the side of the ship with a curved window looking out into space. When you were first assigned these quarters, there was something unnerving about knowing that there was nothing on the other side of your wall except the endless vastness of space. Sometimes it's still unnerving, but there's something soothing as well about standing there and watching the stars flash by.

You lace your fingers together and fidget with them, biting your lip. You hate feeling helpless, and right now that's exactly what you feel. It's not that you don't trust the ship's security, but you hate sitting in your quarters waiting while an unknown danger threatens your ship. You can't help but wonder what's happening out there.

Your thoughts turn to the Bridge and the senior staff. They've all been trained for situations just like this, whatever it is, and you know they'll take care of the problem. But you can't help it if your thoughts linger on someone in particular.

Where is Data? Is he safe?

It's foolish, you know. Data is probably more capable of taking care of himself and less susceptible to harm than anyone else on the entire ship. And when you started dating the android second officer, you knew that his position came with a wide variety of risks. But it still tears at your heart to wonder where he is and if he's in danger.

You pace into your adjoining bedroom, fidget there for a while, then pace back out into your modest-sized living area. The siren continues to wail rhythmically.

Suddenly, your door beeps, causing your to jump and whirl towards it. Someone is at your door. You back away, heart pounding in your ears.

The door beeps again. Your breath is nearly frozen in your throat until you hear a familiar voice calling to you from the other side of the door. "Y/N, it is Data. I require your assistance. Please open the door."

You hesitate, torn. The Captain ordered all personnel to keep their doors locked until the Red Alert ended. But then again, Data would have come from the Bridge, likely on the Captain's orders. He would not have come to you except for good reason.

"Y/N, it is urgent. Please open the door." There is an edge to Data's voice that you've never heard before, something almost sharp.

You make up your mind. Going over to the control panel by the door, you unlock the unit and it chirps softly. A moment later, the door slides open and Data hurries in, illuminated by the eerie red glow of the sirens going off in the hallway. The door hisses back shut behind him.

You hurry over to him. "Data! Are you all right? What's going on?"

He's in full uniform and there's a type two phaser strapped to his hip. Instead of answering you, he strides over to your replicator, his movements quick and graceful. "Biochemical lubricant, two liters," he says, and the replicator whirrs to life. A cylinder filled with a yellowish liquid appears, and Data lifts it and drinks it quickly down.

"Data, what's going on?" you repeat.

He looks over at you and for a split second, you think you see something strange in his eyes. You can't exactly put your finger on what it is, but for a moment something seems off. It's as if his calm golden stare is a façade, and there's a smoldering fire burning just beneath the surface. But the next moment it's gone and you doubt whether you saw anything at all. It's probably just the stress getting to you.

"Y/N?" Data crosses over to you. "Do not be concerned. The situation will soon be under control."

You reach for his hand. "What is it? Are we under attack?"

Data's fingers twitch when you grasp his hand, but he curls his fingers around yours. "I cannot explain at the moment, but there is no need for you to worry. All will be taken care of."

You nod in acknowledgement, trusting his words, but then you frown slightly. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on the Bridge?"

"Captain Picard granted me permission to leave the Bridge and come to you. I…wished to make sure you were safe."

Your frown deepens. Even though you know Data cares deeply for you, it's still not like him to show this level of sentimentality, nor the Captain to be so lenient about his senior officers leaving their stations, and in the middle of a Red Alert no less. Something about the whole situation feels off, though you can't pinpoint exactly what it is.

Perhaps Data sees the consternation and doubt in your face, for his cups your cheek in his free hand, guiding you to look directly up into his face. "Y/N, I must tell you the truth as I am programmed to do. I came to you because…because I love you."

The sense of unease sinks into the background as your heart simultaneously seems to jump into your throat and to float out of your chest. You stare at Data as everything fades out of focus except his alabaster face. Even the blaring of the sirens seems to fade into the background.

"Data…" you whisper, struggling to process the fact that he just said…to you…that he… "Oh, Data."

You reach up and cup his face as well, trembling slightly, then as if drawn to him like a magnet, you raise yourself up on your toes and press a kiss to his lips.

For a second or two – long for Data – he doesn't respond and he seems stiff, almost wooden, against you. But then suddenly he kisses you back, and his mouth his hard and sharp against yours.

Instantly, instinctively, you know something is very, very wrong.

Data is never hard and sharp.

You don't know what exactly is wrong, but you do know that something is definitely not right and you pull away from him. But he grabs your wrist, not hard enough to break bone but tight enough that it is unpleasant, and his fingers twist into your hair, pulling you against him. You make a sound of protest against his hard, sharp kiss, which quickly turns into panic when he doesn't release you. You begin to struggle, trying to pull your hand away from his iron grip, but he turns you and shoves you against the wall, pressing himself against you and trapping you. Data has never, ever used his strength against you. This is all wrong. You are struggling in full now, panic surging through you, because it is Data and yet it is not Data, and you do not know what is happening. You whimper in terror, and you feel his lips twist into a smile against your mouth.

He releases you as suddenly as he seized you, and you quail away from him, your whole body trembling. "Data! What's the matter with you? What's going on?"

Data sneers at you. In an instant, the familiar calm presence of Data dissolves away entirely, leaving behind a being who shares Data's face but everything else about him is wrong. His lips are still twisted into that lopsided sneer, his movements are arrogantly graceful and predatory, and his eyes burn with an angry, scornful fire. Danger radiates off of him.

He saunters towards you, grinning when you cringe away from him, and when he speaks, his voice is no longer Data's either, but lower, rougher, irreverent. "Ah, are you frightened of me, my little doll? You're even more stupid than I'd guessed you would be. The look on your face when I said I loved you! You actually believed it! As if that emotionless tin knockoff even knows what love is. Ha!"

The truth begins to dawn on you, and with it a cold, grasping fear that clutches at your very soul…

"Leave her alone, Lore."

You whirl towards the door. Data is standing there – the real Data – with his hand resting on the grip of his phaser. His eyes are unblinking, his stance tense, but you know this is the right android this time. Your muscles tense with the instinct to run to him.

But you aren't quick enough. Lore springs like a cat and grabs you, dragging you back against him, his cruel fingers tight around your wrist again. When you attempt to struggle, he squeezes until you cry out, and you recognize the warning and realize that he will have no qualms about snapping your wrist if you don't cooperate with him. You see something hovering just out of your field of vision; twisting your head just slightly, you find that Lore has his phaser out and pointed directly at your head. You suspect it's not set to stun.

"Ah, there you are, Brother." Lore's voice is gleeful, though there's a bitter edge underneath the smirk. "I was just wondering if I'd have to go find you myself. Never mind though, I've been enjoying getting to know your little human lover while we waited for you to show up."

You plead to Data with your eyes, your voice having dried up with fear. Data's eyes flicker quickly to your face then back to Lore. His whole body is rigid, his gaze intense. His fingers twitch impulsively against his phaser.

Apparently, Lore sees his brother's subtle movement, for a moment later he laughs. "Go ahead and try it! Our father may not have seen fit to construct me with the care he took with you, but we both know he at least gave us equal speed and strength. Make one move to lift that phaser and I'll vaporize her feeble mortal brain before you even have it out of your holster."

Lore's fingers tighten with the threat and you whimper with the pain that shoots down your arm. Data's strength has always been something you loved about him, but for the first time doubt creeps into your thoughts at the realization of how dangerous he could be if he wanted. Data's eyes quickly flit to your face again at your pained cry and some subtle change flashes through them, a depth as if they could contain the whole galaxy.

"Release her, Lore." Data's voice is harder than you've ever heard it. "It is me you want, not her, is it not? Now that I am here, there is no further reason for you to continue to involve her. Let her go."

Lore laughs scornfully. "All these years around humans and you're still so ignorant about anything to do with emotion. I'm not you, Brother. I have plenty of reasons to keep her involved, not the least of which is to watch you wrestle with that ridiculous ethical program our father installed in you, presumably so you didn't turn out like me." You can hear the malicious grin in his voice. "I'd also forgotten how much I enjoy seeing these creatures scared of us as they should be. You're far too docile around them, Brother."

"I believe you are confusing the term 'docile' with 'peaceful'," Data replies. "They are my friends and companions, not my masters. I hope someday it is a differentiation which you are able to comprehend."

Lore's voice becomes a low hiss. "That is only because you have not had the privilege of seeing the side of them that I have. Am I wrong to treat them like the monster they will always see me as?"

"Yes," Data responds simply. "I do not condone the wrongdoings that have been perpetrated against you, and while I do not regret my existence, I regret that I was brought into being at the cost of our father never being able to repair you. But that does not excuse the atrocities that you committed yourself. I do not wish to hurt you, Brother, but I will if that is what is necessary to protect my girlfriend, or anyone else aboard the Enterprise whom you threaten."

Lore sneers. "Your girlfriend. And I thought you had sunk as low as possible when I first discovered that my little brother had cast in his lot with organisms who wouldn't care less if he was stripped apart for junk metal. But this, this is the lowest I can imagine you sinking! Always trying so hard to mimic them but never able to enjoy any of the experiences themselves. What does it feel like when she kisses you, Data? Does anything happen in your positronic brain other than the calculations of temperatures and pressures? Not that I can say I'm impressed with her kissing abilities, but still."

Data's head jolts up sharply, his lips parting. It's the expression you've seen him make when he's startled but more pronounced. But his lips quickly tighten and his brow creases. "Have you harmed her, Lore?" His voice is lower than you've ever heard it before and somehow darker. For a second, you get the clear impression that the android across from you is just as dangerous as the android behind you.

Lore's grip on your wrist loosens slightly, though not nearly enough to attempt an escape. His voice is taunting now, almost sing-song. "Maybe a little bit, but nothing your brilliant doctor won't be able to fix, I'm sure. What is this, Brother? Concern? Does the thought of me causing her distress bother you?" He shifts a little so that he's beside you rather than behind. You turn your head cautiously so that you can see him in your peripheral. He's grinning, malicious cruelty shining in his golden eyes. "You know what, I had just meant to use her to lure you here, but I like this idea even better. Throw your phaser and commbadge to the other side of the room, and I promise I'll only use the highest stun setting on you so that you don't go calling your human friends the moment I'm out of your sight. But I take her with me, as a little payment for that two-year jaunt in outer space those few years ago. And if you or any of your darling humans come after me, I promise she will be harmed. Very, very harmed."

He tips his head back, teeth glinting, fire in his eyes. "Now toss away your phaser and commbadge now, or I'll start up the fun right here in front of you."

Data hesitates for less than a second, then he reaches up and removes his commbadge, tossing it away. His other hand carefully closes around the handle of his phaser.

Lore's eyes are fixed on Data like a cat on a bird, and you notice he's moved the phaser from your head as he prepares to blast his brother. For a split second, time seems to slow down.

Something tells you that this is the last moment to act. If Lore shoots Data, you don't know if you'll ever see your android again, and from the stories you've heard combined with these last few minutes of personal experience, you know Lore will make good on every one of his terrible threats. Somehow, you know losing you would break Data's heart.

And you can't let that happen.

In that single, long, drawn-out moment, a vivid memory flashes through your mind. Your last date with Data. Your android stretched out on the grass, shirtless, a look of something so very like pleasure on his face as you touch his bare bioplast.

It's not until later that you consciously realize the importance of that memory: your discovery that Data's body has points of heightened sensation corresponding with more sensitive zones on humans. At the time, you merely act on pure instinct.

You've been trained in personal defense, just like all Starfleet officers. And even though you know that you don't stand a chance against Lore's strength and speed, you hope for the remainder of that fleeting moment that the absolute insanity of what you're about to do pays off.

You twist in Lore's grasp, not attempting to break free but enough to face him fully, and bring your knee up, driving it as hard as you can straight into Lore's crotch.

You know that such a move is unlikely to incapacitate an android the way it would a human, but you hope in the moment of contact that it's just enough.

Lore makes a grunting sound, nowhere near the cry of pain that a human would have emitted, but it's not a particularly happy sound all the same. His grip on you loosens fractionally and his hand holding the phaser wavers and drops an inch or two.

Whatever discomfort Lore just experienced lasts only a split second. He curses and his hand instantly tightens around your wrist once again, this time crushingly hard. Tears force their way into your eyes and you let out a sobbing cry as you feel the bones in your wrist start to crack under Lore's cruel fingers.

"Lore!"

Lore freezes, and through your tears and the mist of pain, you force yourself to look up as well. But what you see brings hope swelling back up into your chest again.

All you gave Data was a split second, but for Data, a split second was more than enough time to draw his phaser and level it straight at Lore.

Lore's eyes flick down to his own phaser, the point of which has dropped just enough that it would no longer hit Data without lifting it. Lore is now in the same position that Data was in moments ago.

"Let her go, or I will shoot you." Data's voice is completely matter-of-fact, and somehow more terrifying because of it.

Lore releases you and you manage to stagger far enough away from him that he can't grab you again before crumpling to your knees to cradle your broken wrist.

Lore laughs, though now there's anger underneath the sound rather than malicious glee. "Well done, Brother, maybe there's more fire in you than I thought. Now let's see: will you fry my neural net yourself or will you let your human friends do it for you?"

"Neither," Data responds, "but you will find that your actions have consequences." He backs up gracefully, keeping his phaser trained on Lore, until he reaches your intercom panel. He presses it. "Security to Lt. Y/N's quarters immediately. This is Lt. Commander Data. I have apprehended the threat."

He turns his attention back fully to Lore, but the hardness is gone from his face and instead there's that deep vastness in his eyes again. "It causes me no pleasure to hand you over to Starfleet, Lore, but I cannot take the risk of you harming those I care about nor can I justify releasing you, as a Starfleet officer sworn to protect innocent life. It is no fault of my own that it has come to this, but entirely due to your actions, Brother."

There's the sound of the door lock being overridden, then several members of the security team, headed by Lt. Worf, charge into the room. Lt. Worf looks back and forth between the two identical androids, clearly hesitating over which one is which, but Data inclines his head towards Lore. "Lt. Worf, please remove my brother's phaser and take him into custody before he causes further harm."

Worf looks Data over, then looks down at you, clearly noting the way you are cowering away from Lore. This seems enough to satisfy him, for he grunts and jerks his head towards Lore. The other members of the security team approach Lore cautiously, their phasers all trained directly on him at the highest stun setting. Lt. Worf pulls Lore's phaser from his hand and claps a pair of handcuffs on the defeated android. The dark silver sheen of the cuffs indicates duranium, one of the few substances that Lore is unlikely to break.

As the security team takes Lore away, their phasers still pointed at him, he shoots Data a glare of pure venom. "I guess you've proved once and for all whose side you're on," he spits viciously. "Your darling humans mean more to you than the only other one of your own kind, your own brother. I only hope you don't come to regret your choice on the inevitable day that they decide you are the same threat as me and begin tearing you apart piece by piece."

There is no spite in Data's expression or voice. "It was you who forced me to choose between the two, Lore. If I had my true choice, it would be to live in harmony with both you and my human companions. I do not wish this for you, Brother. In time perhaps we may revisit the status of our brotherhood, but for now I must bid you goodbye."

Whatever Lore might have responded with is cut short by the door hissing shut.

Instantly, Data is kneeling at your side. "Y/N, are you all right?"

You mind recognizes that the danger has passed and the adrenaline drains away, leaving you shaking with all the fear you hadn't been allowing yourself to feel these last five minutes. Nauseating pain radiates up your arm. As you realize just how bad things could have gone and just how easily, you feel your stomach heave, and then you are sobbing so hard it makes you gag.

Data pulls you gently into his arms on the floor and you bury your face in his chest, sobbing as you feel his familiar touch enveloping you. "Commander Data to Sickbay," you hear him say. "Doctor, I am in need of assistance in Lt. Y/N's quarters."

"We're on our way, Data," the doctor's voices comes back over the commbadge before Data taps it again.

"Y/N…Darling…Lore will not be able to harm you again and Dr. Crusher will soon fix your broken wrist. Everything is going to be 'all right'."

But everything is not all right, and you are in no state to explain any of it to Data, or yourself, yet.

It's probably less than a minute before your door opens again, this time to admit Dr. Crusher and her medical team, though it seems like a lifetime. Your face is still buried deep in Data's chest, your mind still numb with the horror of your ordeal. Data's arms are still around you and you want them to squeeze away the pain, but his touch feels nowhere near as comforting as you long for it to be.

Vaguely, you hear Data explaining briefly about Lore and detailing your injury, then there's another hand on your arm. "Lt. Y/N?" Dr. Crusher's voice is gentle. "You're not in danger any longer. Data says your wrist is injured. May I take a look?"

You nod through your tears and Dr. Crusher kneels on the floor next to you and Data. She scans your wrist with a medical tricorder. "Two microfractures and a minor crack in the radius. This will be an easy enough fix. Just hold still and try not to move your hand or arm."

One of the nurses hands her a tool which she hovers over your arm. A blue glow envelopes your wrist and a tingling sensation replaces the searing pain. After several seconds, Dr. Crusher scans your wrist again. "I'm not reading any more fractures. Will you please lift your hand and roll your wrist? Like this?" She demonstrates with her own hand and you mimic the movement without pain.

She nods, seemingly pleased, and packs her instruments back into the nurse's medical bag. "Are you experiencing any other areas of pain right now?" When you shake your head, she purses her lips thoughtfully, glancing from you to Data and back to you. "I'd still like you to accompany me to Sickbay where we can run a full scan to make sure there are no further injuries lurking beneath the surface."

The doctor and Data help you to your feet. Once you're steady, you look at Dr. Crusher and ask in a quiet voice, "Could we have a moment?"

Dr. Crusher nods, first to you, then to the nurses, and they step out of the room, letting the door slide shut. Suddenly, you are alone with Data once again. Instead of feeling comforted, you're strangely jumpy and the room feels too small and tight, but you push past it to turn to Data, though for some reason you can't meet his eyes. "Back…back there…thank you, Data."

"You are welcome, Y/N." Data's voice is soft and serious. "I only wish I had more quickly foreseen my brother's plan and forestalled him from ever reaching you."

"It's not your fault." Your sense of discomfort is growing, like something crawling up your back and neck. The walls press in and everything is too dark. "I should go with Dr. Crusher to make sure…I'm not hurt anywhere else."

"Yes, that would be best," Data agrees. "Would you like for me to accompany you?"

An affirmative answer jumps automatically to your lips, but no sound emerges. Of course you want him there. He's your boyfriend, the person you love and trust the most on this entire ship. Especially after such a terrifying experience, you want him with you. Don't you? So why are you still hesitating to answer and why is there a part of you that wants to run as far from him as you can?

You take a step towards the door and stumble forward, and Data instantly reaches out, slipping his arm underneath yours to support you, and his fingers close around your forearm.

Suddenly in a flash, they're not Data's fingers anymore, nor his body pressing behind you, nor his breath against your cheek. Your terror crashes back over you.

You scream and shove him as hard as you can, and he stumbles back a pace or two. You're shaking again, so violently you think you might throw up. But then the android looks up and into your eyes and it's Data again, soft, gentle, kind Data, but the startled surprise – and dare you say it, hurt – on his face cuts into you. His lips part…

"…and the door hisses back open, revealing Dr. Crusher who is looking at you in concern. "Is everything all right? I thought I heard a scream."

You stumble over to the doctor and she takes your arm. "I want to go to Sickbay," you say shortly, keeping your head down. Anything to get away from this room.

Anything to get away from him.

Dr. Crusher glances up and back into the room as she leads you out, and you know she's exchanging a look with Data, but you can't bring yourself to turn back to him. You're not sure what passes between them, but a moment later, the doctor begins leading you down the hall, talking to you about you don't know what, but the sound of her voice is comforting so you don't mind the kind chatter.

Data doesn't follow.

~o~o~o~

An hour later, after Dr. Crusher has run all the appropriate scans and confirmed that you have no other physical injuries, you're released from Sickbay. For that hour, you've felt shaky and numb but relatively safe, but the moment you reach Sickbay's threshold, fear grips you again. You turn back, wondering if you can come up with an excuse for one more scan so that you can stay just a little longer.

Dr. Crusher must have noticed your hesitation for she stops on her way into her office. "Lt. Y/N, was there something else I can do for you?"

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling foolish. "No, no, Doctor. I don't think there's anything else you can do."

Dr. Crusher's eyes soften and she steps up next to you so that none of the other nurses in the room can hear. "Why don't I walk you to wherever you'd like to go? There's no one else I need to see immediately and my nurses can handle whatever might come up in the next ten minutes." She gives you a small smile and a subtle wink. "I'd be negligent if I didn't make sure my patient can walk properly to and from her destinations before releasing her entirely."

Gratitude rises to form a lump in your chest and you nod, silently accepting the doctor's offer. "I think…I think I'd just like to go back to my quarters for the time being," you murmur. You feel torn. On the one hand, you don't like the thought of being alone in that room. But at the same time, the thought of Ten Forward or any of the more public areas of the ship make you feel equally nauseated. At least in your own quarters, you can lock the door and not have to talk to anyone until you choose.

Dr. Crusher nods and the two of you walk silently back to your quarters.

Once back, you press your panel and as the door hisses open, only then does Dr. Crusher speak. "I don't have any further worries about your physical health, but I imagine you'll be facing things in the upcoming days and weeks that I won't be able to help you with. Please don't hesitate to see Counselor Troi. It's what she's here for." She flashes you a kind smile. "Consider it the doctor's recommendation."

"Thank you," you reply as you step through the door, then it hisses back shut and you are left facing the dark emptiness of your quarters.

~o~o~o~

That night, you toss and turn in your bed, drifting in between snatches of dark dreams and confused waking that is little different from the dreams. More than anything, you long for the day watch hours, even though you're not sure what difference that will make as you still don't feel like being around anyone else and Dr. Crusher recommended you take at least a few days of medical leave from your duties to recover, so you have no work to occupy yourself. But anything seems better than this restless world in between waking, memory, and dreaming. The only thing you long for is deep, dreamless sleep, but the universe doesn't seem willing to grant you that.

Finally, sometime in the wee hours of the night watch, you roll on your side, hugging your pillow desperately to you, and start to cry, from exhaustion as much as from emotion. It's the first time you've let yourself cry since the moment right after, and you'd been able to feel it building up inside you all day. It comes now as ragged, heaving sobs, and your pillow is soon clingy and damp with tears.

You think of Data. He's not working night watch tonight, you happen to know, which probably means he's awake in his quarters running diagnostics or running his dream program, neither of which would he mind being disturbed from. You could easily go to his quarters, ask him to hold you and let you cry into his chest, and you know he'd welcome you without hesitation. You long for the feeling of his arms around you, comforting you as he does so well. You imagine looking up into his gentle face and letting the calm gold of his eyes fill you with the sense of peace that they always do.

But the moment you imagine it, Data's soft expression melts into Lore's cruel sneer. The phantom feeling of his arms constrict until you can't breathe, and the pit of your stomach drops out beneath you, leaving you to feel like you're falling with no one to catch you. No matter how hard you try, Data's face won't return and Lore's leer is unbearable.

As you roll over and sob even harder, you wonder if you'll ever feel safe in Data's arms again.

~o~o~o~

"Take all the time you need. I'm here to talk when you're ready."

You stare around the pristine room, looking at but not really seeing the potted plants, tasteful accents, and the tea set sitting on the coffee table in front of you, anywhere but at the dark-haired woman sitting in the blue plush chair across from you.

It's not the first time you've been in these quarters. All Starfleet personnel are required to take a psych analysis upon being commissioned, and all crew members are encouraged to visit the ship's counselor on at least a semi-regular basis. You've generally never had much to talk about before at such visits, nothing beyond work-related stress or the occasion interpersonal conflict to work through. And you've never found Counselor Deanna Troi to be anything other than kind and respectful, so you don't know why you're having so much trouble talking to her now. At this point, you're probably five minutes into the session already and you've said a grand total of nothing other than declining a cup of tea.

"Perhaps if you're finding it difficult to find a starting place, you can just describe to me what happened," Counselor Troi says. She could probably sense your feelings of helpless restlessness and how at a loss you are, as well as your self-frustration, you realize after a moment. "You may find that telling me a story is easier than trying to talk to me about all the emotions you're feeling right now."

You nod and swallow. "I was in my quarters yesterday when the Red Alert started. I…I heard the Captain's announcement and locked my door. It was maybe two, I don't know, maybe three minutes later that I heard someone at my door. I thought it was Data, so I let him in." Your eyes drop and your cheeks burn at the admission. When you glance up however, there's no condemnation in the counselor's large, dark eyes, and you swallow again. "I spoke to him briefly, thinking he was Data, but then he…he attacked me. Then Data was there and they both had their phasers out. Lore was threatening to shoot me if Data didn't stand down, and then he started threatening to take me with him and hurt me if anyone tried to follow. I think he was angry and distracted by Data, I don't know, but I was able to twist around and kick him. He broke my wrist for it, but Data was able to gain the upper hand. Then…then Security arrived and took Lore away, and Data called Dr. Crusher to care for my broken wrist. So…that's what happened," you end, lamely you feel. You look up. "Does anyone know what he was after?"

Counselor Troi purses her lips. "The last I heard, he's been refusing to cooperate or answer any questions. Apparently, he was on a small Andorian trading vessel that appeared to be adrift and was not answering any hails. Of course, no life signs appeared on the scans. When the vessel was brought into the cargo bay, Lore overpowered the security team that had been sent to investigate and had gotten away before anyone else arrived. The next place he showed up was in your quarters."

You shudder as you remember. "He knew who I was. He called me by my name. I thought he was Data."

"You're not the first one he's tricked with that plot," Troi offers gently. "If I had to guess, I suspect he was back for revenge in some form against Data in particular, and all of us by extension. I guess that he'd been stalking us for a while, gathering information to use against Data if he knew about you and knew to target you. What exactly his plan was remains unclear, but he won't ever be able to enact it now. Last night, we held position until the Bellerophon arrived to take Lore into custody. He's light years away from here now, on his way to Daystrom where he'll be tried for his actions before a council. You're safe from him now."

You let out a pent-up breath that you hadn't realized you'd been holding, and some of your tensed muscles loosen just slightly. Knowing that Lore is no longer anywhere aboard the ship, even in the brig, lessens some of your fear, but there are plenty of other emotions to take its place. You knit your fingers together uncomfortably, once again struggling to look at the counselor.

Troi gives you a long moment of quiet to think, then says, "I'm sensing many emotions from you right now. Perhaps it would be helpful for you to simply name what you're feeling. Don't try to analyze them, just try to give them names. Giving a name to something can sometimes help us feel like we have more control over it."

You stare at the tea pot. It's dark blue and has a pattern of kittens on it. "Fear," you whisper finally, naming the easiest of what you're feeling. You search through the mess of emotions clogging all of your being, stifling your thoughts, trying to sort out one from the other. "Anger. Revulsion, I think. Horror." Your voice sinks down even lower. "Shame."

Counselor Troi nods, clearly unsurprised by any of the emotions you've just listed. "All of those emotions are completely normal to feel after a traumatic experience. You're feeling a lot right now, and you'll probably feel a lot for a good while still as we work through it. Your emotions are not something to fear, though it might seem that way right now. They may feel overwhelming, but that means they're doing their job. Think of your emotions like a computer control panel; when you see blinking lights, you know there's something there you need to pay attention to. Likewise, when you feel strong emotions, it's your brain's way of signaling to you that there's something you need to take a closer look at. And that's what I'd like to do today, if you feel up for it."

You feel exhausted, but at the same time, you can't stand the thought of facing another brutally sleepless night without getting at least some of this off your chest. Even if that's the only thing Troi can help with, it will be worth it. "All right," you say, though not with particular enthusiasm.

"If at any point you feel overwhelmed, we can stop and pick it back up at another session," Troi clarifies. "Now the first emotion you listed was fear. Why do you feel afraid right now, do you think?"

You consider the sensations of anxiety and fear still coursing through you. "I…I don't know. I guess I'm afraid that Lore might break out and somehow come back for me. I'm afraid he'll find a way to still hurt me, or Data, or other people I care about. And I guess I'm afraid of having to go through something like that again, even if it wasn't Lore, that someone else might try to hurt me like that."

Troi nods again, a compassionate expression on her face. "Anger was the next emotion you mentioned. What is making you feel angry?"

You poke at the raw emotion coiled up in your chest and it flares. "I'm angry at Lore, for hurting me, for trying to hurt Data. I've never done anything to him and he still came after me just because I'm important to Data." Angry tears push their way into your eyes and you wipe them away with the back of your hand, sniffling. "Data had told me a bit about him before, that he wasn't a nice person, but he was so much more awful than I ever imagined. He loved that he was hurting me. He loved that I was afraid of him. How could someone be that awful?" You sniffle again, and Troi subtly scoots a box of tissues across the coffee table towards you. You blow your nose and wipe your eyes again. "I hate him. I hate him so much."

More anger erupts in your chest. "And I'm angry that nobody stopped him before he got to my quarters. Isn't that was Security is supposed to do? And I'm angry that nobody warned me that he might try to trick me like that. Somebody on the Bridge could have contacted me to let me know I might be in danger, but nobody did, not even Data." Your boyfriend's name is suddenly sour in your mouth for the first time you can remember.

You swipe at your eyes again. There's a final pocket of anger stabbed through your soul, but this one hurts more than the rest to say. "And I…I'm angry at myself. The Captain said not to open the door, that it wasn't safe, but I still did. None of it would have happened if I hadn't been so stupid as to open the door."

You stare down into your lap, hot tears spilling down your cheek, feeling utterly wretched and furious.

"Y/N." Counselor Troi's voice is soft but serious. "It's not your fault that Lore hurt you. No matter what you did, you didn't deserve to be hurt."

You nod, the movement jerky, acknowledging her words, but you still feel tender and raw. Troi gives you a moment, then moves on with a soft prompt. "You mentioned revulsion next."

Unconsciously, you cross your arms, hugging your stomach. "Ever since Lore touched me, I…I feel gross. Dirty. Showering and bathing didn't help. I feel so disgusting that a being so cruel had his hands on me. The way he leered…His laugh…He was so vile."

You shudder, remembering his cruel grip on your arm, his hot breath on your neck, his fingers twisting violently into your hair, his lips- You cut that last thought off, feeling nauseated. There's a strange conflict within you. "Maybe that sounds weird, considering Data touches me all the time and Lore looked exactly like him…"

"It's not weird," Troi confirms gently. "He may look like Data, but he's an entirely different being. A being that did not have your consent for anything he did. A being who deceived you, then frightened and hurt you terribly. It's very normal to feel violated in a situation like this, regardless of what your attacker looked like."

She lets you wrestle with your thoughts for a few minutes, then continues. "Horror. Where do the feelings of horror come from?"

You shudder, remembering the half-nightmares half-waking imaginings that had played through your mind all of last night. "I keep thinking about what might have happened if Data hadn't shown up when he did, or what would have happened if I hadn't been able to distract Lore long enough for Data to get the upper hand. The threats he made- I believe he would have carried them out and been happy to hurt me even more than he did." You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to chase away the horrible combination of memory, nightmares, and imagination. "Right now, I could have been his prisoner. Right now, he could have been doing all the horrible things he threatened to me."

"But he can't and he won't," Counselor Troi says firmly. "Your fear is entirely real, but it's source is something that can no longer happen. He can't hurt you, Y/N."

Your breathing had increased to an almost painful rate as terrible scenarios flashed through your mind, but you tear your thoughts away from the horror and focus instead on Counselor Troi's words. "He can't hurt me now," you repeat, your voice sounding fragile.

"That's right," Troi says comfortingly. "You're surrounded by friends and none of those things are going to happen."

Slowly, your breathing calms, though you still feel hot and sweaty. But at least now your heart doesn't feel like it's trying to pound its way through your rib cage, even though you can still hear it reverberating in your ears.

"Do you still want to go on?" Troi asks, voice soft.

For a moment, you almost say no, but something in you whispers that if you don't continue now, it'll be twice as hard to get it all out next time. "Yes," you answer.

"All right." Troi links her fingers gracefully in her lap. "The last emotion you said you're feeling is shame. Can you tell me where the feelings of shame are coming from?"

None of what you've said today has been easy, but this, this is the hardest. You feel as if your throat has dried up. Two times you try to begin, but the words simply won't come out. Finally, you manage to start with the easier of the two halves, the one you've already admitted to. "I disobeyed. I didn't know what the full situation was, but I still decided that I knew better than the Captain, and I opened the door. Just because I was worried and wanted to see my boyfriend." A hint of bitterness enters your voice. "He didn't even have to manipulate me all that much; I just opened the door for him. I was insubordinate."

Counselor Troi remains quiet for half a minute or so, then reiterates her prior statement. "No matter what mistakes you might have made, everything that Lore did was Lore's fault. As for the matter of insubordination, I don't think you need to worry. I know the Captain pretty well, and well, I know he believes that circumstances can overrule procedure in some cases. Whether or not this would be one of them, I don't know, but that's not really what matters. You opened the door because someone you cared about and trust was asking for your help, and I don't think anyone would truly blame you for that. I think most of us would have done the same thing in your situation."

You nod, feeling slightly better though still angry and ashamed at yourself as you stare down at your arms around your waist.

"Y/N?" Troi continues softly. "I'm sensing a deeper, stronger feeling of shame in you. I'm also sensing that you have more to say, but that you're holding back. It's all right for you to tell me anything you want or need to tell me."

Immediately, that horrible clogging fills your throat again and your eyes start to sting. You hug your stomach tighter, but no words come out. This time, what has to be at least several minutes crawl past before tears start streaming down your cheeks and you begin to talk in a voice so quiet you aren't sure if the counselor can even hear you.

"Something else happened," you manage to say in a broken voice.

"What happened?" Counselor Troi's voice is gentle and concerned.

"Something else happened," you repeat. "Before Data came. I…I didn't tell anyone, not even Data or Dr. Crusher. I thought he was Data. I thought he was Data." You break down, sobbing hoarsely and hugging yourself as tightly as you can as if that will stop the feelings of disgust and pain. "He was playing with me the whole time, and I fell for it. There were even moments when I just knew something was off, but I ignored the signs because I wanted him to be Data so badly. I wanted to trust him. And-" you choke on the words, "-and I kissed him." Hot tears pour down your burning cheeks. "That's when he attacked me, right after I kissed him. He shoved me up against the wall and-" You shake your head back and forth, utter misery radiating through your whole being. "He wouldn't let go, even when I struggled. He might never have hurt me if I hadn't kissed him first."

"Do you really believe that's true, that he wouldn't have hurt you?" Troi asks.

You don't answer the question immediately. But now that you're talking, you feel like you can't stop. "I knew there was something wrong as soon as I kissed him, but he wouldn't let go. He grabbed me, trapped me, wouldn't let go. And he enjoyed it. He enjoyed how frightened I was of him. And I don't know how much further he would have been willing to go if Data hadn't shown up." You swallow painfully. "I think he still would have hurt me, no matter what I'd done, but I don't know if he would have done that if I hadn't kissed him first."

"May I ask a few questions?" Troi asks.

You nod.

"Did you have any logical reason to believe he wasn't Data when you kissed him?"

"No, just that weird feeling I got a couple times."

"And is kissing your romantic partner an odd thing to do, especially in a moment of high stress or emotion?"

"No, I guess not."

Counselor Troi smiles slightly, but there's a deep sadness in her dark eyes. "You had a completely normal response to the person you thought was your lover, and he took advantage of it. He is entirely at fault for everything that happened. It must have been absolutely terrifying, but you're safe now."

You nod through your tears, though you still don't know how you're going to feel right ever again.

Troi speaks again after a minute or so. "Data was very worried that something like that had happened. Have you spoken to him at all since this happened?"

"No." You pick absently at one of your nails, still staring down into your lap. "Not since Dr. Crusher took me to Sickbay right after." You pause, shaking your head. "There was this moment, right after Dr. Crusher healed my broken wrist, when Data touched me and, I don't know, I thought he was Lore for a moment. I mean, I knew in my head that he wasn't, but everything else was screaming at me that it was still Lore." You blink furiously, trying to clear your sight through the fog of tears. "It kept happening all night in my imagination too. I would try to imagine Data comforting me, but every time all I could imagine was Lore instead."

"That doesn't surprise me," Troi responds. "After having your perceptions prove wrong like they did yesterday with Lore, it's natural for you to start doubting the truth in all your perceptions. Your mind is trying to figure out whether it can trust your senses or not, particularly when it comes to Data."

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands balling into fists, as frustration rises inside you. "But what do I do about that? Does this mean I'll never be able to feel safe around Data ever again?" The burning in your eyes starts up all over again, and you hate Lore all the more desperately than before.

"No, not necessarily. Not likely. Assuming you still want to spend time with him and continue in your relationship with him, there are ways to help yourself start to feel safe around him again. Ways to help yourself trust your perceptions. It might not happen overnight, but it will happen. Am I right in assuming that your greatest fear about being with Data right now is that he might actually be Lore again?"

You nod miserably. "I was fooled once, so I could be fooled again. I know it's unlikely, but how can I ever truly know? How can I ever feel safe?" You lips tremble. "That stupid android is going to ruin the best thing in my life, and I hate that he'd be happy about it."

Counselor Troi purses her lips thoughtfully, then leans forward and pours herself a cup of tea. She leans back in her chair, crossing her legs demurely, and takes a sip. "I think this exercise might be useful for you. When you're with Data, what about him makes you feel safe?"

You pause the flood of hateful thoughts towards Lore to imagine Data instead. You struggle to imagine how it felt to be with him before yesterday. "Well, I guess, I don't know, just everything. I know he's kind and he never wants to hurt anyone. He's always respectful and makes sure he knows what I do or don't want before he does anything. He's so strong, I always felt like he could protect me from anything." You pause, feeling another twinge of pain as you remember Lore's iron grip and your realization that Data could render you that same level of helpless if he ever wanted. You push the frightening thought away. "And his eyes, his eyes are always so calming. And his voice too." You shrug awkwardly. "I'm not sure, he just seems to make everything seem peaceful and safe around him."

You struggle with the feelings and abstract images, trying to grasp what you really mean. Finally, you sigh in frustration. "I guess…I guess what it all comes down to is I know he's a good person, one of the best people I've ever known. I know and trust that he'll do what's right in any given situation."

Troi sets her cup down gracefully on its saucer. "Now I want you to think about Lore, when he first came in and you thought he was Data. You said there were things that seemed off about him. Can you put any of those things into words?"

Despite the pain, you do your best to replay the memories of yesterday. "Well, the first thing I noticed was that he wasn't following protocol. That seemed strange for Data, but I thought maybe it was just because of the emergency."

Counselor Troi's lips quirk distinctly. "Yes, Data does appreciate protocol. What else?"

You frown, remembering. "He seemed…impatient. I've never seen Data act impatient or speak sharply. And when he first came in, it was like he just ignored me. Just brushed me aside, like I was in his way. I've never seen Data treat anyone like that ever."

You dig deeper into the memory, trying to focus on the details. "But once he started paying attention to me, he was almost acting like making sure I was safe was more important than the emergency or the ship. Don't get me wrong, I know Data cares about me, but we both know that his first duty is to the ship. He'd never abandon his post for me, except possibly in the most extreme situation." You swallow uncomfortably. "It…felt good to think that I could be his number one priority, the one he'd break the rules for, so I guess I overlooked the warning sign that he was showing me more devotion than he should. Data isn't selfish; he'd never put me before the entire rest of the ship just because he was worried. I wouldn't want him to, and he knows that."

You search the memory one more time. "Oh, and there was this moment with his eyes. I don't know exactly how to describe it, but for a moment his eyes weren't right. They weren't Data's eyes. Everything else about him was the same, but I'd know Data's eyes anywhere and they were completely different for a moment."

Troi pours herself another cup of tea, nodding as you speak. "If it feels safe, I'd like you to continue thinking about anything else you might have subconsciously noticed about Lore that differentiated him from Data. Then, I'd like you to spend some time thinking about things you can do when you're with Data to help you trust that it's really him. What things can you check that you know make Data truly Data? You don't have to answer now, just think about it. But I think having a checklist of specific things to look for when your mind starts to doubt will make it easier for you to feel safe with him again.

"Now, I don't want you to push yourself before you're ready, but I do recommend that you spend some time with Data in the next day or so. The longer you wait, the more negative anticipation your mind can build up and the harder it can be to break any negative expectations that you might have created, even subconsciously.

"I recommend starting by meeting him in a safe, open space – maybe dinner in Ten Forward – somewhere you aren't alone. It may be easier to demonstrate trust when you know if anything goes wrong, you're surrounded by people who will come to your aid immediately. Once that feels safe, consider meeting him in a more private space, maybe just you and him, or with a friend or two whom you both trust. Again, just be with him without trying to press yourself too hard. And then, once you feel safe in that environment and you feel you can easily identify what makes him uniquely himself when you start having doubts, see if it feels safe to spend time alone with him. And at each stage in the process, communicate clearly with him what you need from him, what feels safe and what doesn't."

Troi sets down her cup and saucer. "This may only take a few days or it could take months. Whichever it is, give yourself grace to heal at the pace that you need it. If something doesn't feel right yet, don't push yourself, but likewise, if it does feel right, explore it as long as it feels safe. Only you will know what your own boundaries are going to be."

She smiles gently at you. "Data cares very much about you. It might not be easy, but I know you'll both make it work. You care about each other far too much for any other outcome."

~o~o~o~

The moment you step into Ten Forward and see him sitting at a window table on the far side of the room, your chest seems to go too tight and breathing is suddenly difficult as a storm of emotions rise up in your throat.

You had gone to Geordi that afternoon for help in relaying your message to Data. You had felt uncharacteristically nervous all the way down to Engineering, fearing that Geordi might be cold towards you for what he might see as you slighting his best friend, or even worse, that he might be pitying. Of course, Geordi was neither. He listened to your request calmly, then nodded and agreed to deliver the message to his friend. Only as you were leaving did Geordi put a hand on your shoulder and give you a little nod that you know meant "It's gonna be all right, OK?"

At this moment, standing there in the entrance to Ten Forward, you hope more than anything that Geordi and Troi will both prove right this evening.

You force yourself to walk forward, past the bar, each step feeling almost dreamlike, keeping your eyes fixed on Data. He's outlined against the window behind him, with the stars flashing past, and you feel your heart skip a beat that you aren't sure is due entirely to fear or anxiety.

But even as the desire to be near him rises up in you, a dark voice whispers: What if it's not really him? What if he turns and sneers at me? What if he's holding a phaser in his hand that I can't see…?

But then he looks up and sees you, and instantly the corners of his mouth lift up in that adorable, sweet android smile. And just as instantly, you know Lore couldn't have faked that expression. This is Data. Your Data.

But that truth brings another fear of its own. It has now been two and half days since everything with Lore happened and you haven't seen or spoken to Data once in those days. The last interaction you had with him was screaming and shoving him away from you. You know this distance is what you've needed, but all the same, a part of you worries that you've hurt Data by avoiding him. You fully believe in his capability to experience emotions, as you've expressed to him any number of times in the past, but right now you're afraid of what emotions he might be feeling towards you.

But there's no hint of anger or resentment as he stands to greet you. You struggle to meet his eyes but force yourself to do it anyway, and you're glad the moment you do. The deep calmness and subtle fondness in those golden eyes wash over you, further reinforcing your security that this is indeed the man you trust and love.

"Hello Y/N." You almost start crying at the sound of Data's voice that you've longed for so deeply these last two days. His voice is tender, with gentle concern mixed with genuine happiness. "How are you doing?"

You almost smile and tell him fine, but you swallow the words. You're not here to smile and pretend that nothing happened, and it wouldn't be fair to Data to put up a façade. You suspect he'd see right through it anyway.

You nod to the table and Data takes the hint, both of you sliding into your seats across from each other. Data tilts his head, watching you intently, but he makes no attempt to rush an answer from you. You swallow, look up at him, then look back down at the table, fidgeting uncomfortably. Finally you blurt, "I'm…I'm not doing great, Data, but it's really good to see you."

"It is good to see you as well, Y/N." There's nothing but pure, innocent sincerity in his words and you almost start crying.

You try to subtly wipe a forming tear away from the corner of your eye. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch with you at all these last couple days."

Data nods in acknowledgement, but there's no condemnation in his face. "Although I have missed your presence, I believe that I understand. I can only imagine the deeply disturbing nature of your experience, and I played a part in that experience. Though I have been concerned for your wellbeing, I am not offended by your choice to restrict contact with me until now."

You smile a little at his words, but you can't help wondering how much Data knows about your interaction with Lore before he arrived on the scene. You recall Counselor Troi mentioning Data's concern over what Lore might have done, but you're not ready to talk to Data about that yet. Everything still feels too delicate and raw. "I really appreciate you giving me space. Thank you," you say softly instead.

"You are welcome," Data responds. "I have spoken to Counselor Troi two times since the incident, and it was her advice that I allow you time to yourself and wait for you to initiate contact. I will admit, I did not expect to receive a message from you this soon, although I am grateful for it. I was wholly prepared to wait a great deal longer if that would have proven beneficial to your wellbeing."

And…here come the tears again. This is Data, so utterly Data. Not Lore's saccharine display of overt emotion, but that subtle expression of love and kindness. Bitterness surfaces again for a moment as you wonder how you could possibly have been fooled by Lore's second-rate act, but you do your best to push that thought away.

Before you can respond to Data, a waiter stops by your table. "Can I get anything for you two?"

Data looks to you and you consider for a moment. You don't particularly have an appetite, but something to occupy yourself also sounds nice. You reach a decision. "Two root beer floats please." You see the recognition in Data's eyes; it's the drink you introduced to him on your very first date. You hope the taste will bring back the feelings and memories of that evening, now nearly two months ago: the giddy, happy infatuation and disbelief at your wildly good luck to be on a date with the handsome android officer who you'd been crushing on for months.

The two of you sit in silence for the next several minutes, and it's definitely awkward but there's a softness to the silence too. In the stage area, the Enterprise's jazz ensemble starts setting up for an evening concert. The waiter brings your root beer floats.

As you both sip on your drinks, Data tells you about an experiment he and Geordi have been working on to boost matter/anti-matter regulation efficiency. Even though you only understand the bare basics of what he's talking about, just listening to him chattering away about something you know he enjoys and loves makes you feel more peaceful and comfortable. It feels wonderfully mundane.

The jazz ensemble starts up, with Commander Riker up front on his trombone, and you and Data scoot your chairs around side-by-side to both face the stage area. You finish off your root beers, then share a chocolate strawberry parfait as you listen. Occasionally, you glance sideways towards your boyfriend and more than once catch him watching you, doubtlessly observing every minutiae of your body language to determine your comfort level. You look back forward, smiling a little to yourself, pleased to know he's concerned with your safety and comfort.

Perhaps an hour into the concert, you feel the slightest little brush of skin against your hand. Glancing down, you find that Data has rested his hand between the two of you, not quite touching but very close. It's a clear invitation to hold his hand if you want to. You carefully consider how you feel about that. Counselor Troi told you not to push yourself, and you hadn't been sure coming into this meet-up if touching would feel safe. But your skin is prickling pleasantly and you realize you are craving his touch, even something so simple as lacing fingers. And you know that if for some reason it doesn't feel right, Data will let your hand go.

Unless he doesn't, a voice whispers in your mind. But you willfully push the dark thought away. You remember what you said to Troi, that your sense of safety in Data's presence is grounded on the knowledge that Data is an intrinsically good person. You know this is Data, therefore you know he will release your hand if you need him to. You bite down on your lip. Lore is not going to ruin what you and Data had before he came. You're not going to let his cursed memory keep you from the things you want. And right now, you want to hold Data's hand.

You move your hand slightly, placing your palm against Data's, and twining your fingers with his. His fingers curl gently against yours in response. There's no crushing pain of broken bones, just the soft caress of someone who loves you. You slowly relax into the feeling and cherish it.

After another hour, the music is winding down and you are starting to feel the effects of two nights of poor sleep setting in. You and Data stand up together and there's an awkward moment where neither of you is sure what to say. Finally, you uncomfortably link your hands together behind your back. "Well, I should probably be getting to bed. I'm back on duty tomorrow, and I've got a shift first thing in the morning."

Data nods. "Yes, then it would be best if you got the full eight hours of recommended sleep for a human."

Another awkward silence. Data tilts his head forward questioningly. "Despite your statement that you wish to go to bed, you do not seem interested in taking the actions that would lead to that outcome. Does this mean there is something else you wish to accomplish here beforehand?"

You give a little laugh; for all Data's social awkwardness, he knows you so well. "There's still so much I want to say to you, but I don't know how. And I didn't know how I'd feel around you tonight, but now I don't want to leave you."

Data considers this for a moment. "I believe I have solutions to both dilemmas. For the first, perhaps we can arrange to meet again tomorrow evening after both our shifts for the day are complete. I have an idea for a social activity that you may find enjoyable, which would allow us some level of privacy but simultaneously would be less personal than meeting alone. If that pleases you, may I suggest that you meet me outside my quarters at 1800 hours? With the reservation of course that if my idea is no longer pleasing to you at the time, we can change the arrangement?"

You nod. "That works for me, I think."

"As for the second," Data continues, "may I perhaps walk you back to your quarters?"

You can't help the little shy smile that breaks through your anxiety at his gentlemanly offer. "Yes, I think I'd like that a lot, Data."

The two of you make your way out of Ten Forward and down the hallway towards the turbolift. Data walks close to your side but he doesn't touch you as he usually would in moments such as this. The longing for contact twinges at you again, and you reach out and slip your hand back into his. In your peripheral, you see him turn his head to glance at you, but neither of you says anything.

You arrive in front of your quarters, and Data pauses at the door. "Y/N," he says, then pauses. "Darling." His eyes are so soft. "It has been deeply gratifying to spend the evening in your company again. I believe at this juncture, it would be appropriate for me to wish you 'sweet dreams'."

Your heart throbs pleasingly. "Good night, sweetheart." You pause, considering your feelings, then rise up on your toes and brush your lips against his alabaster cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You know that cute, boyish smile and the way his eyebrows lift with delight is what will follow you into your dreams tonight.

~o~o~o~

You arrive outside Data's quarters a few minutes before 1800 hours and press his control panel to let him know you're here. Less than thirty seconds later, the door slides open, revealing Data in the doorway with Spot held tight in his arms.

"Hello, Spot," you say, ruffling your fingers between her ears. She makes an indignant mewing sound and squirms in Data's arms.

"I know, Spot," Data responds to his pet's complaints. "I know you do not prefer having your freedoms restricted. However, I would be a negligent parent if I allowed you to run freely down the hallways of the Enterprise. You will have your freedom back shortly, I promise."

He offers you his little smile. "Do you still desire to spend the evening in my company?"

"Yes, I would," you respond. "I've been looking forward to it all day, I really have."

"Then I will be pleased to escort you to our destination," he responds, and the two of you set off down the hallway together, with Spot still held tight in Data's arms.

Ten minutes later, you arrive at your destination.

Data is not the only pet parent on the Enterprise. There are a good number of other cats and dogs, as well as some rarer Earth pets and a mix of non-Earth species. The large room you're in now is similar to the Arboretum, with walkways cutting between grassy turf, shrubs and low trees, rock formations, and even a shallow stream, all designed to give starship pets a place to play, run, and socialize. There's a family with two kids frolicking with their dog in the stream, a human crewmember with a bunny in an enclosed area for smaller, shyer pets, and a Vulcan with some type of lizard-like reptile over by the rocks. An artificial skylight overhead gives the space an almost outdoor-like impression.

You, Data, and Spot head for an area specifically designed for cats near the far side of the room. It's enclosed with a mesh fence, with a wide variety of climbing structures, tunnels, and other nooks and corners for a curious cat to poke in and explore. There are several benches against the wall, along with cubbies filled with cat toys. Data lets Spot down to play, and he and you make yourselves comfortable on one of the benches.

Data was right; there's the perfect balance of privacy and community here. It's a far cry from the crowded bustle of Ten Forward, but there's also no threat of that claustrophobic sensation that you last had when you were alone in your quarters with Data. And even if you don't know if it was his explicit intention or not, the setting reminds you of how you and Data met to begin with: over your combined love of animal life.

Data inquires about your day, and the two of you casually exchange light conversation. As you listen to him, you think of how Counselor Troi instructed you to take note of what makes Data uniquely himself, and you begin to study him carefully. You notice his movements first; he's just as graceful as Lore, but it's more like watching a beautiful bird than a predatory tiger, and there's a cute dorkiness to his head tilts and mechanical movements that was lacking completely in Lore's demeanor. You watch as he picks up a wand with a long string and bauble attached and flicks it about for Spot to chase, and you notice the way he flourishes his fingers and wrist, that touch of an artist's hands. He looks at you and you let yourself sink into his eyes, trying to put your finger on what makes them so different from Lore's. You decide it's the depth of them. Data's eyes are an open window to the soft, kind soul underneath and the complex person they belong to – it's as if they could contain an entire galaxy. Lore's eyes were like looking into a shuttered room; there had been a shallowness to them as if he had been making sure there was nothing visible except the surface level of what he wanted you to see.

Data tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. "During the past eleven and a half minutes, you have been observing me closer than usual. Are you experiencing distress in my presence?"

You jolt a little from your thoughts. "Oh, no Data. It's just something Counselor Troi recommended."

Data nods. "In that case, please continue."

You smile. "I think I have the observations I need for the moment." And indeed, you realize that some of your stiff discomfort has already dissolved away, and this time between the two of you is already feeling more normal…like before.

"Last night, you indicated a desire to speak to me at greater length. If that is still your desire, you are welcome to discuss whatever topics you wish with me."

There's so much you want to talk to him about, but it all seems to fly out of your head in a moment. Your nervousness returns, and you shift uncomfortably, closing and opening your hands as your palms suddenly grow unpleasantly sweaty.

"If you no longer wish to speak with me-"

Data's voice jolts you from your uncertainty. You turn to him and touch his arm, silencing him. "No, Data, I do want to talk. Really." You swallow, trying to find a place to begin. "You mentioned that you talked to Counselor Troi several times. How much…what…"

Data touches the tips of his fingers softly to your lips. "I believe I understand what you are asking. Counselor Troi remained entirely professional and did not disclose anything of a personal nature concerning you and what you might have discussed with her, and I would not have inquired. I visited her first shortly after the incident, after Lore had been locked in the brig and questioned, to ask her advice. I was concerned for your wellbeing and wished to know how I might best support and comfort you, but also concerned that I had in some way hurt you, given your reaction to me after Lore was taken into custody."

You glance down into your lap, abashed. "I'm so sorry about that, Data. There was this moment, when you touched me, when I thought you were Lore again, and I just reacted."

"Counselor Troi explained to me that this was likely the case. I am not offended," Data replies. "That is when she told me that you would likely need time away from me to begin recovering from your trauma and that I could best aid you by granting you the time and space you needed."

You nod, watching as Spot attacks a scratching post like a wild animal.

"The next day, I returned to Counselor Troi and spoke to her for close to an hour. Although we did converse briefly about you, the majority of the conversation was dominated by her and me discussing my relationship to Lore and my feelings towards him following this most recent encounter."

Another little twinge of sad guilt touches you as you realize you hadn't really contemplated the implications of the fact that Data was dealing with his own brother through all of this and how hard that must make it for him. "How did that go?"

Data's lips tighten just slightly before he speaks. "This is not the first time Lore has threatened those close to me, but I believe it will finally be the last. There was a part of me that retained the faint hope that perhaps Lore would change and I would be able to share my brotherhood with him in harmony. And perhaps that may still be so, but I find it unlikely, unless perhaps sometime many years in the future. I believe I did the correct thing in handing him over to Starfleet where he will be tried for his actions before a council. I have also submitted a formal request that he not be forcefully deactivated again, and I hope for his sake that he is able to receive the care he needs while simultaneously being unable to cause further harm. Although nothing excuses the cruelty he has shown towards you and many others, he has not had many of the advantages in life which I have had. He has had little to no reason to trust humans in the short amount of time he has spent activated, and I believe he has learned to reflect the cruelty he himself has received back onto others. Despite his actions, he has always been and shall always be my brother."

You're touched by the sadness and regret you hear in Data' voice; you'd had no idea that Lore meant that much to him. You almost even feel sorry for Lore, despite the anger and revulsion you still feel towards him. But then Data's voice changes, hardening slightly. "However, I do not excuse the cruelty, harm, and pain he has caused towards you. Lore will receive no sympathy from me on those accounts. His treatment of you was completely inexcusable, and I will advocate for a punishment befitting his actions which will keep others safe from his malice."

You shiver a little. "I'm sorry he's your brother, Data, but he was terrifying. I hope I never have to meet him again. I really thought he was going to kill me."

Data gazes at you, face soft and perhaps even hinting of sadness. "Y/N, may I ask a question?"

"Yes?"

"Did Lore attempt to impersonate me before I arrived?"

You had suspected this topic would come up sooner or later. The pit of your stomach drops. "Yes, he did. I let him into my quarters because I thought he was you."

"And after he entered?"

Your eyes drop, and Data nods slowly. "I see. You continued to believe that you were interacting with me. When did you realize that this was not the case?"

You fidget with your fingers and watch Spot climbing up the side of one of the cat trees. You don't respond for a minute. "We spoke for a few minutes maybe, I don't know. Then he attacked me, but…"

"…But you were still unsure whether it was me or not."

You look back at Data, eyes pleading. "I know you wouldn't hurt me normally. I thought there might be something wrong with you, something outside of you influencing your behavior. But then he started taunting me and I realized who he must be, and that was right when you came in."

Data nods slowly, his eyes darting back and forth as he analyzes the information you've just given him. At last, he speaks slowly. "I believe I understand why such a situation would lead to the fear you have demonstrated towards me, separate from Lore. I was unsure what exactly the source of your fear towards me was, but I can see how this experience would lead to your hesitancy to trust me. I have observed the discomfort that you have been expressing in my presence, both last night and to some extent this evening." He meets your eyes again, and his expression is infinitely soft and sad. "I do not believe words are adequate to express how profoundly sorry I am that you were forced to endure such a situation and to have your trust in me damaged."

His eyes skim quickly across your face, searching for a reaction, and his lips part gently. "I realize of course that this is not your fault and you have little to no control in the matter, nor am I disappointed in you in any way. I am merely sorry to be a source of discomfort now, and I am unsure as to what I can do to alleviate said discomfort. It is not my wish for you to be frightened of me."

Your throat clogs up a little. "I don't want to be afraid of you either, Data." You reach out, hesitate, then lay your fingertips on his arm. "I think…I think I just need you to be yourself, to help me remember who you are and how I can trust you."

Data looks down, then carefully lays his fingertips over yours. "That is something I am capable of doing," he says gently and offers you that slightly forced but still entirely sweet smile.

You remember what Counselor Troi said about being transparent with him about what you need from him and you swallow, trying to sort out your thoughts. "You've already been doing a lot of what I think I'll need. I don't like the thought of being touched by surprise right now, but I'm OK with you giving me the option for touching, like you did last night at the concert. And I need to be able to see you, to be able to look at you and know you're Data. And I know you already always do it, but if you're not sure if I'm comfortable with something, just ask me."

Data's gaze is unblinking, and you know he's carefully cataloging every word you say to him. You glance down to your overlapped hands, suddenly shy under that intense android stare. "And if…if I'm suddenly not sure if it's you or not, give me the time and space to reassure myself that it is you."

"Is there anything I can do to aid in this process?" he inquiries.

You consider, chewing your bottom lip, then look back up in his eyes. "I think so. If…If it seems like I'm afraid of you, or I'm unsure, can you please say 'I believe Spot finds your existence acceptable'?"

Data's mouth makes a little 'o'. "Ah, the words I said to you when you first visited my quarters to meet Spot. I recall that it made you laugh though I was unsure why."

You nod, smiling a little. "If you say that, I'll know it's you."

He returns your nod seriously. "In that case, I will repeat the phrase as often as is necessary."

He runs his fingers tenderly over your knuckles, one at a time, as if memorizing them. In a way, you suppose his is, as he commits the sight of them perfectly to his memory cells. He looks back up at you, eyes serious. "May I ask another question, one of a more personal nature?"

Something tells you what his question will be. It suddenly feels too hot and tight in the room, even with as wide open and lit as it is, and nor is it the usual heat you oftentimes end up feeling in Data's presence. You know you don't have to answer and he won't ask again, but the weight of it has been pressing harder and harder on you, and you realize that a part of you had been hoping he'd ask just so that you can get rid of that terrible pressure. "Go ahead," you whisper.

Data twists his body to face you. He squeezes your hand ever so gently. "Lore insinuated that he had touched you inappropriately. Y/N, did my brother violate you?"

The room seems to swim a little before your eyes. You squeeze Data's hand back, a little harder than probably necessary, but you know you can't hurt him and you desperately need to feel grounded. "He kissed me against my will," you whisper. "He shoved me up against the wall and kissed me and wouldn't let go when I fought him." You look up into Data's eyes. "He didn't do anything more to me, Data, I promise. Nothing more physically anyway."

Some of the tension leaves Data's rigid form, and he nods slowly. "I am deeply sorry that you had to endure assault in any form, but I will admit myself relieved that the violation he inflicted upon you was less severe than I feared it might be."

You lower your eyes, suddenly ashamed. "I know it was just a stupid kiss, but I still feel awful. Afraid, angry, disgusted… It was just a kiss, but I still feel…" You shake your head, unable to finish.

"But you still feel violated," Data finishes for you gently. "I have heard Counselor Troi say that simply because an event could have been worse than what it was is not grounds for dismissing the distress that it did cause you."

For some reason, those are the words that break open your pain. The tears that have been threatening to come since last night suddenly start running down your cheeks and you're crying. "Data, he was so strong and there was nothing I could do. I've never felt so helpless before in my entire life." You remember the feeling of his fingers twisting into your hair, his entire body pressed obscenely to yours. "I was so frightened, Data."

You're not entirely sure if it is he who nudges you forward or if you simply fall into his arms, but the next thing you know your cheek is pressed into the front of his shoulder, your arms squeezing around his waist, and his arms are settled tenderly around your shoulders. He rubs your back awkwardly in a way that makes you suspect he's mimicking what he saw someone else doing at some point but it doesn't make the action any less comforting. You squeeze him even harder, your tears turning up a notch further, your sobs muffled against his soft jacket. You feel him lower himself until his cheek is resting against the top of your head.

The moment is interrupted by something butting against your hip and a slightly annoyed mrrrow. You lift your head from Data's chest to find Spot trying to squeeze her way between you and her owner. You giggle a little through your tears. "I think Spot's jealous, Data."

"Curious." Data reaches out a hand and allows Spot to sniff it. "I did not think felines had the emotional capacity for a feeling such as jealousy, but she clearly feels that my attention would be better utilized in her service." He taps her nose softly. "Spot, it is impolite to interrupt. I have told you this before, but clearly further training is required." He gives you a somewhat abashed look. "I am sorry for this rude ending to what one might call 'a moment'."

You smile through your tears. "It's OK." You untwine from one another's arms and Spot instantly claims Data's lap as her own, kneading her paws into his stomach. Data scratches the top of her head, then looks back at you with both eyebrows raised. "Do you wish to remain here longer or shall we 'call it a night'?"

You stretch, feeling suddenly a little embarrassed about having lost all semblance of control in Data's arms. "I think I'm ready to go."

You accompany him back to his quarters. He's unusually quiet the whole way, though you aren't sure if he's processing everything you two talked about, if he's thinking, or if he's merely giving you space. However, that question is answered once you arrive back at the doors to his quarters.

"Y/N," he says, voice grave, "I have been giving further thought to your situation and how I can assist in alleviating your fears. There is something of a highly personal nature that I have decided I wish to share with you when you are ready and if you desire. However, it would require complete privacy between myself and yourself."

You hesitate. You haven't been completely alone with him beyond moments like these in the hallway when no one else is around, and you feel your anxiety spike again at his suggestion. Stopping, you carefully consider your feelings. On the surface, you can feel the fear, even though you're not entirely sure what it's directed towards. But underneath the surface, something familiar uncoils in your lower stomach: a craving desire for the privacy and intimacy of his offer. You ask yourself the important question: if you turn him down and leave right now, will you regret it? And instantly, you can feel in your gut that the answer is yes, you absolutely will.

Besides, curiosity is a pretty standard character trait for anyone employed on an exploration starship, and you have to admit that he has yours thoroughly piqued.

You suddenly feel a rush of playfulness. Tilting your head to the side, you mimic your boyfriend's cadence to the best of your ability. "Ah, intriguing."

Data pauses with his hand on his door panel then bobs his head forward. "That was a joke, was it not? You were attempting to imitate my inflections, delivery, and vocabulary to make your response more humorous?"

You shrug, smiling shyly. "Caught in the act." As Data continues to look at you thoughtfully, you suddenly worry that you might have offended him. "I'm sorry, was that offensive?"

Data quickly shakes his head. "No, I am not offended. I was merely thinking that this is the first time you have said something teasing or joking to me since the incident with my brother. I have found that humans often use gentle humor of this nature only around other individuals with whom they feel comfortable. I am merely hoping that your use or humor is indicative of a stronger sense of security and comfort in my presence."

Fondness swells through you. Only Data would notice something so small and carefully unfold its significance like watching a flower bloom. "I think I am," you answer him. "And the delivery might have been a joke, but I am intrigued. I don't think I want our evening to be over quite yet."

Data nods and softly replies, "Nor do I." He taps in his code on the door and it slides open for both of you.

Data lets Spot down and replicates her a bowl of feline supplement number twenty-seven, while you settle yourself on Data's couch. A moment later, your android joins you.

"You have expressed to me this evening the feelings of fear and helplessness that you experienced in Lore's presence. As I do not ever wish for you to experience such sensations of powerlessness and fear in any interaction with me, I have been pondering how I might alleviate these anxieties for you. Although I do not think it will completely assuage all your doubts concerning me, I believe I can offer you something that I hope will at least help to a small degree.

"Additionally, you have expressed a profound level of vulnerability with me this evening, and I wish to reciprocate by sharing with you an aspect of myself that I do not reveal to many. I have been considering sharing this facet of myself with you for the past week, but I believe now is the appropriate time. Do you wish to proceed?"

Your curiosity has only grown at his words. "Yes, I would," you reply.

He nods once decisively, then, to your surprise, he turns his back to you. "Y/N, will you assist me in removing my jacket?"

Your eyebrows rise further in surprise at his request. That certainly wasn't what you were expecting. A blush creeps into your cheeks as you lift you hand to the zipper concealed at his collar and begin dragging it downwards.

Even though the situation is different from last time, you still feel pleasurably warmth bloom in your cheeks and chest as the uniform peels away, revealing the smooth, golden-white landscape of Data's bare back, and when you let you fingers brush gently against his skin as you disengage the zipper from its track, you'd be lying to say it was completely an accident. Data pulls the jacket the rest of the way off then twists his head to the side so that he can look at you over his shoulder. "Y/N, do you see a groove underneath my right shoulder blade?"

You bend over and look closely at the spot Data indicated to you. If he hadn't pointed it out, you probably never would have noticed on your own, but there is an indent in Data's skin just below the line of his shoulder blade. Even without any indication from Data, you would have known there was something important about this spot; Dr. Soong took such care to make Data's body look as human as possible that there must have been a good reason for him to deviate from his norm. Curiosity overwhelms you. "What is it, Data?"

"It is my deactivation unit."

You pull back from him sharply, looking back up at his face. "Your what?"

"My deactivation unit," he repeats patiently. "In more colloquial terms, you might call it my off switch. It is a device comprised of a simple rocker switch, with which one can control my activation status."

Instantly, you can understand why Data would consider showing you this an act of intimate vulnerability. The power to render him utterly helpless is at your fingertips. A deep swell of affection rises soft within you, along with that welcome warm glow, at the knowledge that he's trusting you with something this important.

Data is still watching you keenly over his shoulder. "There are few individuals aware of the existence of this switch. Geordi, Dr. Crusher, Commander Riker, the Captain, and now you. What is your impression of it?"

You stroke his shoulder blade and around that little sunken line of skin, afraid of touching it directly. You don't know for certain, but you strongly suspect that he's showing you more vulnerability right now than if he'd stripped himself completely naked for you. It is yet another reminder of the paradox that is Data: something that sets him apart as so inhuman while at the same time bringing out the full sweetness of his humanity. "It's a part of you, Data, so of course it's amazing," you murmur. "I think I understand why you'd show this to me. Thank you, sweetheart." You caress his cheek.

His eyes close and he leans into your hand. "Ever since our last date on the holodeck, I have considered whether the timing was appropriate to share this with you," he responds. "As we have grown more physically intimate with one another, the likelihood that you might discover the switch accidentally has grown, and I did not want to alarm you in the case that you were to activate the switch without realizing what it was. However, in light of recent events, I wish for you to know my weakness, as it were."

He turns around, facing you fully again, and takes one of your hands into his. "If I ever were to pose a threat against you, or if I were somehow not myself, or if I became violent, it is my wish for you to hold the knowledge of how to prevent me from harming you." He tilts his head, looking full into your eyes, his face profoundly serious. "Y/N, if you ever were to feel threatened by me to the least degree, you have my full permission as well as my desire to use this device. Do you understand?"

Even though Data is usually serious to some extent, you can tell how important this is to him. You squeeze his hand. "Yes, Data, I fully understand, and I promise I would."

Data maintains the intense eye contact with you for a moment longer then releases your hand and turns back around. "Y/N, I would like to show you something else. Run your fingers over my skin just below the switch."

You do so and are surprised to feel three small bumps just underneath his bioplast. "What are these?"

"That is my activation chronometer. It determines the length of time which I will remain deactivated the next time the switch is compressed. The first button designates hours, the second minutes, the third seconds. To illustrate, if you were to push the first button twice, the second one five times, and the third one ten times, I would remain deactivated for two hours, five minutes, ten seconds before automatically reactivating."

"What happens if no one sets a time limit?"

"I remain deactivated indefinitely until I am manually reactivated."

You feel a touch of sadness. You understand the purpose for him having such a sensitive device – your encounter with Lore has made you all the more understanding why Dr. Soong would have wanted a quick way to deactivate his androids – but all the same, there's something deeply, intrinsically dehumanizing at the thought of Data being casually switched on and off like a toaster. And even though it was installed for the protection of the humans around him, you can't help but consider how easy it would be to use against Data himself in the wrong hands.

"Does the device trouble you?" Data asks tenderly. He must have seen the sadness in your face.

You stroke your hand down his side. "A little bit, but I'm glad you showed me."

"It troubles you." Data cocks his head. "Because it reminds you that I am a machine?"

"Oh, no, no, of course not." You raise your hand to cup his cheek. "It's just sad for me to think of anyone wanting to switch you off." A contemplative silence stretches between you for a minute. "I guess you've probably spent your whole life with people being afraid of you, whether or not they showed it. It must have been hard for you knowing that I've been afraid of you too."

"It was not your fault," Data responds quietly. "It is reasonable to be afraid of a being who is your superior in strength, speed, and intelligence."

"I didn't say it wasn't reasonable. I said it must have been hard for you."

Data closes his eyes briefly. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes, it was…hard. You are one of the few humans who has never showed any fear towards me. But I understand the necessity for it."

"I'm not afraid of you anymore now," you say and realize it's true. All you feel is swelling fondness and compassion for the gentle android beside you.

The corners of his lips lift up, but then his face grows serious again. "If you are willing, I would like your help to provide a demonstration of how my deactivation unit functions."

You frown. "You're…asking me to turn you off?"

"Yes," Data answers simply. "I would like to make sure you know how exactly to work the device, should you ever need to use it."

Your fingers knot nervously. "OK."

"Then set my chronometer to reactive me in one minute, five seconds."

You find the little knobs under his skin and press them the appropriate amount of times.

"When you activate the switch, my hydraulics will cease to function and I will slump forward. You may catch me if you desire to do so, or you may allow me to fall forward onto the couch."

Tender sympathy touches your heart at his words. Even now he sometimes devalues himself, even with you. "I'll catch you, Data," you say firmly, making it clear that you aren't going to let him fall like an inanimate object.

He nods. "All my biofunctions will completely cease for the time that I am deactivated. Once the allotted time has passed, I will automatically reactivate." He twists a little towards you. "Do you have any questions before we proceed?"

You swallow. "Data, while you're deactivated, are you still aware of anything? Do you feel any pain?"

Data immediately shakes his head. "No on both accounts. My cognitive functions completely shut down along with my biofunctions while I am deactivated. I will not be aware of anything between the time that you deactivate me and when my systems reactivate. And I am not capable of processing the physical sensation of pain. If you were to forcibly deactivate me against my will, I would experience some measure of mental discomfort common to most sentient beings upon having their personal agency violently removed. However, in this situation and with you, I am entirely comfortable with the prospect."

"So all I do is press the switch?"

"Yes. You may proceed whenever you desire."

You place your fingers against the groove in his skin and feel the outline of the switch underneath his bioplast. Gently and more than a little nervously, you press down.

There's a soft click.

Data goes completely limp in your arms.

As you promised, you catch him as he slumps forward and lean him back against the couch, then you sit back watching.

Almost instantly, deep unease creeps over you. He's so utterly still and quiet. You've seen him sleeping before, which in and of itself is disconcerting, as his breathing is barely evident and he rarely moves in that state, but this is far worse. To watch your boyfriend go from a living, sentient being to what is essentially a frame of metal and bioplast hits you harder than you thought it would. You love that he's an android, but there is something terrible about knowing that right now the Data that you know and love doesn't truly exist. You hold his hand as the time passes.

It's a long one minute and five seconds.

The first thing you hear is the faintest whirr of his internal systems, then his neck twitches mechanically. You lean forward eagerly in time for his golden eyes to flicker back open. For a moment, his expression is blank, but then he looks into your eyes and you see recognition and fond trust in the depth of his gaze. "Y/N," he says and lifts his hand to touch your face.

You fall into his arms, hugging him close and pressing your face to him. He lifts his arms and wraps them around you in response, cuddling you to his chest. You feel his head jerk more mechanically than usual. "I apologize. After I have been deactivated, it takes approximately ten minutes for my entire system to reboot. Until then, my movements may be less smooth than what you are used to."

You squeeze him tighter. "Don't you dare apologize, you beautiful android."

You hold each other for that ten minutes as he returns fully to himself, stroking each other softly, reveling in being together like this again. After a while though, the high of all the emotions begins to mix with the fact that you are pressed very tightly against Data's very bare chest. You start to nuzzle against his collarbone, but a need for more steadily mounts inside you.

Data pulls back slightly. His movements are almost completely normal now. "Your body language, along with increases in your temperature and breathing, suggest that you are feeling romantically stimulated and that you desire a higher level of physical intimacy than what we are currently sharing. Is this accurate?"

You run a hand up the middle of his chest. "Yes, it is."

He lifts your hand gently from his chest and cradles it. "Are you certain you wish to engage in increased romantic activity with me, given the concerns you expressed to me earlier?"

You curl your fingers around his. "I feel safe with you right now, Data. And if I stop feeling safe, I know I can pull back and try another time and you'll let me. But right now, I want to try."

Data nods and releases your hand. "I will trust your judgment as far as what you deem safe and comfortable."

You smile, dropping your hand back down to his chest, which you stroke sensually as you settle yourself better in his lap. His head tilts back slightly, eyelids sinking almost closed with a flutter of white eyelashes, lips parting deliciously, that look of near-pleasure starting to form on his face. A feeling of mischievous playfulness washes over you and you lean close to him, cheek to cheek, and whisper, "Now that I know how to turn you off, shall we see if I can figure out how to turn you on?"

Data's eyes reopen and he looks at you with some puzzlement, but then his eyes slide off to the side for a moment. His eyebrows shoot up. "Ah!" he says. "I believe that is what one would call 'an innuendo'."

You ghost your fingers over his nipples, causing him to hiss pleasingly. "You know, you're getting better at that."

He cradles your hips and tugs you closer against himself, until the tip of his large nose bumps against yours. His voice is smooth and sexy. "If you desire to proceed, I think you will find that recognizing human figures of speech is not the only activity in which I have gotten 'better'." A moment later, he gives you an adorably earnest look. "That was an innuendo too."

Laughing, you cradle the back of his head. "Yeah, Data, I got that."

Without further ado, you press your lips to Data's.

His responding kiss is soft and gentle. Just as it should be. So completely and utterly Data.

As your android continues to kiss you, you can't help but think. Perhaps Lore wanted nothing more than to see you and Data torn apart, no longer able to trust one another, but right now you feel closer to him than you ever have before.

You feel safe.

---------------------------------

Want to be added to the Tag List for my Mechanical Rose series. Go here and like, comment, or reblog the post to be automatically added.

[leslie-lyman]

A little life/writing update:

Finally tested negative for COVID over the weekend and am at last feeling “normal” again. I’m not 100% out of the time window yet when a rebound infection could make itself known, but I figure as long as it doesn’t happen in the next 48 hours I’m out of the woods.

And then I can actually start trying out my SSRI and then maybe my spoons will finally return from war. I swear I’m gonna write all the things I wanna write, no matter how long it takes to assemble the energy and motivation to do so.

Starting with part 2 of Congressman Marcus. I had plans to finish this up and get it out several weeks ago, but that was right before COVID ran me over like a freight train. I’m now 1900 words into it and so should be able to get it out THIS week.

The first bit of this installment is under the cut to hopefully tide y’all over:

“Alright, who is she?”

Marcus flinches, startled at the sound of Linda’s voice. He turns towards the door of his office where his chief of staff is standing, one hip resting against the door jam.

“What are you talking about?”

Linda shakes her head, wild black curls swishing back and forth over her shoulders.

“Don’t play dumb, Marcus. It doesn’t suit you. You’ve been moping around the office for three weeks, staring off into the middle distance, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because you’re daydreaming about the defense budget or campaign finance reform. So who is she?”

Linda is astonishingly good at reading people. It’s part of what makes her such an effective chief. But Marcus is also astonishingly easy to read, and Linda knows about his history with women better than most.

It’s especially embarrassing that he can’t actually answer her question. And the shame at being caught out makes him raise his hackles in defense.

“You know, just because I may have been a little quiet lately doesn’t mean it’s automatically about a woman,” he huffs. “Not everything with me is always about a woman. I’m capable of caring deeply about lots of things. Maybe I’ve been mulling over what I wanna say at the NASA hearing this week. Or wondering whether Jackie Evers is gonna agree to co-lead our economic development bill. Or wrestling with the fact that San Antonio remains the most impoverished major city in the nation.”

“Marcus…”

“Three hundred and fifty thousand people below the poverty line, Linda,” he continues, working himself up. “And what are we doing to make it better? Children going hungry, undocumented families scared for their lives, lead pipes in the walls and guns on the streets, money for fighter jets but none for child care, and you think just because I’ve been a little moody lately that it’s about a woman? You’re really gonna just walk into my office and assume that any change in my mood has to be about a woman?”

Linda waits until he’s gotten it all out of his system, watching him rise from his seat and gesture more and more broadly with his hands the more indignant he becomes. When he finally stops, breathing like he’s just run a hundred-meter dash, she simply raises one eyebrow and says:

“So what is it about, then?”

Marcus meets her stare with his own for a few seconds, then deflates entirely, flopping back into his chair.

“It’s about a woman.”