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justimajin · 1 year

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The Profit & Love Statement » Pt. 4

↠ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

↠ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ (3.4k), Office AU (lowkey E2L vibes)

↠ Summary: The workplace isn’t for everyone. It can be mundane and repetitive, with some describing it like a nuisance and others as a blessing. You’re the kind that leans more towards the latter and while it does make you an ideal candidate for many things, nothing could have prepared you for the whirlwind that is the new employee.

↠ Warnings: pg13, financial struggles

GIF credit.

↠ Next Update: Friday, August 11 (tag list over here)

The chair harshly slams down against the ground.

“WHAT?!”

You press a finger immediately to your lips, hushing down Hoseok. He appears to be in between a loss of colour in his complexion and suppressing the urge to faint somewhere.

Taehyung sharply inhales, staring at you dead in the eyes.

“So you’re telling me the guy that we all need to mentor is the CEO’s son…?”

You nod, “More or less.”

“Excuse me, I think I need a moment to freak out.” Hoseok starts pacing around the break room in circles.

After you came across the conclusion, your instinct was to let them on the news the moment you pieced it together.

To be quite frank, Hoseok and Taehyung are embodying your exact feelings. The harmless interaction didn’t seem much to you in the past, but now it’s dropping some regrets over your head.

Yoongi crosses his arms, “Are you sure about this?”

You hum, handing him your phone, “Jungkook texted me last night and sent me this article that confirmed it.”

A hand presses against your temples, “I also remember meeting him at a department party, but it was so long ago.”

That’s another thing that’s also stuck in your head. You had previously met Seokjin, but the memory you had of him was so vague.

He could have easily been someone you merely bypassed in the grocery store and didn’t give a second glance to. There was no overflowing confidence or self-praise remarks – characteristics that would have surely allowed you to remember him.

“Seems legit.” Yoongi remarks, looking over at Hoseok and Taehyung, “Also, I think you guys need to calm down.”

You swivel, noticing Hoseok was still pacing around and that Taehyung looked like he was on the verge of throwing up.

“But how?!” Taehyung questions, “We have to train him soon and–“

He freezes.

“What is it?” Yoongi ponders.

“I-Isn’t he supposed to be heading into my department next…?”

Hoseok halts his steps immediately, glancing at you with desperation in his eyes.

“Any chance your restaurant is still hiring?”

Taehyung shifts closer, “Can I come with?!”

“Okay, I really think you guys need to just relax.” You gently guide them to sit down with you again, settling into your spot, “CEO’s son or not, we’ve been told he needs to be trained and you all need to make sure you do your part in that.”

Hoseok, although dejected, hums at your words.

“Going based off what you said…I’m still confused as to why he’s working here.”

You peer at Yoongi, “Is it the lack of experience and or the lack of seriousness that’s getting to you?”

He hums, “There’s going to be a huge gap in his knowledge, regardless of all the shadowing going on.”

“Maybe his dad couldn’t find anybody else for the position?” Hoseok suggests.

“That’s a good point.” Taehyung says.

“Whatever it is, things are definitely going to start to change around here.” Yoongi states and you hum in agreement.

It’s not long before Hoseok begins to calm down, stating the best way to deal with the new piece of knowledge is to remain professional and to completely forget about Seokjin’s soon-to-be status. Taehyung on the other hand, also accepts his inevitable fate, though he does question if there’s still any chance he could still get hired at your other workplace.

A deep sigh leaves you as they leave, but Yoongi lingers behind.

“Is it bothering you?”

“Huh?” You peer up, not realizing he was still there. At his pointed gaze, the corner of your mouth curls, “A little.”

You cross your arms and shrug, “I’m just regretting the way I trained him. Maybe if I had been a little bit more polite and just–“

“He barely knew what he was doing.” Yoongi states with an amused smile. “If anything, you should have been much harsher.”

You mimic his smile, “You mean ignore him?”

“He’s definitely the kind you can’t ignore.” Yoongi scoffs, yet there’s warmth in his gaze, “But I guess…he’s not so bad…”

You widen your eyes, exaggeratingly placing your hand on your mouth and faking a gasp.

“Is he growing on you, Yoongi?”

He immediately deadpans, “You heard nothing.”

You let out a laugh at that and Yoongi quirks up a small smile.

The sound of typing against a keyboard resonates through the air.

“Why are you putting the assets over there?”

“It has to balance out with the liabilities and shareholder’s equity.”

“Why does it have to balance out?”

“It’s called a balance sheet. It’s in the name.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to surround yourself with assets and not liabilities?”

Silence follows through – but then you hear a loud thud and squeaky laughter resonate through the right side of your cubicle. Although the past couple of hours have been dreadful for you in terms of workload, the sound manages to capture your attention.

“Yah Yoongi-ah! That was so funny, why aren’t you laughing?”

“Because it wasn’t funny.”

“It was! You know how you explained liabilities is like owing someone something and that assets are valuable? That would mean you should only surround yourself with assets!”

“It’s still not funny.”

“You, my man, really need to invest in a funny bone sooner or later.”

You shake your head, blinking a couple of times. Leaning over, you attempt to grab a sip of your coffee.

“Okay, okay, how about this one? Why is it so hard for a financial analyst to stay on his toes?”

Silence reigns heavy again and you hear muffled laughter.

“Because….they always ‘lose their balance’.”

You choke on the warm liquid, immediately setting the cup down. Rising up to your feet, you glance down at your shirt, realizing there were drops of coffee staining it.

Yoongi helplessly peers over at you.

“Are you here to help me out of my misery?”

“Oh no, this one’s all yours, Yoongi.” You smile, gesturing behind you, “I’m going to go clean up.”

But the moment you swivel– “I’ll come with you!”

Seokjin grins and you raise a brow, “What?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! And I’m sure Yoongi doesn’t mind, right Yoongi?”

Yoongi whispers underneath his breath, “Please spare my soul.”

“Great, let’s go Y/N!” He loops his arm around yours and before you know it, you’re being whisked away within moments much to Yoongi’s relief.

By the time you reach the breakroom, you let go of his arm and look around for a napkin, “You do realize I just came here to clean up, right?”

You turn around, noticing Seokjin’s curious eyes roam around before he suddenly blinks, “Huh?”

“Nevermind.” You shake your head, cleaning off the stains.

You thankfully get rid of them after a couple of minutes, raising your head to see Seokjin still staring at the ceiling. “Let’s go.”

His head snaps down, “Already?”

“Well yeah, Yoongi needs to mentor you.” You’re about to exit the room when his hand latches onto you.

You raise a brow and he lets go immediately, “Isn’t there something interesting around here? Something other than….” He gestures towards the cubicles, scrunching up his features as if he had eaten a lemon.

“Unfortunately not.” You politely state, “This is the workplace and we work towards goals for the company, so I don’t know how interesting that would be to the CEO’s son.”

“It’s kind of boring if you ask m–“

He falters, eyes rounding.

“W-What did you just say?”

“This is the workplace and we work towards goals for the–“

“Before that!”

“The CEO’s son?” You knit your brows together, wondering why he looked so frightened. “Am I wrong?”

“N–yes!” He swallows, but the stern look in your eyes doesn’t waver.

His gaze averts and the ends of his ears tinge pink, “H-How do you know who I am?”

“There’s headlines about the CEO Namjung planning to step back and letting his son take the position in the future.” You reply, “Which I’m assuming is you.”

You watch as a hint of surprise flickers over his features, quickly replaced with somberness.

He mutters underneath his breath. “Of course there’s headlines.”

“By the way, thanks for lying to me.”

He squints, “What are you talking about?”

“About me not being familiar.” You bring up, “I met you at a company party once.”

If you thought he looked surprised before, he looks downright speechless now.

At his prolonged silence, you lean closer to him and tilt your head.

“Why do you look like I just asked for both your kidneys?”

Life returns to his features, “You can’t tell anyone!”

“Tell anyone what? That I randomly bumped into you at a party and met your CEO dad?” You shrug, “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that I have a reputation to keep around here.” He hisses.

“Reputation?”

If anything, that seemed like the last thing he was concerned about.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He scoffs, “You just can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Well, this is awkward.” You nonchalantly sigh and he stares at you wide-eyed, “My coworkers already know about it.”

Seokjin’s jaw drops open and you sweetly smile, “You should have just told me you remembered me before I spilled the beans.”

“You–“

“What’s going on here?”

Taehyung is frozen at the door, gawking between you and Seokjin. He could hear parts of your quarrel from nearby and he wonders how on earth you managed to collect enough courage to bicker with him like this.

But what he doesn’t know is that you’re beginning to notice how obvious the truth is. Regardless of his status, Seokjin is just like any other employee and as such, that’s what you see him as.

Something that Taehyung truthfully lacks.

There’s a humble smile on his lips, words coated in sugar, “Yoongi said he’s finished with mentoring you, Mr. Soon-To-Be CEO.”

Seokjin finally snaps from his frustration with you, whipping his head around. He barely acknowledges the nickname he’s been given, more attune to other precedent issues.

“I thought I had more time with Yoongi!”

“His exact words were and I quote–“ Taehyung drops his voice into a monotone one, “I can’t stand the dad jokes anymore. Take him off my hands and somebody get me a deal on noise-cancelling headphones.”

You let out a snort and Seokjin scoffs, planting his hands on his hips, “Well, that’s just rude.”

He narrows his eyes at your laughter, “What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You clear your throat, “It just takes a certain level of annoyance to get to Yoongi like that. I’m actually quite impressed.”

“Wha–“

“Uh, Mr. Soon-To- Be CEO?” Taehyung politely raises his hand, “We need to start your shadowing soon.”

“Why are you calling me that?” Seokjin questions, a light suddenly flickering in his orbs. He turns to simply glare at you, but it’s met with a smile on your end.

“Should have told me sooner.” You simply state, patting his shoulder on your way out.

The end to your workday comes faster than you can expect it.

After spending hours working through reports and analysis while on a caffeine spurt, you manage to finish all the tasks you had set out to complete this morning. You presume it’s because of the quiet atmosphere that surrounds your cubicle for the remainder of the day, something Yoongi comments on as ‘relieving’ and ‘all thanks to a certain someone leaving for the floor beneath you’.

You counteracted with a statement that it might be because of Yoongi’s love for dad jokes. It’s met with a playful glare mixed with a hint of dear dread from his end that just has you smiling.

Heading back to your apartment complex, you fish out for your keys and jam them into the slot. You had managed to run by the post office quickly only to discover a hoard of letters that you’ll need to go through.

“Yuna!” You call out, frowning when one of them has the hydro company’s signature logo on it. The door closes with a click and you shove your shoes off of your sore feet.

“Yuna!” You call out again, “Yuna, I’m home!”

The fourteen-old sticks her head from on top of the staircase, grinning at the sight of you. You greet her with a smile as she walks down the stairs.

“Hi, how was your day?” You ponder, placing the mail on a table and taking your coat off.

“It was good.” She replies, tilting her head to the side, “You’re home early.”

“Ah yeah, I finished the majority of my work today and didn’t have a shift at my other workplace for once.” Hanging your coat on the rack, your eyes spark, “Say, why don’t I make us some dinner?”

Yuna’s reaction is immediate – her shoulders shrink and recoil back as a deep frown sets on her features.

“‒or takeout!” You offer right away with a somber smile, “Takeout is always an option.”

At that, Yuna beams and nods. You chuckle at her reaction, skimming through your phone for the app. One of these days, you hope to cook a meal for the two of you that isn’t horrifying to eat.

“Geez.” You mutter underneath your breath, scrolling through the alarming prices on the glowing screen. That was another thing – eating out not only wasn’t ideal in the health sense, but it was expensive and always took a giant bite out of your wallet.

You sigh, opting to order a simple two bowls of ramen. Telling Yuna that they would be here in twenty minutes, you swing by the table and collect your mail, hoping to go through it in the meantime.

It’s like how it always is. It begins with electricity. Then hydro. Rent even pops up, and the list only continues.

However this time, you freeze.

“What?”

You rise from your seat and enter the room on your left. The paper remains in one of your hands while the other is scavenging around the table, yanking out one of the drawers until you find the calculator you always had on hand.

The numbers are punched in at a furious rate and it’s not long before the total sum is computed, illuminated in giant static writing.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest.

You’re short.

You’re short by a lot of numbers.

You won’t be able to pay this month’s rent.

An exasperated exhale leaves your airway and the paper is tossed on the bed in a state of grievance. You sit down right next to it, fisting a ball of your locks within your hands.

“Y/N?”

You turn your head to the doorway, noticing Yuna watching you with concerned eyes. She remains glued to the frame, as if unsure on what to say aside from calling out your name.

“Oh, uh, the food will be here soon.” You rise from the bed, “You should get some plates out in the meantime.”

Yuna stares at you for a moment with a deep furrow in her brows, but then she nods and quietly turns around.

You, in the meantime, are still shaking your head with the conclusion you’ve come to. Your lease is expected to expire soon and naturally that means you would have to sign on again, but this time around your landlord decided upon a hefty spike in rent due to the demand of your location.

Luckily, the spike has come with a written notice and some time on your part, but it spells out one sole message for you.

You need money and you need it fast.

The keyboard shakes beneath your furious typing.

Yoongi cranes his head around, in the process of returning from the lunch room with a cup of coffee in his hand. He settles down into his cubicle, but his gaze remains concentrated in your direction.

His eyes narrow once he catches sight of the website you’re currently on.

“You’re looking for a job?”

You turn around, eyes flickering as if you hadn’t even noticed his presence.

“Uh yeah, things are just a little tight right now.”

You grimace and redirect your attention back to your computer.

Yoongi stares at you intently.

“Is it wise to look for another job when you’re already working here and at that restaurant?”

You halt your typing. In a way, you know he’s right, you know that you’ve reached a point where the constant work hours can easily become too much and that you would be on the verge of practically slaving over the multiple demands.

But reality hasn’t granted you the opportunity to put your well-being first.

“I’ll manage.”

“Can you?”

Yoongi is still staring at you when you peer at him again. Trying to formulate some sort of response for the question, your attention is drawn away by a voice passing by you.

“That report needs to be on my desk by this afternoon, Minho.” Soyou states, heading into her office. Your eyes trail after her right before the door to her office.

It’s a complete gamble. Like flipping a coin.

But do you even have much to lose?

With a sigh, you rise up from your chair.

“I’ll be back.” You motion towards Yoongi, ignoring the confusion that spreads over his features. Raising your hand, a stern knock resonates against the door.

“Come in.” Soyou responds. She’s sitting at her desk, a large volume of papers scattered across the table that her eyes are drinking in.

“I wanted to discuss something with you.”

Her head lifts, “Of course.”

Once you take the seat across from her, her gaze is on you.

“Yes, Y/N?”

You resist the urge to melt into the chair. Soyou is giving you her full attention and you’re alone in her office. The cards are in place and the timing is at best, okayish.

Inhaling, you begin, “Since I’ve finished assessing the previous launch and mentoring Mr. Kim, I wanted to ask about any new opportunities I can assist with aside from the new product launch.”

Soyou seems surprised from your words, but nonetheless hums.

That’s the tactic you have to use – highlight positive work you’ve done in the past and work you’re doing currently while simultaneously asking for more work. It’s the best way to drive into the topic and to unknowingly, plant a seed.

But alas, there’s only so much in your control, “There is nothing at the moment that I’m aware of.”

You nod, “I see.”

Yet Soyou pauses for a moment, narrowing her eyes at you, “You have a Human Resources certification, correct…?”

You hum, having not only taken on an internship prior to being hired but completed additional training courses underneath the company (or more specifically, ones that were directly tied with hopeful Managerial positions).

Soyou revolves around in her wheeled chair, grabbing a quick file, “…and you’ve trained multiple employees in the past as well…”

She doesn’t seem to be even addressing you at this moment, rather lost in her own thoughts.

Your hands involuntarily tighten, irises eager and heart racing.

In the past, Soyou has typically only acknowledged your background in sales towards your job. At the time, it was just enough to secure your current job, but there was never any treading over that line post being at the workplace.

Even when you had long ensured you could meet the basic Managerial qualifications.

However, something flickers in her eyes and that’s when you notice what file she’s managed to have pulled out.

“We have a… special circumstance in our office currently.” Soyou begins, and you attempt to brace for impact, “Someone who truthfully would benefit by having more consistent hands-on experience in the office…”

She explains, “Typically we would give this role to someone in Human Resources, but seeing your qualifications and clear ability to give hands-on experience….”

You know exactly where she is going with this, already having met this certain someone. But you don’t say anything, not until–

“It would be a great asset to have on your resume and higher up positions can likely open…”

Not until she plants a seed for you too.

Accepting would be rough. Efforts would have to be put into managing someone else completely while trying to restrain that work from not interfering with your own productivity.

But when your hands are already so tied, it’s not difficult to make the final choice.

You inwardly sigh, shoving your sarcasm and remarks to the deepest depths of your voice.

The sour feeling lingers, but your smile doesn’t fade.

“Why, that sounds really interesting.”

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

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RESISTERE TENTATIONEM: CAPITULUM II

TĒCTUS: Covered, concealed, hidden, having been covered, hidden or concealed

Pairings: Damian Priest x Reader

Warnings: +18, mature content

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @ziasaph , @theworldofotps , @alyhull , @bellalutionn , @aerynscrichton , @serpantscorpio8497 , @ava-valerie , @omegasshyghuleh6661ghosts , @squirreledelman , @cazxcx , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @bayley-no-friends , @waywardwrestlewritingwaif , @sassymox

Notes: I would like to thank @letsgivethisonemoreshot , for not only being my partner in crime with this trilogy but also being one of the best friends someone could ever have 😘 This is fully written in Damian’s POV. If you’d like to check out my previous works, you can find them on my Masterlist

Want to hear a joke that’s really in poor taste? The Mother Superior of the famous Mary Magdalene Convent (isn’t that ironic) is being accused of hosting ‘parties’ to the oh so loving convent donors. And you know who isn’t invited to those parties? Jesus Christ. Because the Devil sure loves to be a part of them! Drugs, orgies, alcohol, prostitution, even black masses... you name it! Everything that is unholy happens in the so-called house of holiness, and if that isn’t a bad taste joke, I don’t know what is.

So here I am now, driving towards the Devil’s den: the Mary Magdalene convent for three torturous days of interviews. Out of all of the reporters from The New York Times, of course I was the one who drew the short straw and got assigned this article. Some people see this as a career changing opportunity... a blessing, but me? I see it as a fucking curse! I don’t like religion, I don’t like churches, I don’t like priests and I sure as hell don’t like nuns! Anything that has the word “holy” in it, I prefer to be as far away as I possibly can from. But today was not my lucky day….no, today was the day that I was going to be tested. The only thing I’m hoping for is to not fail.

I knocked on the convent’s door and a young lady answered me.

“Hi, good morning. I’m Damian Priest, reporter from The New York Times and I’m here for an interview with” I looked down at my notepad “Mrs. Y/N L/N? Whom I believe is the Mother Superior”

The young girl only nodded once and motioned for me to follow her, without saying a word.

I followed her in, mesmerized by the size of the convent, the whole place was fancy as fuck on the inside. Art pieces from famous painters were displayed on the walls, modern furniture, dim lights that made the place look cozy and inviting. *What a scam* I thought to myself. The young lady in front of me suddenly stopped walking and pointed towards the door in front of her before turning around and leaving.

Presuming that it was the Mother Superior’s office, I knocked on the door twice before someone told me to come in. You see, when they told me I was going to be interviewing the Mother Superior of a convent, the last thing I expected was for her to not only be beautiful, but young (considering I was under the impression that women in that position were around sixty years old). She was breathtaking to say the least! Soft features, her skin had an angelic glow to it and there was something in her eyes that trapped you in them...something you could not turn your gaze away from no matter how bad you wanted to.

“Mr. Priest, please sit down” She smiled

I nodded and sat on the chair in front of her desk

“Thank you for taking some time out of your busy schedule to speak with me, Mother Y/L/N-“

“Please, call me Y/N” Her sultry voice spoke

“Y/N” I tested the word on my lips and it sounded oddly pleasant

She smiled softly and...fuck she’s gorgeous! Her beauty was a painful and constant reminder of what you couldn’t have, couldn’t touch, couldn’t-“

“Mr. Priest?” She said softly

“Damian”

“Damian, would you like something to drink? Coffee, water, juice, tea perhaps?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you” I answered, while grabbing my notepad and a pen out of my backpack. Clearing my throat, I said “Can we get started with the pre-interview?”

“Of course” She smiled widely and reached for a cigarette pack on top of the table, which made me raise an eyebrow

“We all have our dirty little secrets, don’t we, Damian?” She asked, licking the cigarette filter before sucking it

*Am I going crazy?* I thought to myself

“Damian? Your first question is?” She giggled

“Ummm” I cleared my throat once again “Y/N, recently the convent was involved in a huge scandal involving drugs, prostitution, orgies and black masses. Would you like to clarify why an institution that’s deeply connected to the church is in the middle of something so profane?”

She grinned “God is in the most profane things, Damian. After all, the sinners are the ones who need Him the most, aren’t they?”

“I’m not sure if I follow-”

“You see” She took a long drag on her cigarette and walked towards me “God is our Lord and savior. He forgives us from our sins, grants us forgiveness to our most foul actions” She sat down on the chair beside me “If you steal from someone and repent; He’ll forgive you, kill someone and repent; He’ll save you, cheat on your wife with the hot, young next door neighbor and repent; He’ll brush it underneath the carpet and pretend it never happened” She shrugged “God doesn’t judge, Damian. He only forgives” She leaned forward on the arm of the chair, until she was uncomfortably close to me “So if the big boss himself doesn't judge anyone, then why should I?”

“And what does judgment have to do with drugs, orgies and sin?”

She smiled “How can God forgive you if you don’t sin, Damian?”

“And how can God forgive his so-called followers who incite others to sin, Y/N?”

“Incite others to sin?” She chuckled “Are you talking about the allegations, the donors or yourself?” She smirked

………………………………………………….......................

Since we’re so far from town I was informed that I would have to spend the night at the convent. They showed me my bedroom and it looked pretty fancy. King size bed, Egyptian sheets, expensive furniture. Everything was oddly normal, except for the weird dream I recalled having. I was at the convent, lost, calling for help because I somehow ended up locked in here. I was inside what looked like a large basement, the room was only lit by red lights, a faint smell of leather took over my nostrils as I heard someone moaning softly in my ear…a woman. And the weirdest thing was that I could’ve sworn I felt her breath against my ear. Needless to say I woke up with my dick as hard as a rock and had to spend a solid thirty minutes trying to get rid of a very painful boner, which did not leave me no matter how many times I came. Half hard and inside a convent...yeah, I’m definitely going to Hell!

“How did you sleep, Damian?” Was the first thing I was asked when I walked into the Mother Superior’s office in the morning. Something in her voice told me she knew exactly what I had done underneath the shower.

“Good”

“I bet you woke up feeling much better after a good night of rest, right?” She smiled devilishly and I just nodded

“Would you mind if we took a tour through the convent at some point?” I asked, quickly changing subjects

“Of course not! Let me know when you want one”

I nodded and began to ask my questions

“So, why do so many men keep coming and going from this convent? Seems like the place men shouldn’t be”

“The only men who come to the convent, Damian, are maintenance, the donors for the ‘thank you parties’ we host and now you” She smiled

“How do you get so many people to keep donating?”

“We don’t oblige anyone to do anything. People are still kind enough to see the work we do for those in need and they get touched by it. So God is the one who inspires them to donate, Damian. Not me”

“I’ve noticed a lot of fancy things here. Shouldn’t the money be going to something else?”

“The ‘fancy’ things you see are gifts from the donors. Things they felt in their hearts they should give us freely. We don’t buy things for the convent, apart from food. That’s one of the rules”

“Speaking of rules” I looked at her “Why are you smoking? Isn't that not allowed?”

“We don’t have rules against smoking here, Damian. The choice to do it or not is personal, but there are no rules for it. It’s not forbidden or a sin. Now, if you think nuns shouldn’t smoke, I suggest you pay a visit to the convents in Rome and give them a piece of your mind about their choices regarding health”

I chuckled at her comeback

“Why so cynical about our good intentions?” She licked her lips

“Because you don’t have any” I spat

“We live for helping those in need, Damian” She pointed towards my visible bulge

“Helping those in need, huh? And what do you get out of it?”

She walked towards me “Satisfaction in its purest form” She lifted one hand up and caressed my lower belly over my shirt “It’s incredible how much providing relief to others can trigger the biggest pleasure in our bodies...to see their eyes semi-closed in...relief is so rewarding to me”

I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably. “And just how needy do these people have to be?” I was speaking in financial terms of course

“Very needy” Her hand toyed with my jeans button “Some even have trouble sleeping due to their neediness, so you can see how a helping hand goes so well in this case...even the right mouth, you know to profess the Lord’s word”

“And just how many of these ‘charitable acts’ have you been involved with?” I felt my cock grow harder and harder

“Directly? Only when things get too hard, Damian” Her hand brushed against my hard bulge “That’s when I offer my help, so things can stop getting so hard and painful”

I gulped as I tried to shift away from her touch “So what, you just have all these other poor girls do your dirty work for you?” I try to keep my serious composure

“I’m not afraid of getting dirty, Damian. The girls do what they can, what they’re instructed to...but sometimes things get so hard that I have no other option but intervene” She pulled the fly of my jeans down “Then, once the seed of evil is finally spilled, things can go back to being soft again” She leaned in closer “Would you like a demonstration, Damian? I’m sure you have some kind of evil inside you that needs to be released” She asked with a sinister smile reaching her hand into the waistband of my boxer briefs

“I’m just here for work, Y/N, I have nothing to donate”

“Don’t worry about it. My girls will not be involved in this...it will be our little secret”

“I would like the tour now, please”

She smirked “Of course” and stepped away from me “This way” She went out the door as if nothing had happened

“Psycho bitch” I whispered to myself, as I pulled the fly of my jeans up and tied my hoodie around my waist to cover up the boner.

“This way we have the nuns bedrooms” She pointed towards a hallway “Kitchen, restrooms, archives, laundry room, storage for cleaning supplies, pantry” She explained each room, until we were outside “The patio, garden; where we cultivate flowers, fruits and vegetables, garage and the chapel is this way”

She walked towards a medium sized chapel in the middle of the garden, it looked like a regular chapel on the inside. It had an altar with a bible on it, a pulpit, a big cross, devotional statues of catholic saints, wooden benches and a confessional. Candles were lit up all over the place and everything looked normal. Scarily normal, until I noticed a few nuns who were sat on one of the benches staring at me with a weird look on their eyes

“Why are they looking at me like that?” I asked Y/N

“Like what?”

“Like, with...” I trailed off

“With desire?” She whispered in a mocking tone

I looked down at her speechless

“One could say that you’re a little too obsessed with the lust theme, Damian” She smiled “It’s all you can think about ever since you got here, dear. You should be careful” She licked her lips and pulled me by my hand towards her office again.

………………………........................................................

Later that night while I was trying to get some sleep, I began to hear some mumbling. Muffled voices kept saying something unintelligible and filling up the bedroom with mainly female voices. But one of the voices sounded too familiar to me...

I stood up from the bed and began to search in the room where those voices could be coming from, and as I almost gave up, I found it. A small hole of the size of a coin, in the concrete wall in front of my bed. Scooting closer to the wall, I knelt down and peeked through the hole, but weirdly enough, the room was pitch black. The mumbling started again and they soon became moans. Above all the moaning voices, one stood out to me. It was Y/N’s voice, she moaned softly while she said something I couldn’t quite understand. Her voice was filled with lust, her moans were pornographic and I could swear she was moaning my name. It both frightened and turned me on, so I did what any wise man would do. I returned to the bed, laid down and jerked off before falling into a deep slumber.

..................................................................................

“Wake up” Someone softly whispered in my ear

I quickly opened my eyes and my heart was beating at a frantic pace due to the fright.

A young girl was sitting down on my bed “Please, follow me” was all she said before standing up and leaving my room

I was so confused that I didn’t even bother to grab a t-shirt, so I just followed her down the hall barefoot and only with a pair of sweatpants on. Looking outside the hallway windows, I could see that the sky was still dark, which could only mean it was the late hours of morning.

She took me inside the laundry room and pressed a button underneath the folding clothes table. A door opened and a red light lit up the dark wooden stairs. I continued to follow her down the stairs, and we began to walk down a long hallway that looked more like a basement. The whole place had only red lights as the lighting source, so it took my eyes a while to get used to it.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, but only received silence as a response

We walked for what felt like ten minutes until we reached a black wooden door with an iron door knocker. She knocked on the door four times and left.

“Is this a prank?” I asked myself, after five minutes of standing there alone. Suddenly the door opened, but I couldn’t see anything other than darkness ahead

“Hello?” I called from the doorway, but no one answered back

The thing that made me such a great reporter was my utter curiosity, and even with all my senses screaming ‘don’t go in there!’ I decided to listen to my curious side instead, and went into the room. As soon as I stepped a foot inside, the door behind me closed shut.

The room was pitch black and I stumbled across a few items. I placed my hand on top of what felt like a table so I could try to guide myself through the room, at least back to the door again so I could leave. When suddenly I felt several pairs of soft hands on my torso pulling me back.

“What the fuck?” I gasped in shock

But before I could make a move, my wrists and ankles were tied to a wooden surface and a red light turned on in the room

Five nuns were in front of me, staring silently at my body

“Leave” Someone said from behind me, and the nuns obeyed and left

“I would be lying if I said you weren’t a beautiful sight” Y/N said, and and walked in front of me

“You psycho bitch” I growled and pulled at the restraints “Let me go!”

She smiled “Oh Damian...You don’t want that!” Her nails softly scratched my lower belly “And neither do I”

“You’re sick! Let me go, you fucking-“

“Na ah” She slapped me across the face “I’m done playing these pretending games” She lit up a cigarette “Pretend you didn’t jerk off to my moans, pretending you don’t want to fuck me...that gets tiring” She dipped her hand inside my sweatpants and found my semi hard bulge “You’ve wanted to fuck me ever since you laid eyes on me” She giggled and I licked my dry lips

“Those sinful, filthy, thoughts you’ve had, Damian” She closed her fist around my erection “You wanted to know what we do here, right? We purge that demon out of you” And scooted closer until her lips brushed against my own with every word she spoke

“We send him away, so he can’t bother you anymore” She freed my cock from my pants and began to pump her hand up and down “We release you from the seed of evil”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I panted

Y/N knelt down in front of me and darted her tongue out, licking my slit “Give me the seed of evil, Damian” and gave an open mouth kiss on my tip “Feed me with it” Licked the underside of my shaft “Release yourself from what’s been bothering you ever since you got here” Darting her tongue out “Use me to purify your soul” And opened her mouth wider.

At such a sight I had no other option but to buck my hips forward…

And chase for my cleansing

If you’re comfortable with it, please let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated 🥰😘

#damian priest smut #damian priest one shot #damian priest fanfiction #damian priest x reader #damian priest imagine #damian priest #masochist writes #resistere tentationem trilogy #wwe x reader #wwe superstars #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 16

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

May passes into June and they quietly acknowledge that it has been one year since the day Mulder walked into the autopsy bay. They spend their weekends watching movies, making love, and hanging out with the Gunmen, Missy often in attendance as she and Byers become somewhat of an item. Every other Sunday they have lunch with her mother, Mulder meeting Bill by way of an awkward phone call and a promise that they will come out to visit San Diego sometime soon. The moratorium on weekday overnights fades away and the days they spend in each other’s beds begin to outnumber those that they don’t.

One day in early August, Mulder laments how lonely Priscilla gets when he’s gone for the night, crying and following him from room to room when he comes home and plaguing him with guilt. Scully suggests that he bring her over with him, setting up a litter box and food bowl in an unused corner of the living room. Without the daily need to care for a cat, he spends more and more time at her apartment, his suits taking over half her closet and his T-shirts occupying one of her drawers. He still has his fish to feed and so they can tell themselves that they don’t technically live together, though it’s been weeks since anyone slept at his apartment. The excitement of new love gives way to the familiar comfort of domesticity, questions about their lives prior to meeting morphing into what they’re having for dinner and whether someone can pick up toilet paper on the way home from work. They each visit the doctor for a full workup and, everything coming back clear, stop using condoms, relying on the progestin shot Scully goes in for every three months to prevent pregnancy.

Far from boring, they find worthy sparring partners in one another, debating everything from whether the moon landing was a hoax to the merits of String Theory, arguing their points of view passionately before they agree to disagree and then let their clothes fall to the floor. They discover the things they love best about one another; Mulder’s unrelenting curiosity and Scully’s bottomless compassion, as well as those they like the least; his forgetfulness when he’s focused on something and her tendency to shut him out when she’s upset. Whether completing a crossword puzzle together or watching Jeopardy, they embrace the ways that they are different and how they balance one another out; his creativity to her order, her planning to his impulsivity, his acceptance to her skepticism. Yin and yang, tall and small, bold and tempered; there is a completeness in their union that makes them each feel whole.

Even in their intensity and their commitment, Mulder has never again uttered the words ‘I love you’ and Scully has never said them at all. Far from a red flag or a hesitance to be vulnerable, they simply don’t feel the need to express it aloud. She knows he loves her when he drives forty minutes out of his way to pick up her favorite donuts or reads the latest issue of JAMA just so he can discuss the articles with her. He knows she loves him when she indulges him in theoretical discussions on the mating rituals of Sasquatch, not bothering to point out that the creature doesn’t exist, or wastes entire Saturdays watching movies that were bad enough to earn Razzies because he finds poorly made films entertaining.

Scully has never met Mulder’s parents, accepting his explanation that his mother is cold and his father distant, which is why she feels caught off guard when he calls her at work on a Tuesday to tell her that his mother had a stroke, and he is on his way to the hospital. He doesn’t ask her for anything, but she leaves work anyway, approaching the reception desk of the emergency department with a level of calm only a doctor is capable of.

“I’m looking for Teena Mulder, she should have been admitted within the last few hours,” she says to the young woman behind the desk.

“Yes, she’s here,” the woman answers, “but visiting hours don’t start until 4:00 and someone is already with her now. Are you family?” The woman looks at her expectantly.

“Um, no, I’m not,” she replies, not bothering to explain that Tenna Mulder is her boyfriend’s mother, who she’s never met.

“You can take a seat then,” the woman says with a well-practiced smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She finds an empty seat and pulls in a deep breath, taking out her cell phone in hopes she can reach Mulder, though cell reception in hospitals is notoriously bad.

“Excuse me, are you Dana?” someone says from a few seats away, and she turns to see an older man, perhaps in his sixties, with receding dark brown hair and tired bags under his eyes.

“Yes,” she replies, eyeing him skeptically as he rises from his seat and takes the one just beside her.

“I’m Bill Mulder, Fox’s father,” he says, offering his hand.

She takes it, scanning him for similarities to Mulder and finding none, other than his complexion and hair color.

“Oh, hello, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Mulder,” she stumbles, a bit confused. As Mulder tells it, his parents are divorced and not on friendly terms.

“Please, you can call me Bill,” he says with a small smile, and she nods. “Fox is with her now, though I don’t think she’s awake,” he offers.

They sit in awkward silence, Scully realizing she has absolutely no information with which to start a conversation. Mulder has told her nothing about his parents, aside from the details relevant to his sister’s abduction. She doesn’t know what Bill Mulder does, or did, for a living, or where he lives. Just when she’s considering going home, Mulder emerges from a set of double doors.

He was clearly looking for his father, but when he sees Scully his eyebrows knit and his chin puckers in relief. She stands and he scoops her up, squeezing her so tight it hurts.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispers hoarsely into her ear.

They part, hands clasped, and he addresses his father.

“Mom just woke up, you can go see her soon, but since Scully is here I’d like to take her back first.”

Scully gives him an incredulous look.

“Mulder, I’m sure your mom doesn’t want to meet me for the first time from a hospital bed,” she pleads.

“I know, but I want you to look at her chart. I just want to make sure that what the doctors are saying is accurate,” he says with desperate eyes, and she nods.

He leads her back through the double doors and into a room where a tall white-haired woman is reclining in the bed, an oxygen cannula tucked under her nose. While she saw little resemblance between Mulder and his father, the likeness to his mother is almost jarring; her stately nose and hooded eyes curating in Scully an immediate fondness for her. She blinks slowly at them, confusion furrowing her brow.

“Mom, this is Dana,” he says, and her expression shifts into one that is slightly pained.

She attempts to speak, one side of her mouth rooting for words that she can’t quite find.

“Hi Mrs. Mulder, I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” Scully offers, “I’m a medical doctor, Fox asked me to take a look at your chart, if that’s okay?”

Teena nods and closes her eyes, and Scully goes to retrieve her chart from near the door. After she’s looked it over, they say goodbye and return to the lobby to find Mulder’s father.

“Go ahead, Dad, I’ll see you in there,” Mulder says, and then walks Scully to her car.

“So, what do you think?” he asks as they stand next to her open car door, worry crumpling his features.

“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, Mulder. Her stroke was significant, you can see that by the degree to which it’s impacting her speech and gross motor function. It shouldn't get any worse, but she’ll need to go through rehab, and likely need some in-home care for a bit until we know the long term impact. It’s very possible that she’ll be able to continue living independently, but not right away.”

Mulder heaves a big sigh and nods. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit, but I think I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” she replies, bringing her palm to his cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you, again, for coming down here. You didn’t have to.”

“Mulder, of course I did,” she says with concern. “I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

He kisses her one, two, three times, pulling her close for a beat, clinging to her for dear life.

“I love you,” he chokes out, and she hugs him tighter.

“I love you too,” she replies, her chin tucked tight into the crook of his neck.

When he releases his grip on her, she brings her hands to his jaw, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks.

“We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll figure it out,” she assures him, and he nods tersely.

———

She’s in bed reading, Priscilla curled up on her stomach, when she hears the thunk of the deadbolt.

“Mulder?” she calls out, and he pokes his head through the door.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower, I’ll be in in a minute,” he says, then disappears again.

He returns ten minutes later, shower-fresh and warm. She sets her book aside to envelop him in her arms, his head finding a home on her chest as his arms snake around her ribcage.

“How is she?” she asks as she strokes her fingers through his hair and down his neck soothingly.

“The same,” he says with a defeated tone, “they might release her to rehab tomorrow.”

“And how are you?” she asks, giving his neck a little squeeze.

He groans. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“About your mom?”

“No,” he says, propping up on his elbow to look at her, “about life, I guess.”

She lifts her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t want to toil away in the BSU for the rest of my life, Scully. If I die tomorrow, what will I have to show for it?”

She frowns at him sympathetically.

“You make a difference in the BSU, Mulder. You help catch murderers, prevent further loss of life. It may not seem like it because you’re so far removed from the people it impacts, but you do.”

He flops back onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

“You’re probably right, but it still feels pretty pointless.”

“What would you rather be doing?” she asks gently, rolling on to her side to face him.

“Honestly?” he steals a glance at her before continuing, “investigating The X Files. Making progress in understanding what happened to my sister. Working to expose those who are responsible for the coverup of secret government operations.”

“Maybe you should talk to AD Skinner, try again. Maybe The X files could be reopened,” she says softly, brushing her palm over his arm.

Mulder shakes his head. “Nothing has changed, Scully. They won’t let me operate without a partner and no one wants to work with me.”

“I’d work with you, but that’s against bureau policy,” she says with a small smile, and he looks at her with an affectionate gaze.

“I’m sure you’d have a field day debunking all my work,” he says coyly.

“I would never,” she retorts sarcastically.

He rolls back towards her, pulling her close with her head tucked under his chin.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“Well you do have me, so there’s no point in thinking about it,” she replies.

He sighs deeply, reaching past her to turn off the bedside lamp, and they sleep.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years

Text

Only Time Makes It Human 3

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: hi and sorry for the long wait, I had to squish my brain real hard to get this chapter out, but I hope you like it, I decided a chapter about growth wasn't enough and y'all gave me an idea for angst so I just splashed it there and we'll delve into it more on the next chapter. 10/10 the idea works well enough for me to bring Levi and reader together even more. So don't call me out on being random. This is raw, un fucking edited, I'll edit later 💗

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: modern au, college au

Warnings: mentions of blood

Special kudos if you figure out why I used this gif ;)

The problem with your feet being numb in the morning when you woke up wasn't supposed to phase you as much as it currently did, but the weathering cold that had barged its way to your room silently begged to have you feel something other than the everlasting whirlpool of regret.

Which was -unsurpisingly- something you had been spiraling into a lot lately.

Your ringtone -or rather the caller that had caused it to go off- nontheless remained mercilessly unforgiving to your current condition. The brute vibrations that accompanied your once favorite song ripped through the air and bounced on every wall inside your room before it wooshed inside your eardrums.

You fucking finally had to change that ringtone, you thought.

Your feet, moist and heavy as they buzzed with the aftermath of the coma-like sleep you had just gone through, struggled to wiggle from underneath the comfort of your blankets. Your hands instinctively rubbed the underside of your nose as you sniffled all the cold of the room around you. Throwing the blanket off of you, you groaned at the non stop ringing of your phone.

The few steps to your desk felt like an eternity of having to walk with a badgy weight on your feet, but the faint feeling in your body didnt come to an halt even after you picked the device in your hands. Your eyes couldn’t really adjust well to make out the ID of the caller, of course, sleep hadn't rubbed off your eye lids yet, but still you slid the emerald button to acceptance with no resistance.

“Hey” you sleepingly moaned.

“Hellooo! (Y/n)!” Hange called enthusiastically for the other line, her joyous voice piercing your eardrums “Where are you booo?”

“I just woke up why?” you yanwed.

Pacing your eyes around your room you noticed the dull daylight creeping in through your blinds, signaling the gloom of another potentially snowy day for Trost. You blinked as you took notice of the few articles of soon to reside in the laundry bin clothing as well as the dress that hung from your closet door.

And then, it all snapped.

“Oh. shit!”

Anxiety rushed through you like a bullet to the gut, gushing numbness and waves of cold sweat from the point of impact. Forcefully, you ripped your phone off your ear and double tapped at screen to make it light up. The date read December 25, and below it, laid numerous notifications of your alarm and even a pop up reminder from last night to not forget the food you had to take with you.

Thinking back to that, your head started spinning like crazy, the familiar, yet bizarre feeling of your stomach dropping overtaking you. You hadn't cooked, rather, you had spent all night drinking and sulking on your own, cursing yourself for all your choices up to date.

"Yes, oh shit!” Hnge laughed “Oh! You forgot?”

"Hangeeee stop screaming oh my god no I didn't forget, I'm on my way okay?"

A little yelp came out of your mouth as the cable of your charger prevented you from taking another step closer to your bedroom door; letting out a curse under your breath though you quickly unplugged your phone, and rushed over the mess of your room and out to your living room.

"But you said you just woke up."

"Ahhh," you scratched your head, feeling your loose t-shirt sliding down your shoulder "no!" You said, then in a sterner voice you repeated "No! I uhm, I was just-"

Your poor excuse to communicate after having just woken up didn't startled Hange. If anything, she seemed to find it amusing because she burst into joyous, bubbling laughter at the sound of your despair. And you couldn't blame her for it; were you under any other circumstance you would be laughing with yourself as well.

"It's fine. Erwin and I are making a cake for shorty so if you want to cook here you have plenty of time yet. I'm going to say it though, we could really use your pastry skill."

You let out a sigh as you took your phone off your ear and pressed on the speaker icon. Your hands worked fast to grip onto the hem of your shirt and then, even faster, they managed to pull it off of you in shift movements.

"I'm just going to have a shower, dress up and I'll be on my way. It shouldn't take more than 30 minutes."

Hange exhaled in utter relief through the phone and you could practically feel her sheepish smile as Erwin shouted a big fat 'thank you' from the depths of his kitchen. Bringing out a hand to grap your shower cap -the only shower product you loathed using- you ripped the cap off its place on your cabinet and messily shoved all of your hair in it in rushed movements.

"Got any questions before I hit the shower Hange?"

"Please ask her" Erwin was heard and you cocked your head to the side at the sound.

"No Erwiin, we got it under control okay?"

"No we don't."

Shaking your head to prevent yourself from zoning out, you clicked your tongue before opening your mouth to address your two friends. Asking as to what they were referring to was easy, although it was obvious that Hange felt confident in succeeding in the task Erwin was referring to. Knowing Hange though, you thought you could guess perhaps what exactly was going on.

"Please don't mix food coloring with spinach juice to make the cake green like two years ago."

Erwin's laughter was pretty much evident through the other line as Hange went on blubbering about how she wasn't going to do it again giving extreme emphasis as to why she couldn't understand the reason it tasted bad in the first place but would go with what you said nevertheless. At that point Erwin was laughing hysterically, telling you how Hange was once again, indeed, thinking about it and the sound of his laughter grew even louder than Hange's words.

"Do you have food coloring?"

"Yes Hange I have food coloring."

"Plea-pleaee bring some. Dammit Erwin what's gotten into you- gotta go (y/n) see you in a while."

The beeping sound from the other line left you little to no time to properly reply to your friends with a much wanted greeting, though, you didn't think much of it. You were going to spend the whole day with them, so getting upset over not getting the chance to say goodbye over the phone wasn't something that should have caused guilt to spurt in you.

But surely, this wasn't the only cause of your overly bubbling guilt. The actual cause of the knot in your gut laid to the fact that within the time span of two weeks you had managed to to drag Levi and yourself into a rather steep rabbit hole. There was going to be a serious impact of your relationship with your friends had the two of you made it known to them; everyone would scold you -and they'd be right at that- and maybe this time they'd pick sides as to what wrong or not. And you didn't want that.

Although you secretly wished everyone went with Levi. Or at least you had come to the conclusion that that was what you deserved.

You had been feeling bothered and repulsed by what had caused you to make out with him that night, given the fact that you had been the one that initiated the kiss. And just as much, you had been feeling furious over Levi allowing this to ever happen. But looking back at it now, you couldn't say you regretted getting close to him even in such way. And that was probably the most infuriating thing of all.

Nevertheless, there was also the fact that you would be seeing Levi today and frankly you didn't know what to do with that. Should you act like everything was fine? Should you simply ignore him? Was Petra going to be with him?

Speaking of Petra it would be best if you straight up let her know of what had happened. Acting shady with another woman's man behind her back was outrageous for anyone to do and you hated being in that position like the next person.

Your stomach twisted dangerously at your spiraling thoughts, but you chose to ignore the tight knot, attributing the loud growl you had heard to one caused by your excessive hunger.

Perhaps, your shower was going to help you sort out your thoughts and intentions.

With a twist of your wrist the water started sprinting out of the tap in your shower. Your eyes were fixated on your phone, your thumb roaming through Spotify in hopes to find the perfect song to company your bath with. You simply said good for a Christmas playlist that Spotify suggested, tapping on that, a list of numerous jolly songs popped up in your screen and you simply pressed the big shuffle button before putting your head on your cabinet.

The walk to Erwin's house was very much and as previously expected, quiet. The sidewalks on your way were all covered in sugary white snow, decorating each different apartment complex in the non urban side of Trost along with the standard holiday decorations.

Taking a deep sigh you brought the back of your finger to the metallic button of Erwin's doorbell. Blinking rationally, you looked around at the marble front door frame of his apartment complex, your blood subtly rushing to your feet. You dragged the tip of your combat boot over the snow, curling your toes on the fuzzy material that covered the inside of the shoe.

You were beginning to become impatient as you waited on the doorframe, Erwin was taking way too long to open the door and you were practically freezing out there; the dress you wore did almost nothing to keep you warm. Despite you taking precautions by wearing a cardigan and the leather coat that you had snatched from your brother, the cold still pierced through your sheer black pantyhose, as if your efforts to stay warm were ridiculous.

The sound of footsteps was what startled you next but still your head didn't turn to the source of the buzzing noise. Your nose simply nuzzled to the scarf you had wrapped around yourself as you rubbed your face onto its warm fleece material.

"Uh, hi."

This time you could help but turn around to check who had thrown a greeting at you.

A familiar puff of ginger hair greeted you as you snuck your nose out of the edge of your scarf, two big and round hazel eyes stared right at you as you blinked rapidly back at them.

Great. Just great.

"Hey."

Petra wiggled her nostrils once to the left and then to the right, seemingly scratching the awkwardness in the atmosphere away. She blinked her eyes a few times into yours, her lips pursing together slightly as if she was coming up with a good comeback to your greeting, yet it never came.

"uhm, what's up?"

Your fingers slightly clutched the edges of your coat, crossing over your chest as you felt your jaw start clattering. Your pupils gathered at the corners of your eyes, catching small glimpses of Petra as you eyed her up and down.

She too had opted for a cardigan and a dress. A very safe choice if you were in a place to express your opinion but hers, despite being adorned with numerous tiny and dainty coral and red flowers, looked so thin and tule like and it barely covered her thighs, so much that you felt a pinch of concern run through you that you were slow to decide on whether you wanted to brush off or not.

"I'm.. good." She managed to let out, but you noticed how her lip trembled.

She was definitely shivering, if that wasn't concerning enough you didn't know what was, and she looked so frail and out of place that she could definitely beat you at it. Plus, the lack of a warm jacket struck somewhat of a nerve at you. Even feeling so much guilt over being in her presence you couldn't help but feel your motherly friend instincts wash over you; why wasn't she wearing something warmer? And why were you seconds away from taking off your jacket to offer it to her when you knew she wouldn't even accept it.

"Damn, Erwin's sure taking long, do you want my jacket?"

"Uh-"

Once again and mostly out of instinct, your finger tapped over the metallic button, covered by the edge of your sleeve. Suddenly, the familiar buzz of the intercom growled in your eardrum and you shook your head to its direction automatically.

"I'm so sorry!" Erwin said. "Come in!"

"Hey Erwin!" Petra spoke before you had a chance to say your wanted reply.

Even if you couldn't see him, you knew how shocked of an expression he was wearing.

Taking the few steps into the apartment complex's yard, you rushed to the next door and waited for the known buzz which signaled that Erwin had finally let you inside. With awkwardness spread over your face though, you pushed your lips into a thing line, holding the door back as you signaled to Petra that she should be the first to come inside.

"Thank you." She muttered.

"No prob."

You watched as Petra hesitated to push the elevator button; with a set of trembling fingers her palm rested only a few inches before the metallic button that was lit in a red arrow. With another smile you came closer to her and went to check in which floor the elevator was currently at. Whether she flinched intentionally or not, you didn't know.

"Wanna share a lift? It'll be a while till it comes down again." You offered.

"Uhm, yeah okay."

Once she responded, Petra tapped onto the elevator button with her thumb.

Petra looked at you and clung onto the edged of her cardigan once again. You took notice of how she looked a little more casual and unkept, despite being dressed on point; the lack of a jacket and her tousled naturally wavy bob betrayed an unwillingness to be present to today's event and it's was painfully obvious.

"I'd like to" Petra hesitated, "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Oh sure, what is it about?"

"It's about Levi."

Dead silence fell as Petra didn't dare turn her gaze to your direction. The little screen over the elevator button still showed that your lift was taking long to come down as if it mocked you, but you couldn't find it in you to tap into the button once again.

"Would you like to grab some coffee with me tomorrow?"

Tomorrow.

To say that you were panicked would be an exaggeration and probably a degradation to Petra's feelings. Her breathing was heavier than your own, frankly because for her it must have been even more uncomfortable than it was for you. You couldn't blame her for that.

Nonetheless you couldn't help but be genuinely curious as to what she had wanted to tell you? It was evident that she knew something. What's slipped you was whether or not she want to bash you for your actions.

She had every right to do so.

"Yeah. Of course, uhh, tomorrow sounds good."

....

Christmas day wasn't as bad as you had expected it to be when Hange had announced to you that Levi would be coming alone with Petra.

For starters, the food was in plehtora; Erwin had cooked your jolly favorite roasted chicken, Mike and Nanaba had brought an enormous plate of their creamiest, most mouth watering souffle, Levi had made some god tasty pumpkin soup and Hange had taken actually good care of fixing a custom non alcoholic cocktail to each one of you.

All of this drool worthy deliciousness had caused, and non surprisingly at that, your body to submit in that peaceful demi slumber that tagged along with the fullness of your tummy. Frankly, it had been so long since you had enjoyed such a good meal and you didn't think you would be enjoying another one until Mikasa's birthday.

Thus, the cool evening sir that entered the room when Erwin opened the window door to the balcony, found you laying on the floor right next to the tangerine fire that danced in the fireplace. You could faintly feel Nanaba's hand scratch at the roots of your hair, her almond tipped nails slowly running in purringly mellow lines over your sculp that sent you to pure delight.

Levi's eyes danced over your form more than he'd like to admit so. Ever so slightly his pupils would travel up and down your thighs and calfs, examining the material of your sheer back pantyhose but whatever emotion overcame him wasn't the animalistic lust he had expected to feel.

He felt rather guilty. And not only for staring at your legs. For bringing himself upon the situation he was in.

It wasn't easy to think with a throbbing head but in Levi's world this poor condition was translated as a prompt to try to get out of whatever shithole he had found himself in. Maybe. Because there was also a certain part inside of him that bashed him to no end about his previous and degrading actions to both Petra's and his person, which part he completely and rationally justified.

With a quick glance at Petra, Levi brought his hand to his face to hopefully wipe any of the numbness his guilt had got him feeling. Petra seemed to enjoy herself as per usual. With her soft smiles and the mellow sway of her hair over her shoulder, she'd often reach for the hem of her white wooly cardigan to cover her shoulder while cooing into the soft material and onto the side of the couch she was seating in.

It would be hard for anyone to guess that the two of them had broken up.

She was unsurprisingly sitting as far off him as she could; the fact that they hadn't announced to anyone they had broken up because they didn't want the Christmas party at Erwin's to be ruined didn't mean she owned Levi to act like his faithful and bubbly dog.

It happened that night after he had stood her up at the movies.

Levi had gathered all of his determination and had managed to push all thoughts aside from the back of his brain, as he was despairate to ignore that feeling your make out session had brushed on him. He had walked up to Petra, all dissolved and stoic, his chest swelling with anxiety. He had stared at her with an agape mouth, he had been muttering words so honest that he felt were fatally brute and Petra had digested them all without any difficulty.

And before he knew it, he was over and done.

Petra hadn't cried, she hadn't wept, she had only answered him with a smile that she'd rather just be friends with him if things weren't going to work between them.

And to an extended it tortured the ravenette, mostly because he remembered the hurt look in her face before she had managed to hide it with her usual mellow smile.

Taking another sigh, Levi stared at Petra's hand while she played silently with the lettuce hem of her dress. Her hazel orbs were fixed on you, who laid before the fireplace like a stray cat on the tire of car during a snowy day. Levi couldnt exactly place the exact emotion behind Petra's expression, though it would be perceived by most as a saddened one. There were specs of regret gathering at the corners of her eyes, reluctance gathered at her slightly puckered lips and a hint of determination to the front tips of her eyebrows.

Maybe Petra's inner strength was something that Levi deeply admired.

Levi made no effort whatsoever to reach out to her to ask what was going on, not even to show some seemingly convern. The more he looked at Petra, the more it felt utterly wrong for him to simply stand next to her, knowing what he had do behind her back. Whether he loved her or not, it wasn't like him to be caught up in such stupid drama.

"Shorty!"

Levi looked up to an enthusiastic Hange with much tousled hair and a big grin on her face that spread from one ear to another. With another, more thorough glance, he quickly became aware of the cake in her hands; a cake covered in white frosting, decorated with soft pastel green letters that wrote a simple birthday wish to his person. He couldn't help but let out a sigh.

"For you!" Hange smiled further "Erwiiin, come light up the candles!"

Looking around the room he noticed how all of his friends' gazes were on him. Mike and Nanaba remained cuddled on the couch opposite to the one he was on, Petra was mellowy smiling at his eith her cherry lips pressed into a thin line and you were fiddling with what seating arrangement was most comfortable for you at the moment.

"We're celebrating another year where you went up in age and down in height, how delightful." Mike commented, causing laughter to spark between the small group of people around you.

After the spur of happiness died out your eyes met with Levi's, briefly and then they traveled anywhere else in the room altogether.

"Let's light up the candles!" Smiled Erwin as he flicked the small metallic button of his lighter.

"I don't want too many, shit. The last time you took my lungs out."

"Not our fault that you're old Levi!" You spoke, earning a half smile by the ravenette.

"Very old!" Hange agreed.

"Tch, I'm only turning twenty six shut your shitty mouths!"

The warm light of the fire licked each waxed strip of wick that hung from the candles, illuminating Hange's face in warm orange light. Once done with lighting up the candles, Erwin plopped himself in between Levi and Petra, crossing his hands over his knees as he shifted his bottom in the most uncomfortable seating on a couch you had ever witnessed.

You merely caught a glimpse of Hange kneeling before Levi as you dragged your gaze over to Petra, fixating it on her for the thousandth time this evening.

There only was one thing in your head that bounced between the crevices of your brain like crazy. Just one simple words that held so much behind it.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow you were going to apologize to Petra and try to make amends. Being the despicable toxic person you had turned into didn't suit you. Owing up to your mistakes was the first step to redemption and you weren't afraid to take it.

As you fell into a spiral of thoughts and guesses about tomorrow though, you couldn't help but subtly ignore the cheerful sing alone to Levi's birthday song.

.....

"Thank you for coming!"

Petra's hair was messily swaying all over her face, falling a direct victim to the frozen December air, yet she smiled as if nothing was going on.

The park around you was covered in snow. White was primarily the color that was plastered on everything, save for the dry stems of trees that were once covered in forest green leaves.

Your peeping hot coffee did nothing to warm up your hands, despite your best wishes and in the moment you had called victim to some specs of jealousy over Petra's gloved hands as they rubbed soothing over her own coffee.

"Of course, I had been meaning to talk to you as well."

"Oh you did?" Petra spoke with her eyebrows following the little surprise that was masking her tone. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd come."

"Yeah about that-"

"Can I please go first?" Petra cut you off.

Her huge hazel eyes that blinked into yours from your left side left you little to no space to deny her wish. Thus, by taking a sigh, you pushed past the quick beating of your heart and gestured her to go first with a kind smile on your face.

"Okay oof, thanks!" Petra huffed "look. Levi and I broke up. Now I know that you'll say it doesn't concern you, and frankly it'd be ideal if it didn't, but I know it does, because Levi explained to me what happened."

At that Petra slightly paused.

Naturallye first thing that came to your mind was the need to express an apology. Although, you weren't that sure if Petra would perceive the apology as sincere, you felt like you ought to give one to her. Yet her eyes blinked into yours further as she took another turn down the path you were walking on and you wordlessly followed asuit.

"I love Levi you know," she sighed "but Levi loves you. You're not over each other and it's painfully obvious, I mean you did just collided to eachother quite literally, not giving a single care about whether you couldn't have each other or not."

A sheer red colored tint painted your cheeks at her words.

Your skin pricked you, burning up a stingingly painful path to all of the pores on your face as shame took the form of an earth shattering wave. Your heart started heaping beats, hollering into the depths of your chest and you could hear it bounce inside your eardrums as if your whole body was hollow save for the jolting organ and the echo of the sound it made was bouncing around each fleshy wall.

Petra was right and you couldn't help but accept but stand the as she was lightning you with her words.

"It hurts to see that someone that I love doesn't love me back but it hurts more to see that you two are very miserable without eachother. I really thought you were a bitch you know."

At the sound of that, you let out a startled laugh.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you just gave us looks when we'd shoe up together somewhere or you'd simply leave, but I don't like turning my back on people and judging them like that. I'm in no place to judge anyone a coping mechanism."

Petra sighed. Her fingers curled strongly onto her cup, while her left palm went to support the cup by the bottom as she angled it on her lips. She made a tiny gulping noise as she drank a sip from her latte, her nose crinkling up as the hot beverage brushed over her sensitive tongue. In turn, you sipped similarly, mimicking Petra just hoping it would serve as a sign for her to go on with her speech.

"I might be hurt, but I vouch to help you and Levi resolve what's going on and get back together."

"You do?"

"Mhm"

"Petra I, I don't know what to say you- you're a literal angel." You admit and the guilt in your stomach only growled in its awakening.

You and Levi had hurt a wonderful person. Petra didn't need to be nice to you, she didn't need to offer to help you with anything but once you made yourself step inside her shoes you were able to see why she had perceived you the way that she initially had.

"I'm sorry."

Your voice was silent and stripped of any emotion other than shame yet Petra was beaming at you in response.

Her warm smile was elegant and comforting as she stared at you, taking another gulp of her drink with a soft giggle. Your eyes were locked with hers, saddened (e/c) irises staring into her hazel ones, as she smiled even more little by little.

It was strange.

There was a different kind of bubbling inside your chest and you knew because your heart wasn't hammering anymore, not was your stomach trying to be ripped apart in tiny pieces after it vored into your other intestines. You felt serene, at peace even.

It clicked to you that this is what must feel to be forgiven.

"It's fine, plus you guys kinda deserve each other." Petra laughed at your chocked inhale, pressing a comforting, gloved palm to your shoulder. "I'd rather find my happiness when I'm not in between two people that struggle to find theirs."

Petra nuzzled to the comfort of her jacket, giving you a scrunched up bunny smile. You knew it's not that she hoped you could be best friends after this. She simply wanted to make sure that she could do her best to help two people find happiness. And it wasn't all that bad, you figured. You didn't know what you would do were you in her place.

In a way, you admired Petra for being so strong.

"Besides, girls shouldn't bring down other girls."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry about what I did behind your back. I own up to my mistake. I can't take it back but I can promise that I won't become this toxic ever again."

You shot an apologetic side smile at her as you followed her tracks.

Taking a new look in your surroundings, you deeply inhaled the cold air, filling your lungs in shivering winter freshness. A few specs of snow were adorning Petra's hair as the fell from the sky in a dainty manner, licking the stray threads that popped from her wooly gloves.

There definitely was a commotion a few blocks away. You could hear sirens go off not so far from your spot but you chose to ignore them, it was typical for a city person to filter out unnecessary noise, and having to live in Trost added tons to what you had to filter or not.

"It's December twenty six and the two is back to being a Mayhem." Petra sighed.

"It's like we're Gotham or some shit."

"Gotham?" Petra blinked at you, earning a gasp from you.

"Step one to being the friend of someone who's majoring in comics-"

"Oh, friends yay!"

Shaking your head, to ignore the child like enthusiasm, you continued, "Please know the most well known fictional city, it's Batman's city too."

"OH!" Petra's mouth fell agape as she took in the information, but she quickly giggled again as she saw that you easily took a gulp of your beverage "you're right."

For what seemed like a second you felt at peace once again. Petra bubbled about how she wanted to apologise to Levi about her rather cold behavior last night, and explained in the most non detailed way how it was the memory of the passing of her mother that had caused her to become this grumpy.

"Don't worry Petra! But beware, you could be turning into Levi version two point oh and-"

A loud sound startled you, sending both you and Petra back a few steps. Dumbfounded, you stared at each other and around you, locking eyes with different by passers that were just as shocked as you.

"Maybe we should go back!" Petra suggested. You simply nodded, hearing a good amount of running footsteps coming to the direction of the block you were in. In any way, getting caught up with a manhunt wasn't in your plans for today

"Yeah maybe we shou-"

Your words were cut off absurdly, harshly and shockingly all together. As gunmetal orbs locked with yours, your eyelids shot open, hour mouth dropping to the snow covered concrete.

"Levi?"

Wait, Levi? That was actually so random

Before you could manage to process what was going on around you, or why on earth Levi had just popped up from the alley right across you another head splitting sound filled the air.

Levi -yes, this was indeed Levi, you just didn't really know how to process this- collapsed on his knees like a rag doll, his torso and head giving in to the exhaustion of his body. Once he fell, you stood frozen, shieldimg Petra with one hand as the two of you watched in horror while crimson started littering the sugary snow.

"Call an ambulance." You spoke dryly, eyes still wide with horror.

The people who had seemed to be after Levi quickly fell onto the hands of the hands of a handful of police men who were on their tracks, but you couldn't care to look at their faces. You just run towards Levi, always followed by a petrified Petra, your feet giving in as you kneeled right next to him, your fingers gingery ghosting over him just to inspect what was his condition.

You listened as Petra spoke with the emergency center in horror, explaining what was the scene before her eyes while struggling to keep herself from trembling.

"What's going on?" Shy muttered once she detached the phone off her ear.

"I'm pretty sure now is not the right time for a story, but Levi used to be in a street gang in his teens."

"Oh boy."

Oh boy indeed.

Here's your gentle reminder that constructive criticism makes me cry because I'm a baby

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @liddolwhynot2000 @ackermans-freedom-inc @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore @levisbrat25 @thethyri @hawkssnugget @berrijam @melancholicmonologue

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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

Caring for a Sore S/O after Working Out

Kuroo, Bokuto, Akaashi, & Tsukki x Reader - Sore S/O Headcanons

request: “can i request headcanons with the third gym squad when their s/o is sore from doing excercise? usually i don't excercise, the last week i just jump the rope, and my left leg is just aching as hell, Now I'm limping, sliding my hurt leg lmao thank u by the way!!!!!”

a/n: ok i felt this. i haven’t worked out since quarantine began and i am physically falling apart rn. so even if i did workout, i’d probably be in so much pain that i’d quit the next day oop. BUT here’s the 3rd gym squad, at your service bby <33 hope u enjoy!

warnings: slightly suggestive for Kuroo

total wc: 1020

---

Kuroo:

lately Kuroo has been pestering you to come to the gym w/ him

i mean you are dating an athlete and you gotta admit, he looks pretty damn good

but when you wake up at 4am to an unwelcome aching all over your body, the regret sets in

your arms, legs, thighs… everything is so sore. it hurts to even shift under the covers

you stifle several groans, trying not to wake up Kuroo, but he’s such a light sleeper that his eyes are open the second you make a noise

“You okay, babe?” he mumbles sleepily, rubbing his eyes

“Kuroo, I am in so much pain. The gym was a mistake.” you murmur, “What do I do? I don’t think I can go back to sleep.”

“I’ve gotcha, baby. What hurts?” he’s pulling the covers off of you

Your face flushes, skin exposed, unsure of what he’s planning to do

He smirks, “Relax, I’m just gonna give you a massage.”

he’ll start with your shoulders, pressing into them with firm hands, and you release a deep satisfied breath

Tetsurou will work his way down your body, savoring the contented hums you release, making sure to apply direct, but gentle pressure

when he finds his way to your legs, you let out a groan, and now Kuroo’s cheeks are tinged pink

but you’re already sore, so he spares you for tonight

when he’s finished, he leaves trails of kisses down your back and grabs you a heating pad

you thank him with a sleepy peck on the forehead and he responds by pulling you into his arms, ignoring the little “Ouch” you squeak out

Bokuto:

you’d worked out a couple of days ago and Bo was SO PROUD OF YOU

but the thing is, he forgot how sore people could get if they haven’t exercised in a while

so when he came over to your place and leapt into your arms for a hug, you both crashed to the floor, your legs unable to handle the strain of his sudden movements

now you’re not only sore, but there’s a sharp pain shooting up your arm

he’ll feel sO bad about it, apologizing profusely on his knees while grasping your hands

“Y/n, I am SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!”

like babe, he’s pleading, his eyes are so big

and you won’t have any time to respond to him because he’ll have already scooped you up in his arms

he’s holding you bridal style, his grip gentle and secure, eyes on you the whole time

“Were you really that sore, baby?”

“Bokuto, I literally collapsed. What do you think?”

“Please let me make it up to you!” he begs

be prepared for a netflix night and all kinds of takeout food

he’ll make sure your legs are laid over his lap and he’ll keep his warm hands on your thighs the whole time, stroking them softly

now every time you workout, you have to tell him beforehand, bc he’s scared of you collapsing under his crushing hugs

Akaashi:

he’ll see you limping and immediately assess the situation

you’ve clearly done something out of the ordinary, you’ve been complaining about how heavy your arms feel, and you’re unreasonably tired

so when you finally mention your workout the other day, everything clicks and he decides to pull out his full regimen for muscle soreness and strain

he starts randomly bringing you water bottles throughout the day

if it’s your abs that hurt, Akaashi will bring you a hot water bottle and a fuzzy, blanket

at night, before you both finish up some documentary series together, you’ll hear water running in your bathroom

you walk in to find Akaashi filling it up, clouds of bubbles sitting on the water’s surface

he’ll turn around and give you a soft smile

“Thought you might like something soothing, y/n.”

“Akaashi… you’re amazing.”

once you’re relaxed and out of your bath, he motions for you to sit with him, leaving a big space for you to lay out on the sofa

but you’re feeling cuddly and lean into his side

he’ll just run his fingers through your hair, not minding the dampness, lowkey giving you a scalp massage

and if your hair is long enough, Akaashi will move it to the side, lightly brushing the skin on your neck and trace the crevices on your shoulders and neck

you literally work out just so you get this treatment more often lmao

Tsukki:

he actually makes fun of you for trying to exercise in the first place

“You do realize you have to do this again to get results, right?” he snorts, “If you feel this awful, maybe just don’t do it at all.”

Tsukki says that, but the next day he’ll be helping you learn proper form for different exercises

he’ll position your arms and legs so you don’t put pressure on your back and he’ll keep you from overdoing it while on a run

ever wonder why he smells so fresh? this guy uses icy hot all. the. time.

it helps him release all kinds of tension in his muscles

he’ll absolutely convert you to it, you have no choice in this matter

but Tsukishima insists you’re putting it on wrong and definitely uses it as an opportunity to get his hands on you in a slightly more discreet way you’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart

when he’s rubbing it in on your back, you lean into the touch and he teases you by immediately dropping his hands to wash them off

you’ll be pouting around the house, but when he comes back, he’ll start massaging pressure points, rubbing your back and neck

Tsukki’s hands are literal magic yes, you may take this in any way you’d like to

“How’d you get so good at this?” you ask, the soreness slowly fading

“Wikihow.” he says monotonously

“No, really babe. I have to know your secret.”

“...I literally read an article and just figured it out from there.”

he actually probably did learn it off the internet, but you refuse to believe it

Tsukki definitely threatens to charge you for his services, but he secretly relishes how much you seem to enjoy his touch

---

tags: @cherryonigiri

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years

Text

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 7 | Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?

A/N: This will update every Thursday. There are 13 chapters. There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships. This is the one I choose to write this time.

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship. When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian. Which is the one thing he never knew he needed. Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship. But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: Vivian meets Luke and they decide to take their relationship public via a trip to Centre Court.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open! Let me know if you want to be added. Thank you for reading!

Vivian made plans to pick up Tom at his house on Friday night and go to see a movie. He did pretty well with the protocols, although he needed prompting to send Vivian text about his meals. Tom answered the door in just his jeans.

“Ma’am.” He held at his hand to Vivian.

“Sunshine.” She kissed, hand on his neck.

“I’ll finish getting dressed.” She followed him through the house and into the master bedroom. Vivian stopped as she took into the scene. Clothes everywhere. In piles on the floor and on a chair.

“Sunshine. Is this how this always looks?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “More or less, ma’am.” He dug through the closet for a shirt to wear.

“Clean it up now, please.”

“But we’re going to the movies. I can do it when we get back.”

“No, you’re doing it now.” She dropped her purse.

“It can really wait until after the movie. We’ll be late.” Tom continued to protest. He realized his mistake too late, spying the frown on Vivian’s face. “Sorry, ma’am.” His eyes cast downward.

“Get your hamper.” She sat down on the edge of the armchair in the room. Tom disappeared into the bathroom and brought out a large hamper.

“Put the clothes into the hamper.” She crossed her arms as Tom scoffed. With a sigh, he gathered all the clothes, not sure which were clean and which were dirty, not that it mattered at this point.

He smiled as he put all the clothes in the hamper and shut the lid.

“Now take them out.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open but complied reluctantly, pulling the clothes out into a pile.

“Now repeat that twenty times.”

“But the movie, ma’am.”

“Then I suggest you hurry, sunshine. And count it out loud.”

Tom grumbled as he repeated the task, counting it out. As Vivian tapped her foot, staring down at her phone. He picked up his pace as he could sense her irritation growing.

“Twenty.” He worked up a bit of a sweat and closed the lid to the hamper.

Vivian stood and kissed his cheek. “Good job, sunshine. Keep the place picked up. Now let’s go to the movie, we can still make it if we hurry.”

Tom threw on a pair of shoes and grabbed his phone and wallet while Vivian walked to the front door. They made it to the movie in time to grab concessions, but they missed a few previews. Vivian selected seats at the back with her hand on the inside of Tom’s thigh the entire time. Her fingers grazing his cock, causing Tom to jump.

“Do I distract you, sunshine?” Vivian whispered into his ear, nibbling behind the lobe.

“A bit, ma’am.” Tom hissed, squirming in his seat.

“If you stay still for the rest of the movie, you can have a reward when we return home.”

“What kind of reward, ma’am?” He smirked at her in the dark.

She squeezed his leg tight. “The kind that uses my mouth.”

Tom hissed. “Yes ma’am.”

Vivian’s interest in the movie waned as she found it much more entertaining to tease Tom. He did a much better job than she expected him to do so. Tom impressed her.

They waited until everyone else left the theater, in part to allow them some privacy and in part for Tom to cool down.

“Did I earn a reward, darling?” He wore a smug smile on his face.

Vivian sized him up as though turning the decision over in her head, before squeezing his arm. “Yes you did, darling. Now let’s head home.”

Tom didn’t let go of Vivian’s hand as they walked up the front steps to his house. He may or may not have dropped his keys trying to open the door in excitement.

“Living room, sunshine. Strip, hands behind your head.”

She swore Tom skipped into the living room and stripped off his pants, shirt and underpants, cock already semi-hard in anticipation. He folded them and put them on the same table as that first night.

“Good boy, sunshine.” Tom’s chest puffed. Her nail ran along his chest, trailing down his torso until running along his shaft. He inhaled sharply. “Very good boy.”

Vivian pulled off her own dress and panties and unhooked her bra. She folded them and handed them to Tom, who placed them on the same table as his own clothes.

Vivian lowered in front of him. “You will not move or touch me. If you do, I stop.”

“Yes ma’am.” Tom shifted his feet.

“Now for your reward.”

She licked the tip of his cock and he moaned. Vivian kissed along his shaft and cupped his balls, heavy in her palm.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom hummed, his head falling back.

Tom’s moan made Vivian’s own arousal grow. She took him into her mouth and sucked hard. His hands clenched at his sides. Vivian hollowed her cheeks and sucked off Tom, sliding her lips and tongue along him while fondling him with her other hand. Tom grew close, his balls tightening in Vivian’s hand, and she popped off his cock and jerked his cock until he came in spurts on her chest.

Tom stood still and gazed down at Vivian, covered in him. It was beautiful.

“May I, ma’am?” Tom raised a knowing eyebrow.

Vivian nodded and laid back onto the floor. Tom crawled towards her. He nipped along her inner thigh, her hand grabbing the back of his head, steering him toward her core. His tongue licked along her, already wet.

“That’s it, sunshine.” She moaned.

Tom’s nose nudged along her clit and he pushed her legs wider. He pushed two fingers into Vivian. As he thrusted into her, Tom licked and sucked her clit. She tugged at his hair, sending jabs of pain through him, her nails digging into his scalp. Vivian ground against Tom’s face. The slight stubble rubbing against the delicate skin of her thighs.

“Yes, fuck your mouth, sunshine. So good!” Vivian moaned.

Tom pressed and rubbed against her clit and she came, shuddering against Tom’s mouth, which did not stop. Vivian pulled him away from her. Tom curled up against her leg, hugging it tight. She sat up and petted his hair. Tom hummed.

“I need to go home, sunshine.” Vivian cooed.

“I wish you would stay, ma’am. It is better when you stay.”

Vivian chuckled. “But I have nothing with me.”

Tom stood up. “One moment, ma’am.”

He hustled away and Vivian giggled at how his bare ass swayed as he walked away. He came back with a cosmetic bag and a pair of pajamas, identical to her favorites. Inside the bag were twins of the toiletries in her shower.

“How did you—”

“I took pictures one morning while you slept and then of the label of your pajamas. These seemed to be your favorites. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

She pulled him into a passionate kiss. “That is the sweetest thing, sunshine. You are so thoughtful.” Tom blushed. “Help me up, please.” He extended his hand to her and helped her to her feet.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

They both showered and slipped into pajamas and then tucked under the sheets, Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist.

Tom woke up to Vivian draped across his torso, her hair tickling along his jaw. He ran his fingers up and down her back and she nuzzled into his neck. Tom realized the relationship was still new. Hell, there hadn’t even been paparazzi photos yet or the obligatory Daily Mail article filled with innuendo and gossip. But everything felt right, like home. He appreciated how Vivian looked after him, not because it was her job, but because she genuinely cared.

Tom closed his eyes and enjoyed the heavy weight of her body on his chest until his stomach growled. He tapped on Vivian’s shoulder.

“Ma’am, what would you like for breakfast?” he whispered, drawing circles on her back.

“Hmmmm?” Vivian moaned, rolling onto her side. “Coffee…”

“Anything else?” He kissed her head.

“Food.” she grumbled.

“I think I can oblige. I am going to get up now.”

“Okay…”

Tom took care to lift Vivian’s head up and place it back on the pillow and cover her with the duvet, before tugging on a pair of boxer briefs and heading to the kitchen. He cooked up a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast while the coffee brewed. Once everything was ready, Tom placed two plates on a tray along with coffee.

“Ma’am…” He leaned down and kissed behind her ear. “Breakfast is ready.”

Vivan stretched and sat up with a smile. Tom set the tray down and adjusted the pillows behind Vivian. He placed the tray over her lap and she inhaled the aroma of coffee and eggs.

“Smells divine, sunshine. Thank you.”

She handed him a cup of coffee before sipping her own. Made sweet just how she liked it. Tom sipped his own coffee. Vivian grabbed a piece of toast and held it out for Tom. He bit down on the corner, the crispy bread and butter coating his mouth. She followed with a piece of bacon.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He offered her a piece of toast and she snapped at it. They laughed and ate the entire breakfast. Tom moved the tray out of the way and curled next to Vivian.

“So what are your plans today?” She petted his head.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.” He gazed up at her. “Luke wants to meet sometime this week with you and me.”

Vivian frowned. “Did he say why?”

Tom stood to clear the dishes. “He mentioned something about going over what to expect at Wimbledon. The pictures, the fallout, what not.” He ducked out of the room.

Vivian furrowed her brow and tugged on one of Tom’s shirts and followed him. “Fallout?”

“I am sure once I show up on the arm of a stunningly beautiful woman at Centre Court, people will talk.”

Vivian raised an eyebrow. She was well aware of the notoriety of Tom’s relationships in the press. She did her research before jumping into the relationship.

“To be honest, I am surprised there haven’t been photos already.” She hopped onto the counter while Tom washed the dishes.

“I am as well, ma’am. Should I have Luke call you?”

“Hand me your phone, sunshine.”

Tom hesitantly reached across the counter and handed Vivian his mobile. She scrolled through his contacts and pushed one.

“Why are you calling me on a Saturday morning? What kind of problem did you create and now I have to solve, you tit?”

“Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?” Vivian snapped back. Tom reached for his mobile, but Vivian waved him off and smirked.

“Who is this and why do you have Tom’s mobile?” Luke questioned back.

“It’s Vivian Swann and I have his mobile because he gave it to me.”

“Well… I… I…” Luke sputtered.

“I don’t need your apologies. You wanted to meet with me this week. I’m available Monday at 10 a.m. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke snapped.

“I’ll see you then. I hope you have a lovely weekend, Mr. Windsor.”

“You too. Give my hellos to Tom.”

Vivian glanced over at Tom, who had a look of absolute horror on his face as his publicist talked with his domme girlfriend.

“I will, thank you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Vivian grabbed his hand and pulled Tom close, kissing his lips. “Luke gives his hellos.” She purred at him.

Tom chuckled, his arms wrapping around her waist. His lips curled into a smile while he kissed her back. “Wow, Luke is really forward today. I must have a talk with him.”

“I have taken some liberties.” Vivian collapsed into giggles, peppering kisses on Tom’s face. “What do you say we have a lazy weekend, sunshine? Lie on the couch watching movies, ordering takeaway and just being lumps?”

“I like this plan, ma’am. May I suggest we start with a leisurely shower for two?”

“You read my mind.”

The two of them didn’t leave Tom’s house for the next two days. They made love on the couch, the bed and even the kitchen counter, when Tom waylaid Vivian as she put away the leftovers from lunch on Sunday.

“I can’t get enough of you, ma’am.” he growled as he thrusted into her.

“Me too, sunshine.” Her nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, leaving red crescent marks. Tom came and slumped against her after Vivian orgasmed.

Vivian should have gone home on Sunday night so she could get ready for work, but she didn’t want to leave Tom. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms or the view of his boyish smile. So instead set her alarm to an obscene time and slipped under the covers to curl over Tom’s back.

Vivian needed three cups of coffee on Monday morning and was still a grump arriving at the office. Mary shooed away any unnecessary appointments and screened all Vivian’s phone calls.

“Ms. Swann.” Mary popped her head in at 9:30.

“Yes, Mary?” Vivian groaned, the coffee kicking in.

“You have that personal meeting at 10 a.m. and you emailed me on Saturday to remind you…”

Vivian jumped up and grabbed her suit jacket and purse. “Thank you, Mary.” She hustled out of the building, hoping traffic wouldn’t be too bad.

Tom paced inside Luke’s office, waiting for Vivian to arrive. Luke sat behind his enormous glass and steel desk, his eyes following Tom’s path.

“Are you nervous?” Tom jumped at the noise and laughed nervously. He ran his hands through his hair.

“What? No! Just hoping she didn’t get caught in traffic, that’s all.” His closed lip smile doing nothing to dissuade Luke.

“New suit?” Tom glanced down. Vivian had picked it out for him during a shopping trip. He had other suits, but he wanted to wear this one today.

“Yes, I believe it is.” Tom smiled.

“Bit fancy for a meeting with me. You usually turn up in that same fucking sweater and jeans. Trying to impress the girl?”

“No. I have other meetings today.” Tom lied. “And she is not “the girl” or “a girl” she is a woman, my girlfriend, and her name is Vivian. And I would expect you to speak about her in the tone and respect she deserves.”

“Lord, I hope he would.” Vivian kissed Tom’s cheek. “I like the suit, darling.”

Tom blushed. “I like your suit too.” He returned the kiss. Luke rolled his eyes.

“Okay, lovebirds take a seat.” He gestured at the two chairs in front of the desk.” Vivian sat, and then Tom. She reached out to touch his arm.

“So Mr. Windsor, I imagine this meeting has several purposes…”

“Well, actually—”

Vivian cut him off. “Please don’t patronize me with any spin talk. I’m a lawyer, bullshit is my business. Now I believe you wanted this meeting to discuss our upcoming outing to Wimbledon. Which is all fine and good, but I suspect you have also called this meeting to suss me out?”

Luke sat silently for a moment. “Yes, that’s correct. I’d rather know about any potential pitfalls ahead of time. You can’t be too careful.”

Vivian smiled. “I can assure you, I only have Tom’s best interests at heart. In fact, I even offered to sign a NDA, but he refused.”

Luke’s mouth dropped open, and he narrowed his eyes at Tom. “You—”

“It was rather romantic.” Vivian squeezed Tom’s arm. “Wasn’t it, darling?”

Tom sat dumbstruck. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was in no position to argue. “It was, darling.”

Vivian returned her gaze to Luke. “I am a junior partner at Watkins, Price, and Forbes, I graduated with my law degree from Oxford, attended Wycombe Abbey on scholarship, grew up in Sheffield, lost the accent. I have been sued three times, all due to work. Every time I prevailed. But you knew all of that, Mr. Windsor, because you do your job and do it well. So ask me what you want to ask?”

Luke blinked, his gaze darting between Tom and Vivian. “I like her, Thomas.” He wagged his finger at Vivian. “I like her a lot.” Tom beamed with pride. “You’re right. Now tell me what a basic Google search won’t. Tell what your best mate from Oxford might say to a reporter if offered enough money to clear her overdraft. Those dark secrets no one knows.”

Vivian gazed at Tom, looking for the silent assent to proceed. “Tell him everything, darling.” Tom reached out and squeezed her hand. “He’ll need to know sooner or later.”

“So I kissed a girl a few times at Oxford, no pictures and I can’t even remember her name. I had an ex who I needed to get a restraining order against about seven years ago. He is now in prison for assaulting another woman. I’ve had a few online dating profiles that are now deactivated. And…” She glanced at Tom one more time and he nodded. “… Tom and I engage in a D/s lifestyle relationship.”

“Well, that is not all that bad… Wait, what? A D/s lifestyle relationship? Tom would you like to explain?” Luke glared, nostrils flaring.

“I only brought it up because I have had a couple of similar relationships in the past. They all ended amicably, but you never know.” Vivian interjected. “D/s is dominant/submissive.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, processing the information. “Do the two, use like whips and masks and that sort of thing? Because Tom, your sex life is really…”

Tom and Vivian burst into laughter. “Luke, if you could see your face. Not yet.” He winked at Vivian. “But I will be certain to take photos.” Luke shot up. “Kidding! It just means an exchange of power. I have given the power to Vivian and in return she takes care of me.” Tom’s face softened. “Quite well I may so.”

“And you of me, darling.” They leaned over and kissed. Luke gagged in the background.

“Ok, enough, please stop making out in my office. I would like to keep my breakfast in my stomach. Now this D/s does it interfere with Tom’s job?” He directed his questions towards Vivian.

“Nope, I stay completely out of his work. It is imperative he remain autonomous in that regard. I do pick out his clothes for events and what not, but whether or not he chooses to attend something or film a project or not is entirely his purview. Just as he wouldn’t tell me how to prepare for trial.”

“And otherwise, you do what?” Luke asked. “I’m not talking in bed, but you said lifestyle. What else do you do for Tom?”

“Make sure he is eating properly, getting enough, keeping to his schedule.”

“That makes two of us.” Luke interjected.

“If you share his schedule with me, I am more than happy to help. He…” she pinched Tom’s side. “… has refused to share his calendar with me thus far. I’m stuck with the schedule he emails me on Sunday.” Tom glanced away.

“Done. Tom. I take it back.” Luke commented, straightfaced. “I don’t like her. I love her. In fact, if you screw this up, I might date her myself.”

Vivian blushed. She appreciated her efforts being valued but someone other than Tom, although it wasn’t necessary. She cleared her throat.

“So now that all the dirty laundry is out for all to see, let’s talk tennis.”

Luke slammed his hands on the desk. “Right, so the two of you will definitely be photographed. We have two options, deny a relationship or be honest about the two of you dating. If you want to deny, I can’t have the two of you kissing at the event. We can spin you two as just good friends until you are ready to reveal. But regardless, the papers are likely to post something. Vivian, I would tell you not to read the comments.”

“I would support that.” Tom piped in.

Vivian nodded. “Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. I would like your email and phone number in case I need to get a hold of you or Boy Wonder over here.” Tom grinned.

“I like that nickname.” Vivian fished out a business card and wrote on the back. “There is my business information and my personal information is on the back.” Luke set the card down by his monitor.

“Luke…” Tom extended his hand. The two shook hands and embraced before Luke extended his hand to Vivian.

“I don’t know where he found you, but I’m glad he did.” Luke pulled Vivian into a hug. “If you break his heart, I will kill you.” he whispered in her ear.

“The same goes for you, Luke, old boy.” she smiled back, she squeezed his hand hard.

“You have some grip.” Luke commented, shaking out his hand.

“Thanks. Now if you don’t mind, I have some paperwork that needs my attention back at the office.” She grabbed her purse.

“I’ll walk you out.” Tom followed her. They walked in silence to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close behind them.

Once they did, Vivian grabbed the back of Tom’s neck and kissed him. “I do love you in that suit.”

“I wore it for you.” Tom tugged at her lower lip. “Do you have to get back to the office right now?” His hands teased along her side.

“What did you have in mind, sunshine?”

“Lunch.” Tom wiggled his eyebrows.

Vivian burst into laughter. “Are you ever not hungry?”

“Not when I am around you.”

“You’re wearing the tennis racquet tie?” Vivian called out from the living room. She leaned against a chair and fiddled with her swan necklace. She was nervous. This was a big deal. And after today, everything would change.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom’s voice rang out. He stepped into the living room in his dark blue pinstriped suit and light blue shirt. His brown oxfords shining in the light.

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look in a suit, sunshine?” Vivian straightened his tie and picked off a piece of lint from the lapel.

“Ever heard of Tumblr?” He grabbed her purse. “We’ll be late, ma’am.”

Vivian wasn’t used to seeing so many celebrities. She did her best to not gawk. She clung to Tom as he smiled on his way into the stadium. Tom leaned to whisper into her ear.

“You are going to put holes into my jacket with your nails, darling. Relax and smile. You are doing great.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, darling.” She kissed his cheek back.

“I hope the photographers got that.” Tom chuckled.

They made their way to their seats at the Centre Court. “You didn’t say Sophie and Ben would be here.” Vivian nudged Tom’s arm.

“Huh?” His head snapped toward Vivian’s hand to see Benedict and Sophie making their way to them.

“Sophie!” Vivian stood up to envelope Sophie into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Sophie frowned. “I told Ben to have Tom tell you.”

“I may have forgotten to text Tom.” Ben shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

Sophie smacked Benedict hard on the arm. “Ow! Do you mind, there are cameras everywhere?” he hissed.

“Good, then they’ll know I’m mad at you. You are looking dapper, Thomas.” Sophie smiled.

“Vivian picked out at the outfit.”

“So sweet. And Vivian. that dress is divine.”

Vivian blushed. “Tom bought it for me.”

“Way to make me look bad, mate.” Benedict commented, still rubbing his shoulder. “You know you can tone down the perfect gentleman, Disney prince routine every once in the while? Give us mere mortals a chance.”

Tom smirked. “Now why would I do that?”

“I like him just fine the way he is.” Vivian piped up. Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist as he tilted his head to kiss her. She reached up to cup his face.

“That goes double for me, darling.” Tom beamed down at her.

“I see the two of you have decided to go public. I heard camera shutters from here.” Sophie commented. “We’ll be back.” Sophie tugged Ben away.

Tom and Vivian settled into their seats to watch Nadal and Djokovic play in the finals. Vivian’s hand lighted on the back of Tom’s neck and shoulders. His knees tilted towards her, touching against her bare skin. Tom described the play in animated gestures, causing Vivian to laugh.

“I love when you get excited like this.” she commented.

“Like a puppy?” Tom offered.

“No, like an excited child. It is beyond sweet how your face lights up.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“When we get home,” Vivian leaned over to whisper in Tom’s ear, her voice low so the surrounding spectators couldn’t hear. “I’m going to blindfold you with that tie and spank your cute little ass with a tennis racquet. Is that understood?”

Tom crossed his legs, no easy feat in the cramped seating area and covered his mouth with his hand in case the paparazzi were watching. He bit his lower lip and leaned over to whisper back. “Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian smiled as she rubbed Tom’s shoulders and neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, darling. Now let’s enjoy the game.”

Tom shifted in his seat.

“Miss anything?” Benedict asked.

Vivian smiled up at Ben and Sophie. “Just making plans for later tonight.”

Sophie sat down next to Vivian. “Can we join in?” she asked innocently. Tom coughed.

“Darling,” Vivian turned her attention back to Tom, rubbing his back. “Are you alright? Have some water.” She handed him a water bottle. Tom took a long swig.

“I don’t see why not? I was trying to decide where to go for dinner. Unless the two of you need to get back home to the kids?”

Sophie grabbed Vivian’s arm. “I know a delightful little place not too far away.”

“Sounds delicious.” Vivian glanced over at Tom, whose face was an uncomely shade of white. “What do you say, boys? Want to join us?”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Benedict commented.

“Of course, darling.”

Vivian chuckled. “Isn’t it lovely when people just do what we want, Sophie?”

“Indeed it is.”

The rest of the match was torture for Tom. Vivian kept squeezing his knee and rubbing his neck which caused blood to rush to body parts he would rather not in public. She was doing it on purpose and there wasn’t much Tom could do to stop it.

“You’re teasing me, darling.” Tom hissed into her ear.

“Yes I am, darling. It’s not my fault, your mind is in the gutter.”

“Who put it there?”

Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Guilty. But you know you love it.”

The match dragged on and Tom wanted nothing more than to beg off dinner and returned Vivians’ apartment but he knew she would never let him. She was enjoying torturing him too much.

Vivian made a point of ordering not only an appetizer and entrée but dessert and coffee. Tom picked at their dessert.

“Tom, are you okay?” Benedict asked as he sipped a decaf coffee. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Not going to lie, Ben. I am rather eager to get home.” He stretched and yawned for effect. He shot a glare over at Benedict while Vivian chatted with Sophie about her necklace.

“Right. Sophs…. we really should be going.”

“But I was—”

“I mean we should be going.” Benedict leaned over and whispered in his wife’s ear.

“Right, dear. The boys will need us. Vivian….” The women hugged. “… a delight as always. Tom…” Tom reached over the table to hug Sophie and Benedict.

“Love you, Soph. You too, Ben.” The couple quickly left the restaurant giving their goodbyes and promises to get together soon.

Vivian turned to Tom. “Did you just shoo away our friends so that you can get home sooner?”

“Yes, darling.” Tom smirked. “I am….” He tugged on his tie. “…. looking forward to the evening’s activities.”

Vivian’s hand grazed Tom’s crotch, and she noticed his cock already semi-hard.

“It would appear you are.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #follow my lead #sub!tom

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deancas-fanfiction · 3 years

Text

A Daydream Away

Chapter 1/?

Summary: After multiple couples go missing from a resort in northern Minnesota, Dean and Cas are forced to pose as a couple to investigate the mysterious entity. As Dean and Cas navigate their fake relationship, it leaves Dean questioning what's real and forces him to confront his feelings for Cas.

A story in which Cas is human, Dean is sometimes an idiot, and Sam acts as matchmaker.

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: fake relationship, case fic, sharing a bed, human!cas, Sam ships Dean and Cas, fluff, eventual smut

available on ao3 Read Ch. 2 Here

“I think I found us a case,” Sam announced, entering the Dean Cave with his nose buried in his laptop.

Dean sighed in irritation, pausing the movie he and Cas were in the middle of watching. “This better be good, if you’re interrupting our movie night. You know we’re in the middle of Half Blood Prince, and Cas hasn’t seen it.”

“Metatron did upload the movie content into my –” Cas argued, but stilled at Dean’s murderous glare.

“Being told what happens and actually experiencing it are two very different things, Cas. You have to experience it firsthand.”

Cas opened his mouth to argue but didn’t get the chance, as Sam interrupted him by loudly clearing his throat.

“Are you two done?” Sam looked at the two of them in irritation and Dean had to stifle a laugh at the almost stern expression on his face.

“Sorry, Sammy. The floor is yours. Tell us about your case.”

“Okay, so get this. There’s this resort called Grand View Lodge in Nisswa, Minnesota where couples have reportedly gone missing. In the past month, three couples have disappeared without a trace. No evidence of foul play and all of their personal belongings were left behind as were their vehicles. None of the other guests saw or heard anything.”

“That does sound suspicious,” Cas agreed. “Did the missing persons have anything in common?”

“All I can ascertain from the articles and social media posts is that the couples were very happily in love and were staying there on their honeymoon. But there isn’t a lot of information out there. I think we need to check it out, but we’ll need to pose as a couple if we want to gather information and attempt to lure whatever entity this is.”

“Go for it,” Dean shrugged. “When are you and Eileen leaving?” Dean noted the sudden look of discomfort on Sam’s face as he awkwardly shifted the laptop to his other hand.

“So that’s the thing…”

Dean groaned. “Of course. It’s never that simple.”

“Eileen is on a hunt in Ohio right now. She just got there, so she won’t be back in time.”

“What about Jody? Or Donna?”

Sam shook his head. “Neither can get off work. Claire and Kaia are both out on a hunt, too. That leaves just the three of us.”

“So…?”

“So, that means you and Cas will need to pose as newlyweds, and I can come as backup. The resort is looking for temporary help for the holiday season so I can work at the front desk and interview the employees for information, while you guys can lure the entity and interview the guests.”

Dean choked on his beer and barely managed to sputter out a response. “You want me…and Cas… to pose as a couple? Are you serious?”

“Fine.” He shrugged. “Me and Cas will pose as a couple then, and you can get a job there. I just thought you’d prefer not to work at a customer service desk.”

Dean felt a flash of irritation surge through him at Sam’s suggestion. The idea of Sam and Cas posing as a couple left a bitter taste in his mouth. Imagining them holding hands or having a romantic dinner just the two of them caused him to involuntarily clench his teeth and form a fist. He wasn’t jealous. No really, he wasn’t. It just – wasn’t right, okay? Sam and Cas probably wouldn’t be able to even pull off posing as a couple. So really, for the sake of the case, Dean should agree to pair up with Cas. All for the sake of the case. That’s all.

Suddenly Deans thoughts consisted of posing as a couple with Cas. Well, not just a couple, but Cas’ husband. Dean’s mouth went dry and oh. Okay. That scenario suddenly seemed a lot more pleasant. They’d have to hold hands, but really, that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe add a few lingering touches and cutesy nicknames into the mix. But that shouldn’t be too bad, he’s used to Cas being in his personal space. In fact, he’s sort of grown accustomed to it at this point. Cas has always gravitated towards Dean’s personal space. While it was a mild irritation at first, it evolved into a comfort as it was something so expected. Besides, since Cas became human with the help of Jack, they’ve spent much more time together. Movie nights were nearly a nightly occurrence at this point. Their thighs always pressed against each other as they fight over the shared bowl of popcorn. Or in the mornings, when Dean rests his hand on Cas’ lower back for balance so he can reach a mug from the top shelf. Or when Dean tries to teach Cas how to properly play pool by standing behind him, helping him aim the cue. Really, the list goes on. So, pretending to be married shouldn’t be that much different than their current dynamic.

Huh. That’s a new revelation. Before that thought can cause too much panic, he buries it deep inside and ignores the way it made his stomach swoop. “No, no. You’re right.” Dean cleared his throat in an attempt to hide the way his voice sounded borderline frantic. “I would be a terrible employee. I would probably be fired for flirting with the guests or yelling at my boss.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, great. So, you and Cas can pose as newlyweds, just as I suggested. I’ll book the cabin and we’ll head out early in the morning.” He stomped out of the room and Dean mirrored his brother, rolling his eyes in return.

Cas wordlessly grabbed the remote and pressed play, leaning back into Dean as the movie resumed.

---

The next morning, they were on the road much too early, in both Dean and Cas' opinion. They stayed up later than was probably wise to finish their movie. Then Cas had questions, to which Dean had to patiently answer and suddenly it was nearly two in the morning. Meanwhile, Sam was bright eyed and happily sipping his thermos of coffee as he lowered himself into the Impala.

"Dean, if you wanted to keep sleeping I could --"

"Don't you dare." Dean warned. "I'm driving, now shut your mouth." He heard Sam sigh in response and turned the key, feeling the car rumble beneath him. He pulled out of the garage and turned onto the road, getting a start on the nine-hour drive to Nisswa.

The first hour of the drive was nearly silent. The radio played quietly in the background as all three occupants took the time to fully wake up. Every now and then Cas would nudge Dean's arm from the backseat, his silent way of asking for Dean's coffee. Dean would roll his eyes, but nevertheless pass him the thermos with a smile tugging at his lips.

The silence wasn't broken until Cas complained that Dean finished the coffee. This, of course, prompted into an argument over who was entitled to the last sip of the coffee, only to be broken by Sam's frustrated interjection.

"Guys. Cut it out. You can get more coffee when we stop for gas."

"Gas station coffee is not the same as bunker coffee."

"Yeah, they don't have almond milk at gas stations, Sam."

"See? Not the same." Dean chirped, enjoying teaming up with Cas against Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and changed the subject. "We should probably discuss the case in more detail before we arrive."

"What's left to discuss? Couples went missing while banging on their honeymoon. Probably a routine salt and burn of some pissed off ghost."

"Delicately put, jackass." Sam scoffed. "I was thinking, we should discuss your relationship with Cas."

"My what?" Dean's pulse quickened and he internally cursed his body for betraying him.

"Your relationship with Cas. You know, for the case. We need to come up with a back story so that way if someone asks how you met, Cas won't say 'I gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.'"

"That is how we met, though." Cas insisted.

"Dude, you can't just tell people that!"

"We just need to think of a way to twist it, so it sounds normal." Sam explained. "So, for example, Dean could say he met Cas during a bad time in his life and Cas saved him."

"That's putting it lightly," Dean commented. "Cas? Does that work with you?"

"Fine."

"You're grumpy today." Dean observed, meeting Cas' eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I'm not grumpy. I'm tired. And I didn't get my full amount of coffee."

"You drank your whole thermos and half of mine. How much do you normally drink?"

"More than that."

"You have a caffeine addiction, you know that?"

"Well, at least you two already have the bickering of a married couple down." Sam half joked.

Dean rolled his eyes and focused back on the road; lips drawn into a straight line.

"What else do we need to cover?" Cas resigned, breaking the silence that once again settled over the car.

"Length of relationship."

"Ten years." Cas answered easily.

Sam pursed his lips. "Why don't we say you've been together for 5 years, and friends for the first 5. That will make you fit the same profile as the other missing couples a little more closely."

"Jesus, Sam. We'll be fine, we've been in situations like this before."

"I just don't want your cover blown. We have no one else to fill in. We need to discuss what your wedding was like, who proposed, how long you were engaged --"

Dean cut him off with a sharp look. "The wedding was small, just close family and friends. No one proposed, we both talked about it and together we agreed to get married. The engagement was short, less than a year. How's that for our cover?"

"That's great. Cas, did you get all that?"

"Yes. Can we stop and get more coffee now?"

"I thought gas station coffee wasn't good enough for you?"

"It's not. There's a Starbucks at this next exit. I saw a sign."

"Cas, we're not even halfway there yet. Dean's not going to stop yet."

But sure enough, Dean was already turning towards the exit, cataloguing the way Cas' lips turned up at the corner.

The remaining hours of the trip passed rather quickly. Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in tune to his Zeppelin tape, Sam read lore in preparation of the case, and Cas happily watched the passing snow-clad landscape while sipping on his venti coffee.

As they neared the town of Nisswa, the scenery gave way from a frozen landscape with nothing but bare trees and the occasional truck stop to boutique shops, rustic restaurants, and log-cabin-like structures that served as hotels and cafes. As they neared their turn off the highway, Sam requested to be dropped off in town so he could secure a car rental and check into his own hotel. Sam would be interviewing for the seasonal front desk position early the next morning, so he couldn't be seen arriving with Dean and Cas.

"Oh! Before I forget --" Sam paused after stepping out of the Impala and dug around in his bag. He retrieved two gold bands and handed one to Dean and Cas. "Your wedding rings."

Dean slipped his on and scowled at his brother. "Where did you get these?"

"A pawn shop," Sam said sheepishly. "I grabbed them when I went out on a supply run last night. Don't lose them - I'm pretty sure they're actually gold."

"It's probably a knock off and will turn our fingers green."

"No, Sam is right," Cas observed. He held the ring close to his face, carefully scrutinizing it. "It's 24k gold. It's actually quite good quality."

"Thank you, Cas." Sam said pointedly. "You two better get going and check in. I made your reservation under "Smith." I'll be at the resort tomorrow morning for my interview. I made a very persuasive resume so I should be hired no problem. Just keep your phones on you and check in with me occasionally, yeah?"

"I know how to do my job, Sam. Cas and I will get settled in then we'll talk to some of the guests at breakfast tomorrow morning. Don't worry about us. Worry about your interview," Dean said with a wink. "Cas, you've been upgraded to shotgun, let's go."

With that, Sam stepped away from the car, making room for Cas to climb in. "Be careful, guys."

"Yeah, you too," Dean replied. Cas then shut the door and Dean pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway. "You ready for this?"

Cas nodded, fidgeting with the gold band on his finger. "We met 10 years ago and started dating 5 years ago. A few months ago, we decided to get married and we had a small wedding with our closest family and friends. Now we're on our honeymoon."

"Yeah, that - that's good."

Dean cautiously glanced over at Cas. His hair was tousled from leaning against the window, with the left side matted down and the right side sticking straight out. He had an air of contentment radiating from him, no doubt from the dangerously high levels of caffeine racing through him. Since becoming human, Cas formed a very dependent relationship with both coffee and sleep. Sleeping became his favorite pastime as he was finally able to experience dreams. However, that meant he would often sleep for the better part of the morning, only begrudgingly getting out of bed when Dean would pound on his door to inform him breakfast, and more importantly coffee, was ready. Even then, Cas would be grumpy until he was halfway through his second cup of coffee.

Dean would never admit it to anyone, but he always enjoyed his morning routine with Cas. Cas would silently sit at the table, watching Dean dish up breakfast. Dean would slide a fully loaded plate of eggs and bacon towards him and watch as he took his first bite. Cas would always groan in appreciation (which okay, maybe Dean enjoyed that part a little too much, but he would never admit to that either) and then Dean would refill Cas's mug. At that point Sam would enter the kitchen, just back from his run and openly making a disgusted face at the heaping pile of bacon on Dean's plate. Ignoring him, Dean would sit next to Cas, and Cas would scoot closer to Dean, soaking in his body heat due to the endless cold draft in the bunker. That's the only reason Dean would lean back into him. No other reason, whatsoever, regardless of the knowing look on Sam's face.

Dean ended his train of thought there and signaled for the coming turn which featured a large stone sign with "Grand View Lodge" neatly printed on it. The road was illuminated by string lights and lanterns along it and Dean could see cabins in the trees along the road, with warm yellow lights illuminating the darkness around them. The Impala's headlights shone on a sign directing them towards the main lodge for check-in. The resort grounds seemed beautiful and very quiet. Dean could understand why it was a popular destination for newlyweds. The cold winter air made the glowing cabins seem all the cozier. He could imagine the resort in the summer, filled with families and children running towards the lake with sunscreen and beach towels in tow. It would be quite the opposite than it is now, in mid-December with below zero temps and not a single person in sight.

The first sign of life they saw was the dozen cars parked outside of the main lodge for check in, otherwise no one was out of their cabins. "It's going to be hard to talk to the guests when it's this cold. No one will want to leave their cabin." Dean frowned.

"Sam said there's an optional itinerary over the weekend for all of the guests. We'll have to sign up for some activities so we can interview them."

Dean sighed. "As long as it involves free food, I'm in." He put the car in park and traded the warmth for the frigid cold. It was a sharp cold that hurts your lungs as you breathe it in. It was the kind of cold that you don't spend time in unless you have to. Dean pulled the jacket tight against him and motioned for Cas to follow him inside.

The main lodge was beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. The interior was covered in dark wood, with large leather couches set in front of a roaring stone fireplace. A small gift shop was off to the side and there were large rustic chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Dean could hear silverware clattering and subdued conversation which hinted to the presence of a restaurant down the hall. The front desk was near the doors and they quickly approached to check in.

"Good evening," The receptionist beamed. Her name tag identified her as Brenda. "Welcome to Grand View Lodge. Have either of you stayed with us before?"

"No, Ma'am," Dean responded, leaning against the desk.

"Well, welcome!" She said cheerfully. Dean could already anticipate that she and Sam will get along perfectly once he’s hired. "Here's a map of the resort grounds for your reference. It shows all of our cabins and the four restaurants we have on site. You can dine in or order room service. All of that information is on the back of the map. Now, can I get the name your reservation is under?"

"Dean Smith."

Brenda typed in the name and clicked a few times then looked up at Dean and Cas grinning. "You should have mentioned you were on your Honeymoon! Congratulations, love birds!" Dean felt his face heat up and avoided eye contact with Cas. 'Minnesota Nice' was very real and it was making Dean very uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Dean choked out. "Could we get our keys now? We just had a really long drive and we're tired."

"Oh, of course! I don't want to delay your honeymoon activities," she stated not-so-subtly. She opened a drawer and handed Dean two key cards. Then she grabbed their resort map and circled their cabin number.

"Do you have a list of activities you offer?" Cas questioned.

"Oh! Yes! This weekend we offer both wine and bourbon tasting, depending on your preferences. We also offer couples' cooking classes, and our spa is open for couples' massages. I see you’re staying for a week so here's a pamphlet of all the activities we're offering this month," She explained as she handed over a brochure. "We also have an ice rink which is open until 8pm and free to all guests."

Cas opened his mouth to assumingely ask a question that would only drag out the check-in process, so Dean interrupted him.

"Great, thank you. We appreciate your help," He then grabbed Cas by the hand and pulled him back into the cold.

"She seemed nice," Cas observed.

"Too chipper. Sam will love her."

Cas laughed at that. It was the kind of laugh that shows his perfectly white teeth and makes his eyes slightly crinkle. It was the kind of laugh that was Dean's absolute favorite.

Dean glanced at the map, noting where to drive to get to their cabin. It appeared to be a short drive from the main lodge. He started the car and turned back onto the gravel road they entered on. Following the signs, they were led along a winding road towards the south end of the grounds, where the now frozen lake is located. The trees were dense, and the cabins were growing sparser as they continued along the road. At last, they pulled up to a quaint log cabin that matched the number on their keys. The cabin had large windows and a wrap-around porch that would be perfect to utilize in the summer and fall. The porch light was on, illuminating the front yard which was littered with large pine trees.

He put the Impala in park, and they grabbed their bags out of the backseat. The night was still and silent. There were no lights except for those on the porch. A large expanse of stars and sky nearly took Dean’s breath away. Growing up, Dean would always take solace in the night sky littered with millions of stars. With the ever-constant change of living on the road, the stars were always there. When John would drink too much or be gone too long on a hunt thereby forcing Dean to parent Sam, he would step outside of their usual run-down motel and take a deep breath, taking in the stars. As they got older and Sam’s nerd tendencies began to develop, he would tell Dean all about the constellation. They’d sit on the sidewalk with their backs against the brick motel and Sam would just talk. He’d point out the shapes in the stars and talk about the history and the namesakes behind each one. It was a most welcoming distraction from the constant shit in Dean’s life.

Even now, as he looks up at the brilliant set of stars unhindered by city lights, Dean can’t help but feel grateful for where his life is. Sure, his kid is basically God. And he’s helplessly in love with his best friend who was an angel but is now a human and probably doesn’t feel the same way about him and now he has to pretend to be his husband at a romantic resort, which can only go poorly. Then there’s the fact that his mom was dead, then she was alive, and then she was dead again. Really, just piles and piles of trauma that he’s had to deal with. But God, Dean still feels lucky. Because he has a family. He has Sam, Cas, Jack, Eileen, Jody and the girls. During those years growing up he always assumed he’d be dead before living a life like this.

A gust of wind whips across the yard, stinging all exposed skin which pulls Dean out of his spiraling thoughts. Cas is mirroring Dean from moments ago, also gazing up at the night sky. “I’ve been alive for so long yet the beauty and wonders of this life will never cease to amaze me.” Cas simply states, as if that wasn’t the most poetic shit to ever come out of someone’s mouth.

At a loss for words, Dean clasps Cas’ shoulder and leads him through the snow and into the cabin. He unlocks the door and welcomes the immediate warmth radiating from inside the cabin. The cabin is incredibly cozy. The walls are a dark wood, with leather sofas next to a large electric fireplace and a big fluffy rug. The kitchen is off of the living room, which on a normal occasion would be perfect to cook some proper meals. Then there is a beautiful wooden table in the dining room with dim lighting that would be perfect for a romantic meal. Dean cut off that dangerous train of thought before it went anywhere that made this situation even more complicated.

Speaking of complicated, Cas was no longer by Dean’s side. Frowning, he walked down the hallway that led towards the bathroom and bedroom. It was in the bedroom that he found Cas hovering in the doorway and oh.

Oh.

There was a king size bed in the center of the room with rose petals scattered over it. An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne rested in the center of the bed with a box of chocolate next to it.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Cas looked at Dean questioningly. “Who?”

“Sam. He told them it was our honeymoon! Then this happened.” He gestured at the array of items in the room.

“I see no problem with this behavior. They needed to know we were on our honeymoon for the sake of the case. And we got free champagne and sweets. Usually, you’re all about the free stuff.”

Dean sighed. “No, you’re right. It’s just – never mind. It’s late and I’ve been driving all day. Guess I’m tired.” Cas just nodded and set his bag down. “So, uh –” Dean started, rubbing his hand over his face. “Want me to take the couch tonight? We can switch off every night or something.”

“Dean,” He sighed. ”You said yourself that you’re getting too old to be sleeping on couches and pull outs. Hence, the memory foam in the bunker. Besides, we’re playing the role of a newlywed couple this weekend. We should probably keep up with appearances and not make it seem like we’re already sleeping in separate beds like unhappy middle-aged couples who are too stubborn to admit they need a divorce.”

Dean barked out a surprised laugh. He loves when Cas goes on his weird tangents. “Yeah, okay Cas. That bed is huge, so it shouldn’t be a problem anyway.”

Cas just nodded and began digging around in his duffel bag. Meanwhile, Dean removed the ice bucket with champagne from the bed and set it on the dresser. Then he brushed off as many rose petals as he could, determined to clear the bed of any romantic connotation. When he was satisfied, he began stripping out of his jeans and flannel. It was a long day of driving and his body was no longer accustomed to sitting for so long, so he was ready for bed at this point.

Dean stopped mid-action, catching sight of Cas doing the same. Cas removed his jeans and then lifted his shirt over his head. Dean swallowed, trying to

tear his eyes away from his best friend’s body but holy shit – Cas is toned. As he bent over to put his discarded clothes back in his bag, the muscles in his back and legs jumped out. His golden skin was completely on display and as a result Dean’s brain was short circuiting. Panicking, he grabbed his toothbrush and locked himself in the bathroom as an attempt to get his breathing and body back under control.

So much for uncomplicated.

#destiel #destiel fanfiction #deancas #deancas fanfic #fanfiction #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural #fake relationship #team free will #destiel fluff #eventual smut

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viking-raider · 5 years

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The Bat’s Sister *Fic Request*

Summary: You’re Bruce Wayne’s little sister, and after meeting at a Charity Gala, you and Clark Kent kept running into each other. So much so, that the pair of you fall in love, much to Bruce’s annoyance and attempts to stop it. But, both Clark and Bruce would do anything to keep you safe.

Pairing: Clark Kent/Reader

Word Count: 14,274

Rating: Superman/Batman AU, Fluff, Violence, overprotective superheros

Inspiration: Request by @jessevans (x)

Author’s Note: This is my first Clark Kent/DC story! I had a lot of fun writing it too!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans @MITZWINCHESTER @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @hm-fck, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog

Clark first met you at one of Bruce's Charity Galas. He was there to write an article on the event for the Daily Planet, when he noticed Bruce pull you aside into a corner as you entered the venue, handing you a glass of champagne. Clark let the rumble of the hundred plus people in the room around him fade away and honed in on the conversation between the two of you.

“You're late, y/n.” Bruce told you in a concerned voice, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I thought...”

“Bruce, just because someone is running late, doesn't always mean something happened to them.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at your older brother. “You know what the traffic from Metropolis is like at this hour trying to get into Gotham. Especially, when the great and mighty Bruce Wayne is throwing the gala of the century.”

“If you'd called me, I could have gotten you a helicopter in.”

“Dear God, Bruce.” You laughed, sipping your champagne.

“What's the point of being so rich, if you don't enjoy it?” Bruce teased you, grinning.

“Being rich is your thing, Ru.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I am more than content on living in my flat in Central Metropolis, and doing my simple nine to five job.”

“A flat the our inheritance pays for, and a nine to five that's at Wayne Biotech.” Bruce rolled his eyes back.

“I pay my own bills,” You defended yourself. “Our inheritance only pays for the rent and whatnot. As for Biotech, I enjoy it, helping the world invent and discover new vaccines and medical treatments. You know as well as I do, I can't sit around a multi-million dollar mansion, while servants take care of literally every whim and fantasy I may or may not have. I'd lose my mind.” You sighed, setting your glass down on the table behind you. “It's not like I can run around the city in a rubber suit.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you, you'd been the first person he told about being Batman. “You're the only family I have left, y/n. I don't want to lose you, like we lost our parents.” He told you, taking your hand in his. “You know, that's the main reason I do, what I do at night.”

“I know it is, Bruce.” You told him, resting your hand on his cheek. “But, I can take care of myself as well, you know.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Clark beamed, stepping up to you and your brother. “Ma'am.” He smiled, sweetly at you.

“Mr. Kent.” Bruce replied, turning to the reporter. “How can I help you?”

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at your brother, seeing his shoulders tense as he looked up at Clark, giving you the odd feeling that the two knew each other.

“I'm well.” Clark replied, his smile smug, but familiar. “It's an amazing party you have going on here.” He said, gesturing around to the rest of the room, like he was reminding him that there was more than just the three of you in the room. “Can I get a statement about it?” He asked, pulling out a pen and small notepad.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but something else caught his attention and he patted Clark on the shoulder. “You know what, I forgot to check on something downstairs. But, I'm sure my sister, y/n, here would gladly give you a statement about it. It was her idea to throw this gala to raise money for a wonderful cause.” He grinned at you, chuckling seeing the utter look of horror in your face as he walked away.

“Oh, I hate him.” You sighed, picking your glass back up and downing it.

“Would you like that to be your official statement?” Clark asked, grinning amused.

“I wish.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “But, no. Of course not.”

“So, tell me, what it is that the gala is about?” He asked, poising himself to write down your answer.

“Um,” You glanced around the room, hugely uncomfortable about being in the spot light, you never liked being the center of attention.

Clark watched and listened to your heart beat become erratic with panic and tucked his pen back into his front pocket and his notebook in his back pocket. He turned around as a waiter walked behind him and picked up two glasses of wine, holding one out to you. “How about we go somewhere quieter, that way you're more comfortable answering any questions?” He suggested, your fingers brushing as you took the glass from him.

You took a deep breath and a gulp of the wine. “Sure.” You nodded, looking around and then motioned for him to follow you out of the main room of the event and down the hall to one of the empty offices. “Ask your questions, Mr. Kent.” You told him, sitting down across from him.

“Right.” He smiled at you, pulling out his pen and pad again, setting it on the desk next to him. “You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“Little sister, yes.” You nodded, turning your wine glass between your hands. “I was two, when our parents were killed.”

“How old was Bruce?” Clark asked, scribbling in his pad.

“Sixteen.” You replied, shifting in your seat, neither you or Bruce liked talking about the death of your parents.

“I'm guessing, he took care of you, after that?” He inquired, tilting his head at you and pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Sorta.” You shrugged, taking another gulp of wine. “Between him, our butler, Alfred, and nannies. All rather lonely, really. But, you have to make the best out of what life gives you.”

“And being a Wayne, that's pretty much everything you want, since your family as huge chunk of the world's wealth.” Clark chuckled, smiling at you, but his smile faded see you didn't find it funny. “I'm sorry, that...what is this gala about?” he asked, shaking his head and changing the subject.

“The Gala is to raise awareness about the hunger crisis in third world countries.” You explained to him. “Wayne Industries started a food supply market in the 1910's, that helps feed low income families and homeless in Metropolis and Gotham.” You continued, crossing your ankles.

“What made you want to throw the Gala for it?” Clark asked, intrigued.

“I spent a year in Africa helping try and treat a disease outbreak, then helped develop a vaccine for it with my position in the Wayne Biotech labs. While I was there, I noticed how so many villages struggle to keep themselves fed, and figured that Wayne Industries had more than enough money to help, as would many of the other rich socialites over here. But, rich people don't generally like donating money, unless they get to dress up and mingle with other rich people.” You chuckled, finishing off the rest of your wine. “and yeah, you can put that down as my official statement.” You added, seeing Clark's eyebrow raise as he finished writing down what you said.

“That'll make for some scandal.” He giggled, setting his pen down. “A rich woman calling out other rich people.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just because you're rich, doesn't mean you get to think you're above everyone else in the world. Besides, I'm not into being rich. It doesn't really give me what I want out of life.”

“And what do you want out of life, Ms. Wayne?” He asked you, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Something quiet and simple.” You sighed, looking out the open windows to the bright and dark night of Gotham. “I've lived in the city for ninety percent of my life, and I've never felt more one with the world, than when I'm somewhere quiet, where I can look up and see the stars, and not the lights of a million buildings, airplanes and satellite dishes.”

“Why don't you move out somewhere in the country?” Clark asked, he could relate to how you felt, he'd been a small town boy, and coming to Metropolis the first time was overwhelming, especially with his Kryptonian powers.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Bruce got me a house out in the country for my birthday a couple years back, but I don't get to spend too much time there. I'm the head Biochemist at Biotech, so I work a lot and when I'm not working a lot, I'm traveling for other Wayne industry responsibilities.”

“You're quite the busy young lady.” He complimented, taking a sip of his forgotten wine.

“Indeed, I am.” You smiled at him. “Tell me, how do you and Bruce know each other?”

“What makes you think we know each other?” Clark asked, smoothly. “We've met at several events I was writing a article on for the Daily Planet.”

“I know my brother, Mr. Kent.” You told him, smirking and crossing your arms. “I know, when my brother is acquainted with a reporter, and when he knows someone.”

“Well, I guess when you run into someone as often as he and I do,” He told you, acting cool. “You just start becoming very familiar with each other.” He explained, dancing around the fact, he and your brother had met each other two years before, and ended up leveling most of Metropolis and Gotham, as Superman and Batman. “I end up attending nearly all of your brother's events for Wayne Industries.” He added, pressing his lips together.

“Hm.” You hummed, knowing he was hiding something. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

There was a knock on the office door and one of Bruce's assistants stuck her head into the room. “The silent auction is starting, Ms. Wayne.” She informed you, looking between you and Clark.

“Thank you, Felicia.” You told her, standing up and smoothing your dress down. “Mr. Kent, it was a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for the interview.” You said, extending your hand to him.

“The pleasure was all mine, Ms. Wayne.” He told you, standing up and shaking your hand, gently. He moved out of your way and held the door open for you, smiling sweetly as you nodded your head to him, and walked out.

Clark ran down the street, in a complete rush to get his latest article into Perry White before his deadline. All he needed was to have Perry chewing him out again for being late, and holding up the printer. But, he couldn't help the detour to rescue people from a major apartment fire. He turned the corner and collided straight into someone, knocking them over and his glasses off.

“Oh, gosh!” He exclaimed, shifting the strap of his shoulder bag. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention.”

“That's quite alright, Mr. Kent.” You told him, picking up your bag and grabbing his black framed glasses off the sidewalk.

Clark blinked several times, looking down at you. “Ms. Wayne.” He grinned, helping you up. “Are you all right?” He asked, looking you over.

“Other than feeling like, I ran into a bull made out of a brick wall?” You chuckled, holding out his glasses to him. “The only injury is to my pride.” You assured him, readjusting your jacket and backpack.

“Well,” He sighed, biting his lip. “Is there anything I can do, to ease that for you?” He asked, tilting his head at you.

“Not unless you can get me across town in,” You glanced down at your watch, and groaned. “an hour.” You sighed, your shoulders dropping. “I'm running late for my flight to Jordan.”

“I could get you to Jordan in less than an hour.” Clark commented, licking his lips.

Laughter bubbled out of you at his comment, your hand resting on his upper arm. “If only.” You giggled, looking up at him.

He raised his eyebrows at you, pressing his lips together to keep himself from making another comment. “I should let you get to your flight, I'm sorry about being a brick bull.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“No harm, no foul.” You assured him, going on tiptoe and giving him a hug, surprising him into hugging you back.

“Tell your brother, I said hello.” He called after you, as you rushed into awaiting car.

“I will!” You called, slipping into the car and your driver closed the door.

Clark watched your car pull away and disappear in the traffic, running his hand through his hair again and then turning on his heels and continued to rush down the street and into the Daily Planet. He managed to get his article in on time, but he ended up spending the rest of the day thinking about your body hugged around his. By the time he clocked out and started his walk back home, Clark had already settled it in his mind that he was going to try and get his hands on your phone number and ask you out to dinner, for an interview, of course. Perry had asked him to do a follow up on the Wayne Charity Gala he'd attend the month and a half before, so it was the perfect reason to ask you out. He just needed to find out when you'd be back from your trip.

“Yes, Hello,” Clark said, when someone from Wayne Industry Headquarters finally answered the phone. “I'm Clark Kent, a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I did an interview with Ms. Y/n Wayne, and I need to schedule a follow up interview with her.”

“Ms. Wayne is out of the country, at the moment, Mr. Kent.” the Secretary informed him.

“I am aware of that.” He said, running his hand through his hair as he paced his small flat. “Can you tell me when she'll be back, and how to contact her when she returns?”

“Um...” The Secretary groaned, typing quickly on her computer and shaking her head. “Ms. Wayne is due back into Gotham in two weeks. If you'd like, Mr. Kent, I can pass on a message to her assistant, Felicia, and have her call you when Ms. Wayne returns.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Clark replied, it wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but it was better than her telling him to fuck off and hanging up on him. Clark wasn't off the phone with the woman when his phone rang again, with a private number. “Clark Kent?” He answered, pathetically hoping it was you.

“Why are you asking about my sister, Superboy?” Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair as he sat in his office.

“Bruce.” Clark smiled, tightly, dropping onto his couch.

“Answer the question, Clark.”

“I was asked to do a follow up interview with her, after the one I did with her at the Gala. Where you ditched her, to go play Batman.” Clark told him, giving into the older man's protective banter. “How did you know I called about her?”

“Clark, y/n is the only blood family I have left in this universe.” Bruce told him, rotating in his chair to look out over Gotham. “I know, if someone three countries away, breaths in her direction. I especially know if someone is inquiring after her in my own company, or any company.”

“Don't you worry about smothering her?” Clark asked, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She knows, I do it, for her own good.” Bruce growled, squeezing his phone a bit tighter.

“I'm not going to do anything to your sister, Bruce.” Clark sighed, picking up on the edge in his voice. “I just need a follow interview with her.”

“Then, why didn't you call me?”

“People don't usually call the owner of a company to ask for an interview with one of their employees. They usually call the front desk and ask for one to be scheduled.” Clark countered, dropping his head back.

“Y/n isn't one of my employees, she's my sister, and I'm her guardian.”

“She's a grown woman, Wayne.” Clark shook his head. “She doesn't need you acting like her father, or her personal Batman. She needs you to be her brother, and let her live her own life.”

“Coming from the alien, that's an only child.” Bruce snapped, hanging up on him.

Clark dropped his phone on the couch beside him and sighed, heavily, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. He got up, stripping his clothes off as he made his way into the bathroom and cranking the hot water tap all the way on and stepped into the spray, groaning as the hot water soaked into his skin and muscles. He leaned on his arms against the shower wall, letting the water rain over his head, and watched as it swirled down the drain.

“Just an only alien child,” he groaned, tilting his head back to let the water hit his face. “That might be in love.”You were on the jet on the way back from Jordan, when Felicia sat down across from you. You cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing by the look on her face, she had news to tell you.

“We had a request come into headquarters for you.” She told you, scrolling through her phone.

“Oh?” You sighed, you really weren't in the mood for people requesting you. You just wanted to get home and sleep for a week. “What do they want?”

“An interview.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I don't do interviews, everyone knows that.”

“Well, it was an ask for a follow up, to one you've already done.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then it dawned on you. “Clark Kent.” You nodded, it made sense now.

“Do you want me to contact him, and tell him, you'll be denying his request?” She asked, glancing up at you from her phone.

“No.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “I'll do the follow up, just make it a point to tell him, I'm not answering an personal questions.” You told her, getting up and going to the back of the jet, to lay down.

Felicia called Clark as soon as the jet landed back in Metropolis. “Mr. Kent, I'm Felicia Davis.” She introduced herself.

“How can I help you, Ms. Davis?” Clark replied, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he sat at his desk in the Daily Planet.

“I'm Ms. Wayne's assistant.” She explained, sliding into the car beside you. “I'm calling in answer to your request for a follow up interview with her, about the Charity Gala.”

“Oh, yes, right!” Clark grinned, ear to ear. “Is there a good time for Ms. Wayne to meet me? I was thinking over dinner, if that's alright with her.”

“Ms. Wayne just arrived home from two weeks in Jordan, and is rather exhausted.” Felicia told him, opening a personal planner she carried around for you. “So, she'll need a couple of days to recover from her work trip.”

“Of course.”

“How does Saturday night sound to you, Mr. Kent?” She asked, tapping the date with her finger and looking at you, to confirm you're all right with it as well. “Excellent. Ms. Wayne will meet you at 7 pm, Saturday night. Do you need us to make the arrangements?”

“No, no.” Clark shook his head, like she could see him as he rummaged around his desk for a sticky note to write on. “I can make a reservation at a restaurant in down town Metropolis, and then send you the details.” he told her, finding what he was looking for.

“Very well, you can contact me with this phone number.” Felicia told him, penning it into the planner.

“Thank you, Ms. Davis.” Clark said, leaning back in his chair, with relief.

“You're welcome, and have a good day, Mr. Kent.” She replied, hanging up with him. “He'll be making a reservation for dinner this Saturday at 7pm. He'll call me with the name of the restaurant.”

“Strange for a man to pick the restaurant, we usually do.” You chuckled, glancing out the window.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Bruce had caught wind of you going to dinner with Clark, and in his typical fashion as your overprotective brother, he completely blew it out of proportions. You both spent that Friday in his office at Wayne Industries arguing about it, and most of the morning and afternoon Saturday doing the same.

“Oh, for the love of Superman, Ru!” You snapped as you stood in your closet, trying to pick out a pair of shoes to go with your outfit.

“Don't say that name!” Bruce barked over the speaker of your phone.

“What name?” You quipped, picking up a pair of black flats. “Ru or Superman?”

“Superman.” Bruce sighed, he'd stopped trying to prevent you from calling him, Ru, decades ago.

“Good Lord, Bruce.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your shoes on. “You still feel threatened by Superman? Ye ol' Batman's jealous.” You teased him, knowing it get under his skin.

“I'm not threatened or jealous of him, y/n.” He told you, rolling his eyes. “Not like that anymore, at least.”

“Then, enlighten your dear sister, and tell me how you are threatened and jealous of him?” You kept teasing him, checking yourself out in the mirror.

“It's complicated.”

“Well, uncomplicate it.” You pressed, going to your jewelry box for a pair of earrings.

“There's not enough time to do that, your date is in twenty minutes.”

“It's not a date, Ru!” You snapped, turning to look at your phone. “It's business. Business, you got me stuck in, when you left me at the Gala with Clark, so you could go play rescuer.”

“Don't remind me.” He groaned, still feeling the deep bruise on his side.

“All right, I'm going.” You told him, picking your phone up off the bed.

“Call me, if anything happens.” Bruce told you, quickly. “Or if you need an alibi to call it short.”

“I will, bro.” You told him, going out the front door. “And, Bruce, don't fucking stalk me. You, Alfred or anyone else, for that matter.” You warned him, hanging up before he could protest. “Off we go, Hector.” You said, as your driver opened the car door for you.

Clark stood out front the restaurant waiting for you to arrive, and smiled brightly, seeing your car pull up and your driver open the door for you. He offered you his arm as you got out of the car. “How was your trip to Jordan?” He asked, leading you inside.

“It was very good, thanks.” You told him, smiling softly. “How's work going for you?” You asked as the waiter showed the pair of you to your table.

“It's never a dull moment for a reporter, especially in this world.” He teased, pulling your chair out for you, then moving to his. “Your assistant, Felicia, made it clear I wasn't supposed to ask you any personal questions.” He said, setting his pen and notepad on the table by his menu.

“Well, if you do, they're to be off the record.” You explained, picking up your menu and browsing the selection of food and wine.

“Of course.” Clark nodded, following your lead. “What was your business in Jordan about?” He asked, looking at you over his menu.

“It was a Biotechnology convention.” You explained, turning the menu page. “Biochemists and the like gather every few years to discuss their research, breakthroughs and such with each other. Swap what info we can to help each other out, typical boring Scientist mambo jumbo.” You chuckled, looking over your menu at him.

“What made you become a Scientist?” He asked, picking what he wanted and setting his menu aside, but didn't bother with his notebook.

You shrugged, setting your menu down. “I enjoy helping people. I'm no Superhero, so I help in the ways and places I can.”

“You don't need to have super powers, to be a Superhero.” Clark said, looking at you, softly.

“That's possibly true.” You nodded, agreeing with him.

The waiter came over and took your dinner and drink orders, and you and Clark chatted away through two glasses of wine and most of your food, before you really realized that Clark hadn't written a single line in his notepad.

“Isn't this an interview, Mr. Kent?” You asked him, as dessert was set in front of you.

“You can call me, Clark.” He smiled at you, picking up his spoon to dig into his ice cream.

“Clark,” You grinned, taking a bite of your chocolate lava cake. “aren't you supposed to be interviewing me?” You repeated your question, smirking at him, impishly.

“I am supposed to be interviewing you, Ms. Wayne.” He nodded.

“Y/n.” You told him, staring at him across the table. “You can call me, y/n.”

Clark blushed and took another bite of his ice cream. “Admittedly, y/n, this is an interview with a motive.”

“Typical reporters.” You teased him, rolling your eyes playfully.

“My Boss, Mr White, asked me to do a follow up interview on your Charity Gala, but I really just wanted to ask you out to dinner..”

“So, you used the interview as an excuse.” You chuckled, nodding your head and amused that Bruce was mostly right.

“I am sorry.” He told you, abashed.

“That's quite all right, Clark.” You assured him, you really didn't mind at all. “But, won't you get in trouble with your boss for not doing the interview?”

“Yes, probably.” Clark nodded, worried at that prospect, he'd been on thin ice with Perry for several months.

“Well, how about we finish our desserts, and we take the actual interview on a walk around the park?” You suggested, setting your attention back on your cake, hoping to hide your blush.

“I rather like that idea.” Clark said, seeing your blush, easily, and blushing a bit, himself.

Clark paid the bill and you both left the restaurant, stopping long enough for you to tell Hector the change in plans. You took Clark's offered arm, resting your hand in the nook of his elbow as you strolled through the gates of the local park. The sound of late night birds, other pedestrians and the gurgling of the various fountain filled the cool night air, making it feel like You and Clark were blanketed in another world altogether. Clark took out his notebook and pen, and started funneling out all the questions he had to ask you for the interview and you answered them with a calm ease. It took no time for you and Clark to knock out the interview, and get to spend the rest of the time making several rounds around the park, oblivious of time and space. You were laughing at a joke Clark had made about himself being a small town, country boy, when you suddenly felt the cords of his muscles under your hand turn into steel, cutting off your laugh and glancing up at him.

“Clark?” You frowned at him, as he pulled you both to a stop and he looked around the dimly lit darkness around you, his head tilting slight side to side as he scanned around. “What is it?” You whispered, looking around with him.

“Stay calm.” He told you, softly, taking your hand from his forearm and carefully pulling you behind him, as three guys came out of the dark treeline, beside the sidewalk. “Evening, gentlemen.” He greeted them, every muscle in his body tensing, making Clark come off even bigger than he already was.

“Jesus Christ.” You panted, pressing one hand to your stomach and resting the other one on Clark's hip as you peeked around his arm.

“Hand over the jewelry and cash, and you and your sweetheart over there,” one of the men said, winking at you. “have to get hurt.” He said, the unmistakable click of a knife opening muted out everything else around you.

You looked up at Clark as he slowly shook his head.

“Not going to happen.” He told them, licking his lips. “I'll give you this one warning, to walk away.”

“I don't think, you understand your situation.” Another of the three said, taking a step forward.

“Clark.” You whispered, squeezing his hip.

“It's alright, y/n.” He told you, his eyes still glued to the men. “They're not going to hurt us.” He assured you, grabbing the arm of the guy as he shot forward, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him to the side.

The one with the knife came at Clark next, raising the knife high. But, Clark easily grabbed him by the wrist, wrenching the weapon out of his hand and punched him across the face, forcing him back into his friends.

“I suggest you leave.” He threatened them, tossing the knife aside and giving them an expression that sucked all the courage out of them. “Now.” He snapped, rolling his jaw as they scrambled to their feet and haul themselves out of the park. “Are you all right?” Clark asked, his body relaxing as he turned around to you, cupping your face in his hands.

“I'm fine.” You told him, looking in his eyes, utterly shocked. “You could've gotten hurt!”

A smile broke out over Clark's face, and his hands dropped from your face. “I'm all right.” He assured you. “I'm use to people trying to fight me, I was bullied as a kid.” He explained, looking back to where the would-be robbers disappeared. “I should get you back to your car,” he added, looking up. “It is getting rather dark.” He offered you his arm again, and you slowly took it, still in shock.

“Of course.” You nodded, letting him lead you back the way you'd come.

“Good night, y/n.” Clark smiled as you stopped by your car.

“Good night, Clark.” You smiled back, still in a bit of a daze over what happened.

He blushed, slightly and started to walk away. “Do you think I could see you again?” He asked, turning back around, spurred by a bit of courage.

“Uh,” You blinked at him. “Sure.” You nodded, ducking into the back of the car and pulling out a card from your bag. “This is my private number.” You told him, holding it out to him. “Just so you don't have to go through headquarters or Felicia, to get a hold of me.”

Clark looked down at the card, then back up at you, spinning the little card around his fingers, nervously. “I'll give you a call, some time soon.” He promised, then wished you good night again, before turning himself towards home.

“Mr. Wayne called, while you were on your little walk.” Hector told you, as he pulled the car away from the curb.

“Of course, he did.” You rolled your eyes.

“He wants you to call him.”

“I'll call him in the morning.” You told Hector, rubbing your neck. “I just wanna go home and sleep, right now.”

Clark was staring at the card with your number on it as he sat at his desk at work, trying to work up the courage to call you, when one of the secretaries for the newspaper came over and told him, he had someone waiting for him in one of the conference rooms. Sighing and slipping the card into his pocket, Clark got up and found the conference room his visitor was waiting for him in.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?” He snapped, closing the door behind him.

“You took my sister on a date last night, disguised as an interview.” Bruce told him, clearly fuming already. “And you almost get fucking mugged in the process.” He snapped, slamming his hand down on the conference table.

“First of all, it wasn't a disguise.” Clark barked back, his anger flaring. “I do admit that when Perry told me to get a follow up interview with her, I also used it as an opportunity to take her out to dinner, I wouldn't call it a date though. Secondly, She was in no danger of those three punks, with me there with her, and you know that.”

“That doesn't fucking change the fact, she could have gotten hurt, Clark!” Bruce yelled, not even bothering to keep his voice low.

“I wouldn't have allowed it, Bruce!” Clark yelled back, moving closer to the table that thankfully separated them. “I would have protected her. I did protect her. They never got within two feet of her.”

“Oh, but they got within three feet of her.” Bruce snapped, mocking him. “Mighty Superman only have a detection range of two feet.”

“I knew they were there, I didn't fucking know they were going to try and mug us.” Clark countered, glancing behind his shoulder, to the door. “There were dozens of people in that park with us,” he told him, calming down. “Not every person that comes within range of her, is going to try and harm her. I certainly never would, and would never, allow anyone else to either. Y/n is as safe with me, if not safer, than she is with you.”

“Oh, you thinks so?”

“I know so.” Clark answered, a sharp tone in his voice. “You're just a mortal human. You get stabbed with a knife and you're fucked.”

“You think since you can take the hit of a bomb, you're better than me at protecting my baby sister.”

“She's not a baby anymore, Bruce.” Clark snapped, that upset him more than anything else in this conversation. “She's an adult, and you need to start treating her like one. You're not pissed off about what happened last night, you're afraid that she might fall in love me.”

“I'm not afraid she might fall in love with you.” He growled, raking a hand over his face and turning away from him.

“Then, what are you afraid of?” He demanded, leaning against the table.

“I'm afraid of her getting hurt.” Bruce said, quietly. “Especially, because I know she's already in love with you.”

“She is?” Clark asked, shocked and staring wide eyed at Bruce's back.

“Yes.” He sighed. “But, I can't allow that.”

“Why?” Clark groaned, rolling his eyes. “Cause I'm an alien.”

“Because, you're Superman.” He answered, spinning back around to look Clark in the face. “How many enemies do you have, that are looking for you to have a weak point? She would be that weak point, Clark.”

“She's your weak point as Batman.” Clark argued, sitting down at the table. “She's your weak point as normal Bruce Wayne, richest man in the world.”

Bruce huffed, sitting down at the table across from him. “I know she is, that's why I go so far out of my way, to protect her.”

“And you don't think, I can do the same?”

“I know you can,” Bruce sighed, feeling older than he really was. “I'm just not use to having to share her, is all.”

Clark laughed and shook his head at that. “We can protect her together, Bruce.” He told him, leaning over the table to him. “It doesn't have to be one or the other of us. It doesn't have to be Clark Kent vs Bruce Wayne, or Batman vs Superman, all the time. We found our common ground on protecting Earth in the Justice League, and we can find the common ground of protecting y/n.”

“I don't want you to tell her, you're Superman.”

“Does she know you're Batman?”

“She does.” Bruce nodded, checking his watch.

“But, you want me to lie to her about who I am?” Clark narrowed his eyes at him.

“She found out about me being Batman on accident.” Bruce told him, meeting his eye. “She found Alfred tending to one of the injuries I sustained after our battle with Steppenwolf. Wasn't like I could exactly lie to her after that.” He ran a hand through his hair, remembering the look on your face when you walked in on them. “But, you're Superman, you won't have that issue.”

“You do recall my dying?” Clark asked, cocking an eyebrow at Bruce.

“The kryptonite was destroyed when you killed that monster, Clark. There's no more of it on Earth, and probably the universe. It's nothing you have to concern yourself with anymore. What you do need to concern yourself with now, if you choice to pursue my sister, is her safety and keeping her in the dark about who you are. We both know the more she knows about who we are, and what we do, is more a danger to her life.”

You sat, cross legged, on Clark's couch with a bowl of cereal balanced in your lap as you watched the news, in one of Clark's plaid shirts. You spent more time in Clark's flat now-a-days then you did your own, and were content to do so. Clark appeared in the door way of his bedroom, watching you as you ate, momentarily oblivious to his presence. He grinned seeing you in his shirt, only three of the center buttons closed to keep the over-sized garment on your small frame, even then it slipped down one of your shoulders. He could still smell the lingering scent of sex from the night before and earlier in that morning.

“You sleep well?” He asked, stepping into the living room.

“I always manage to sleep like a baby, with you.” You told him, looking up at him as you took another bite of your coco puffs.

“That makes me feel good.” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, then padded into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. “What's your day looking like?” He asked, glancing around the corner to look at the tv.

“I have to go into work at the lab in an hour or so, then two board meetings.” You answered, setting your bowl on the coffee table, and grabbing the remote to turn up the news. “I do have another conference in Jordan in two days, some issue going on with one of Wayne labs there. Bruce is sending me over to deal with it, since the rep that's there now, is doing fuck all.” You explained, frowning at the news.

“How long will you be gone?” Clark asked, his own eyes glued to the tv as he made his breakfast.

“Shouldn't be more than a week,” You replied, absentmindedly. “With any luck of them being competent.”

“Well, if they're not competent enough to listen to you, they're in real trouble.” Clark joked, reassuring himself that what was happening on the news, wasn't something he needed to rush out and present Superman too.

“I'll fire every last one of the idiots, if they fucking try me.” You said, rolling your eyes at the thought of them giving you issues, which you knew, with men of their caliber and brains, they most certainly would.

“Well, it gives us enough time.” Clark told you, coming to sit down beside you on the couch.

“Enough time for what?” You frowned, turning your head to look at him.

“I wanted to ask you something.” He told you, resting his plate on his thigh.

“Oh, god.” You moaned, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. “Perry didn't fire you, did he?”

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “No, I'm still a reporter at the Daily Planet.” He assured you, with a blush. “We've been dating for a year now...”

“Yeeah..”

“I was going to ask, if you wanted to move in with me...” He said it slowly and quietly, not quite meeting your eyes. “You practically live here anyway.” He added, with a nervous laugh and looking around his flat, he could identify more of your things than his own, in the living room alone.

“That's a serious commitment, Clark. “ You said, just as slowly.

“I know it is.” He told you, pushing the food on his plate around with his fork. “I thought, maybe, we were at that point...”

“Bruce would have a heart attack.” You chuckled, at the thought.

Bruce didn't like the thought of you dating Clark, he didn't like you spent so much time with him, especially in between the sheets. But, he'd stopped nagging you about being with him, almost a year ago. He still gave you disgruntled remarks when you spoke about Clark in his presence, and he always seemed a tiny bit on edge, when the three of you were in the same room together. You didn't care what Bruce thought or felt on the subject, you were happy and content with Clark, the relationship the two of you had together. You'd also never been in such a serious relationship with someone, that you moved in with them, either.

“Does his opinion, matter so much, that it would make an impact on our relationship?” Clark asked, concerned it would, Bruce had promised to ease up on his attitude towards him and his love for you, but, Clark also knew, that what Bruce thought and said mattered to you.

“No.” You shook your head, resting your hand on his arm. “No, Clark, it wouldn't.” You tried to sound as convincing as possible, but could tell by his expression, it wasn't enough. “Just...give me until I come back from my trip, to decide?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Take all the time you need.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss you.

You smiled at him and kissed him back, before getting up to get dressed and rush off to work. You left on your business trip two days later, and both you and Clark called it, when the people in charge of the Wayne Biotech lab in Jordan would give you trouble and annoy the hell out of you. Your temples throbbed as you fell back on your hotel room bed, staring up at the ceiling, the arguments you had with the board still bouncing around your brain, making the migraine you had worse.

“Bunch of brain dead morons.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A loud crash from outside your room door startled you up out of bed, you stumbled away as the door flew open, your back hitting the wall behind you as a disguised man stepped through the opening. The only thing you could see on him, was his eyes, and you didn't like what you saw in them. He advanced towards you, putting you into instant fight or flight mode, and decided to do both. Picking up the closest thing to you, the lamp on your bedside table, and launched it at him, before scurrying over your bed and making for the door. You'd almost made it down to the lift, when he caught up with you, grabbing you by the back of your hair and painfully yanking you backwards against him.

“Hello, Ms. Wayne.” A woman called stepping into the hall from another room.

“Who the fuck are you?” You panted, struggling against your captor. “What do you want?”

“I'm Pamela Evans.” She grinned at you, giving you a once over. “And I want to know about the advanced gene development project you and your brother are working on.”

“We're not working on gene development.” You growled, bearing your teeth at her.

“My sources say otherwise.” Pamela said, grabbing you by the jaw.

“Your sources are fucking brain dead.” You snapped, jerking your head out of her hand.

“I don't believe you.” She growled, giving you a super dirty look.

“That's your issue.” You growled back. “Wayne labs and Industries have never, and will never, do research on the type gene development, you're apparently going on about. Whoever is doing it, is a mad scientist asking for trouble.”

“You see,” Pamela brought her face inches from yours. “I've seen the files on your and Bruce's computers. So, you're going to tell me all about it.”

“You're delusional.” You shook your head the little you could with the man's hand still tight in your hair. “Fuck.” You gasped suddenly, feeling a cold tingle in your thigh and glanced down to see her pull a small pocket knife out. “You don't understand we're no....”

“No, sweetheart, it's you that doesn't understand.” Pamela mocked you, pulling something out of her shoulder purse. “We're going to get that research out of you, one way or another.” She pressed something to your neck and you felt a sharp pain. “I'll give you long enough to sleep off your nap, to tell me.” She said, as the black fog around the edges of your eyes grew and your body went limp.

You woke up God knows how long later, shackled to a concrete wall in a dimly lit room. There were no windows in the square concrete room, a single light set deep into the center of the ceiling and a metal table and a single chair below that. There was a thick metal door opposite of you with a slot window set in it. You were drawn to the sound of that opening, a pair of eyes looking in on you, then slamming shut again. It was several minutes before the actual door itself opened, and in walked Pamela and a man, the man from the hotel. Even with him out of his disguised, you could identify those eyes from a mile away.

“Good morning, Ms. Wayne.” Pamela smiled, giving you a smile that would have made Mary Poppins sick. “Or is it night, Eli?” She asked, turning to the man, who just shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't matter, have you decided to give me the information I've asked for?” She asked, turning back to you.

“I told you, it doesn't exist.” You told her, groggy and fearful, your thigh throbbed and you could feel a small steady stream of blood ooze from it, leaving a puddle around your foot. “Messing with human genes is dangerous, and ridiculous.” You tried to reason with her.

“Then, what's this?” Pamela asked, pulling a sheet of paper from the table and bring it closer for you to see. “That's an email, from you to your brother on the subject. Telling him, that it was possible for such advancement.”

“It's opinion, not research.” You panted, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. “Someone at one of my brother's many business ventures wanted to know if he thought it was possible to do so, and my brother asked me.” You explained to her. “While, I think it might be possible for such development and advancement, neither of us are conducting research to find out. It's purely academic.”

“Why do you think it's possible?” Pamela questioned, turning her back to you and setting the paper back down on the table.

“I believe anything is possible, with the right circumstances and factors.” You told her, focusing on her back.

“Do you think you could achieve it, if you were to try it?”

“I don't know, and I wouldn't try.” You told her, honestly and shook your head at the thought.

“Even if, your life depended on it?” Pamela asked, smirking at you as she leaned back against the table, to look at you.

“My life, for the lives of all the failed test subjects it would more than likely take to prefect it?” You summed up her thoughts, you knew the math on how many people would be needed to be experimented on, and the decades it would take to achieve on top of that. “Yes, then I'd die, to prevent you and anyone else from trying it.” You nodded, confident in that choice.

“Well, let's see if we could,” She shrugged her shoulders, glancing at Eli. “persuade you.”

Eli dropped a rolled up bag onto the table with a emphasized thump, and rolled it open, revealing several instruments, you didn't need to be a Scientist to know were about to be used to torture and, likely, kill you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart and make peace with your choice. Eli removed something from one of the pockets, it looked like an ice pick or something, and moved over to you, running the sharp tip down your chest, between your breasts and down your stomach.

“Change your mind now, or I'll let Eli have his fun.” Pamela tried to give you a chance.

“No.” You said in a small, but steady voice.

Pamela waved her hand at Eli, and he easily sank the object into your stomach next to your belly button. You howled in pain, yanking on your bonds as Eli slowly removed it, grinning at you like a little boy on Christmas morning. Eli, luckily, didn't get far in the quest to torture you to death, as serious commotion sounded from the other side of the closed steel door, catching the attention of all three of you. Pamela looked to Eli, then hesitated for a moment, but she moved to the door, she'd just rested her hand on it, when it blew off the hinges, launching her halfway across the room. Eli dropped his weapon and moved away from you, as a figure stepped through the dusty doorway.

“Superman!” He snapped, jaw falling open.

Superman looked from Pamela under the heavy steel door, Eli backing up into a corner and You chained to the wall, head lulling and struggling to keep your heavy eyelids open to stay conscious. He wasted no time dispatching Eli, throwing him across the room as another figure stepped through the doorway and made for you, cupping your head in their hands.

“Y/n?”

You blinked several times, shaking your head and trying to clear way the heaviness in your mind. “Bruce?” You panted, recognizing your brother's voice through the fog.

“It's alright, sis.” Bruce reassured you, taking something out of the utility belt of his Batman suit and cutting you free. “We've got you now. You're safe.” He supported your weight against his body and turned to Clark, standing above Eli's lifeless body, in all his Superman glory.

Clark looked at the pair of you and the pure anger on his face melted, seeing you. “She's hurt.” He said, crossing the room to you, cupping your face in his hands. “She's bleeding internally, whatever they stabbed her with, nicked her intestines. If we don't stop the blood now, she'll bleed to death.”

“I have something on the plane.” Bruce said, lifting your shirt and grimacing at the wound to your stomach.

“It'll take too long.” Clark said, shoving everything off the metal table. “Lay her down, I'll cauterize the wound.”

“I'm not letting you heat vision my sister.” Bruce snapped, shaking his head and shifting your weight against him, to support you as you grew limper against him.

“Bruce, she's going to die, if I don't!” Clark barked, impatiently, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I know what I'm doing, I've done it before.” He tried to reassure him.

“Trust me.” He added, quietly.

Bruce sighed, and let Clark lift you up and lay you down carefully on the table. Clark peeled up your bloody shirt, biting his lip as he saw the wound to your stomach and noticed the one to your thigh. He glanced up through the opening and pressed his lips together, hearing more people coming.

“We've got more guests on the way.” He told Bruce, over his shoulder, trying to keep his focus on you.

“I'll deal with them.” Bruce said, moving around the table and out of the room.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, resting his hand on your cheek. “Y/n, look at me.”

You blinked hard and groaned as Clark put pressure to your wound, you looked up at the blurry double face hovering above you. “Clark?” You whined, blinking repeatedly trying to clear the strange look your boyfriend had. “Clark?” You repeated his name, stronger this time, but no less confused by what you saw.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He forced a smile, brushing your hair out of your sweaty and grimy face. “I'm going to stop the bleeding, but it's going to hurt, a lot.” He warned you, with a pained expression. “But, you have to hold still and trust me.”

“I've always trusted you, Clark.” You groaned, wincing.

“Good.” He panted, sounding relieved. “Take my hand.” He told you, slipping his hand into yours. “And squeeze as hard as you have too, baby.” He instructed you, his eyes turning red.

You screamed at the top of your lungs at the excruciating burn to your already agonizing wound, squeezing Clark's hand so tight, it felt like the bones of your hand were going to shatter. You'd passed out from the pain and came to sometime later, finding yourself in bed on one of the family jets and Clark sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, holding your hand in his.

“Clark?” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut at the bright lights.

“You're all right, y/n.” He told you, letting your hand go to turn off the lights, and pull down the window covering. “You're safe now, love.” He promised, sitting back down next to you, and brushing his fingers through your hair.

“How?” You moaned, opening your eyes to look at him.

Clark blushed, looking away from you and biting into his lip.

“You're-” You blinked up at him, your mind finally connecting. “Superman.”

He nodded his head, taking your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“That's why Bruce was so set against us.” You nodded, regretting it. “He didn't want me dating you because you're Superman, and you two are practically enemies.”

“We're not enemies anymore, y/n.” Bruce said, appearing in the room. “Clark and I are in Justice League together.”

“Jesus.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The two most important people in my life, have lied to me, to such a degree.”

“We were trying to protect you.” Bruce tried to reason with you.

“Protect me?” You snapped, turning your head towards him. “That bitch kidnapped and tried torturing me, because she thought we were trying to do research on advanced gene development, Bruce. I can imagine what she'd have done if she knew by brother, is Batman, and my boyfriend, is Superman.” You looked at both of them, angrily.

“Advanced Gene Development?” Clark frowned at you. “Why would she think that?”

“Someone contacted Bruce about the possibility of it, and he and I discussed it.” You explained, no less angry. “She got a hold of the emails we exchanged on the subject, thinking we were actually doing it.”

“But, we're not.” Bruce frowned at you, as well. “I wonder how she got those emails as well, they're supposed to be secure.”

“Well, she's got people in a high enough place in the company to get a hand on them.” You snapped at him, annoyed. “Were you ever going to tell me, you're Superman?” You asked, turning your attention to Clark.

“I wanted too.” He whispered, dropping his eyes to your hand.

You rolled your eyes over to Bruce, narrowing them as he refused to look at you. “The fuck of men.” You growled, looking away from both of them.

“He's an alien.” Bruce mumbled, fidgeting with his watch.

“He's got a dick. I know, I've seen it.” You snapped at him, eye twitching. “He's a man. A man from another planet, but a man, nonetheless.”

“I didn't want to know that.” Bruce groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“And, it's not your business what Clark decides to tell me.” You told him, sharply. “Especially, in reference to my and his relationship, Bruce.” You winced, pushing yourself up more against the pillows piled behind your back.

“You are my wa...”

“I haven't been your god damn ward for over ten years, Bruce!” You shouted at him. “That ended the hour I became eighteen, and you know it! Stop trying to be dad, you're not dad and you never fucking will be! He'd have let me be a long time ago, he'd let me be my own woman, instead of trying to control what I do with my life and who I see, whether they're from this planet or not.”

“I'm your brother, it's my job to protect you.” He shouted back, turning to you.

“Protect me!” You yelled, your voice cracking. “Not keep me prisoner and suffocate me!”

“Let's calm down.” Clark said in a calm voice, squeezing your leg.

“NO!” Both you and Bruce yelled at him at the same time, and making his sensitive ears twitch with the volume.

“You're staying home with me.” Bruce seethed at you, but his tone was quieter.

“Fuck you!” You barked, your voice still loud.

“You're not safe on your own, y/n.” He tried to reason with you, again. “Whoever these people are, who think we're doing advanced gene development, are going to try and get their hands on you again.”

“And you're safe, cause you're fucking Batman.” You mocked him, rudely.

“That,” Bruce snapped back at you, snarky. “and I'm not the head Scientist at the biggest Biotech laboratory, and company, in the world. You, out of anyone on this planet, can make that advanced development happen, and these people know this.”

“As I told that bitch,” You told him, crossing your arms. “I'd rather die. The decades it would take to perfect the genes for testing. Then, the number of lives, the trials would claim to attune the genes for the subject, is astronomical. If, I was the person that could manage to pull this off, perfect the genes, and find the correct subject for them; there's between a five to ten percent chance, it would even work.”

“What would such an advancement even be used for?” Clark asked, leveling an eyebrow at you.

“Anything.” You shrugged, looking at him, brows creased. “You could edit a person's genes for anything, from preventing certain illnesses. Body characteristics, like if you wanted them to be tall and muscular. You could delete genes, so they felt no pain or be more aware of it. You could engineer super soldiers, or make it possible for people to have a long life span. There's so many options, and they're only limited by imagination and technology.” You rubbed the crease between your brows, feeling a stress and tension migraine forming.

“You could create the Earth equivalent of me.” Clark summed it up, a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Yes.” You nodded, that thought hadn't occurred to you. “Pretty much.”

“So, do you understand, why you're not safe?” Bruce sighed, feeling the tension knot up his shoulders. “You need to be somewhere safe, until we get this sorted out.”

“They'll look for her anywhere Wayne Industries is affiliated.” Clark said, softly, rubbing at his neck and looking at Bruce.

“I can have Alfred find us a safe house for her.” Bruce agreed, nodding his head.

“I'll take her home with me.” Clark said, smiling gently at you.

“Your flat isn't safe.” Bruce stated, looking between the two of you.

“I know, it's not.” He answered, still watching you. “I mean, I'll take her to my mom's, in Smallville. No one's going to look for her in Kansas, it's such a small and middle of nowhere town. I'll take time off from the Daily Planet, and stay there with her to make sure she's looked after. My mother could use my help on the farm, anyway.”

“Is this your way of introducing me to your mother?” You grinned, teasingly.

Clark laughed, blushing and nodded his head. “I guess, it is a way to think of it.”

“I like his idea.” You told Bruce, looking at your brother. “He's got a point.”

Bruce sighed, his shoulders slumping, he was begrudged to agree with both of you on the subject. “I'll have the pilot redirect us towards Smallville.”

“You shouldn't.” Clark said, stopping Bruce as he headed out. “If anyone notices a Wayne plane landing at the airport in Great Bend, it'll be a dead giveaway, that's something's going on.”

“Then, how do you propose on getting y/n to your mother's farm?” Bruce asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

A lopsided smirk pulled on one corner of Clark's mouth as he looked at you, eyes sparkling. A slow grin pulled across your lips as you caught on to what Clark was suggesting, and you were more than cool with Superman flying you to his parent's farm. Bruce groaned as he figured out the same thing, rolling his eyes and throwing up his arms, he couldn't fight you two being together and he couldn't fight doing what he had to do, so you were safe.

“Fine.” He sighed, deflated. “We'll land in G.I. Airport as scheduled, and you can take y/n to Smallville from there.”

Clark nodded, pressing your knuckles to his lips. “We'll stop by my place, so we can get a couple changes of clothes before we go.”

“You have clothes at his place?” Bruce asked, looking at you, surprised.

“I've been staying at Clark's a lot the last couple of months, so it's just easier to keep some clothing there.” You answered, blushing at Clark. “He also asked me to move in with him.” You added.

“You never did get the chance to answer me.” He reminded you, glancing up at you.

“I know.” You replied, nodding and biting your lip.

Bruce looked at the two of you, then quietly excused himself and gave the pair of you space and privacy.

“I think, I'd like to move in with you, Clark.” You told him, carefully leaning forward and brushing your fingers through his short curly hair. “I want to take us more seriously.” You admitted, smiling sweetly at him.

“I'd love nothing less, than the same.” He smiled back at you, leaning in and kissing you, tenderly, on the lips.

You rested back, wincing that the discomfort of your stomach. You peeled back your shirt and grimaced at it, even though Clark had cauterized the wound, it still hurt and was tender as hell. Clark gently traced the tips of his fingers around the wound, mindful of sensitive areas and looked up at you, sadness in his blue eyes. You reached out and cupped his cheek in your hand, caressing his skin with your thumb and gave him back a similar sad expression, but one tinged with love and trust.

“It's going to take a bit of time for you to heal.” He told you, his fingers moving down to your torn and stained jeans, where Pamela stabbed you in the thigh. “You'll have scars...”

“I'm use to having scars.” You told him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Inside and outside.”

The jet landed in Gotham International Airport, Clark easily carried you off the plane and to the car Bruce had waiting for the three of you. You rested your head on Clark's shoulder, you'd tried to sleep on the plane, but you couldn't get comfortable enough. Clark wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his cheek on top of your head. The chauffeur dropped the both of you off at Clark's flat, you said good-bye to Bruce, who promised to keep in touch and visit, if he could. You managed for first stairwell and a half up to Clark's flat before the pain in your leg became too much, and Clark carried you the last of the way up. He set you down on the couch and went into the bedroom, dumping his gym bag on his bed, then shoved yours and his clothes into it.

“Okay, I think that should tide us over.” He said, slinging the bag over his shoulders. “If not, I still have clothing at my mother's...”

“And I can always buy some.” You chuckled, smiling up at him. “So, how do we do this, Superman?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Let's go up to the roof.” He told you, going around the coffee table and picking you up into his arms. “It's a good launching pad, since this is the tallest building in a decent radius.” He explained, taking you up the stairs to the roof.

“I'm guessing that was a factor in your renting the place.” You teased him, hugging your arms around his neck.

Clark blushed at you, smiling guiltily. “It was.” He admitted, standing in the middle of the roof. “Hold on really tight and take a deep breath, hold it and I'll let you know, when to let it out, okay?” He explained to you, shifting your weight comfortably.

You nodded, hugging your arms tighter around his neck and took a few breaths, then held it. Giving you a nod of warning, Clark flexed and both of you rocketed into the clouds with an insane speed. What would have taken almost four hours, nonstop, on a normal flight, took less than twenty minutes for Clark to achieve. You panted as he carefully set you down on the dirt driveway of his childhood home. You heard the screen door open and saw a beautiful, older woman step out onto the porch, shading her eyes from the mid afternoon sun.

“Clark?” She called, taking a step down off the porch.

“Hey, Mom.” Clark grinned at her, his hand slipping into yours. “Mom, this is y/n.” He introduced you as she came closer to you both.

“She's the one you've been telling me about?” She asked, grinning at you, brightly. “It's so nice to finally meet you.” She said, giving you a hug.

“It's nice to finally meet you as well, Mrs. Kent.” You smiled, hugging her back.

“Oh, please, call me Martha.” She told you, holding you at arm's length, making your heart skip a beat, finding out the Clark's mother's name was the same as your own mother. “What are you two doing here?”

“Um,” Clark blushed, looking down at Hank as he sniffed around his feet. “There was a bit of trouble, and I need somewhere safe to keep y/n, until her brother and I figure it out.” He told his mother, patting the dog on the head.

“What kind of trouble?” Martha asked, looking between the two of you, and noticed the blood on your jeans and shirt. “Good lord.” She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Mom, it'll be all right.” Clark said, resting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her into a hug. “I'm staying here with you guys, I'll help you around the farm. I know there's a few projects dad started and that I promised to finish.” He pulled back, smiling at her encouragingly.

She stood there, quietly looking up at her son, worried and concerned, but you could see that hint of relief on her face, as well. “Why don't we get you two inside.” She said finally, turning and motioning to the house.

Relieved himself, Clark picked you back up and carried you up onto the porch, stopping as he caught the look on your face. “What is it?”

“I feel like you're carrying me over the threshold, on our wedding night.” You chuckled, resting your hand on his cheek as he blushed.

“I'd be a lucky man, to have you as my wife.” He smiled, teasing you and kissing you softly on the lips as he walked into the house.

Clark carried you upstairs to his bedroom, flicking the light on and setting you down on the double bed. He dropped the bag on the floor and pushed open the window, letting in the cool late summer breeze into the room. with the sound of the wind ruffling the corn stalks, tree branches and tall grass. It felt surreal to you, even the few times you stayed at the country cottage Bruce bought you, there was a busy road not far from it, so you never completely lost the busy city feel. But, here in Smallville, there was none of that, you were literally miles from the busiest road, just endless farm fields, nature and the occasional bark from Hank down in the yard.

“It's so quiet.” You commented, laying back in his bed and grinning at the hanging planets above it.

“Is that going to bother you, city girl?” Clark teased, sitting next to you on the bed, looking up at the planets with you, and tenderly rubbing your good thigh.

“I find it disconcerting, that I can hear my own thoughts without them being interrupted by a car horn, siren or someone yelling a rude comment at someone else.” You teased back, with a giggle. “But, I love how peaceful it is.” You added, in a softer tone, eyes flicker back to his.

“That's one of the things I love about being raised here.” He told you, shifting to lay down on his back, beside you. “It took me a long time to hone my powers, so I didn't hear every huge and microscopic thing. I would sit in the corn field, and just zone everything out, except the sound the stalks made when the wind rustled them, or fixate on a bird, singing in its nearby nest.”

“Are they hard to deal with in a city like Metropolis?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, slipping your hand into his.

“At first it was, cause there's so much sound and its so quick, if that makes sense.” He answered, still looking at the planets. “But, over time, I fine tuned it, and I'm able to control it now, no matter where I am.” He explained, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“That's good.” You smiled, shifting uncomfortably.

Clark turned his head towards you, sensing your pain. “Can I do anything?” He asked, brushing his fingertips over your cheek.

“Not unless one of your super powers, is relieving pain.” You quipped, weakly.

“Sadly, I don't have that super power.” He frowned, sympathetically. “How about a bath instead?” He offered. “Get you cleaned up and into clean clothes, the hot water might even help.”

You let your eyes drift shut at the thought of a nice hot bath, washing off all the grim, dry sweat and blood off your body. “Join me?” You asked, tilting your face towards him, hopeful.

A grin pulled across his lips, and he sat up on the edge of the bed. “Can you make it that far?” He asked, motion to the bathroom door on the other side of the room with a raise of an eyebrow.

“If I can't limp three hops to the bathroom.” You said, sitting up beside him. “You might as well put me down.” You chuckled, but the glint in Clark's eye told you, he didn't find it funny. “I can make it.” You told him, kissing his cheek and propelling yourself up and hopped into the bathroom. “Tah-dah!”

That did make Clark smile, getting up to join you. He helped you peel off your shirt, unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, carefully tugging them down over your wound. He hadn't cauterized the wound there, Pamela had managed to miss any major or troublesome veins, so it had stopped bleeding sometime ago. It still cut through muscle and nerves, making it hard and largely uncomfortable to walk, or limp for that matter. Letting you lean back against the sink, Clark drew the bath and helped ease you into, before taking off his own clothing. You slid forward, letting him slip in behind you and then eased back, resting against his broad and strong chest, melting as his arms locked around you, his chin resting on top of your head. You both just rested in the hot bath, eyes closed and enjoying the safe and peaceful tranquility of the moment. You could hear Clark's mom bumping around downstairs, humming to herself.

“She's making dinner.” Clark suddenly said, as he read your mind.

“Hm.” You hummed, feeling your stomach growl as the mention of food. “It sounds, and smells, amazing.” You commented back, resting your hands on his as they rested on your waist.

“You want some help, cleaning up?” He asked, tilting his head to look at you.

“How can I say no, to a handsome man, offering to wash me?” You laughed, nodding your head.

“You can't.” Clark laughed, softly, into your ear, pressing his lips to your neck.

Clark let you sit up, between his legs, and picked up the soap and a wash cloth. It felt incredible to have his strong hands on your body, rubbing the soapy cloth into your skin and massaging the tight and stressed knots of muscle in your back. He was mindful of your wounds, rinsing away the soap, before letting your hair down, attentively pouring water over your head to wet your hair, then gently working the shampoo into your hair and scalp, making you moan at the amazing feel. Hair and body washed, Clark helped you out of the tub and dry off, you limped back into his bedroom, picking the bag up off the floor and digging through it for your clothes, while Clark took a shower. You limped downstairs, looking at all the family photos that lined the wall going down the steps, smiling at the younger Clark. You found Martha in the kitchen, stirring something that was in the pot on the stove.

“See you got cleaned up.” She said, smiling as she noticed you standing in the kitchen doorway. “Must feel nice after what you've been through.”

“Incredibly so.” You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. “Dinner smells good.” You complimented her.

“Thank you.” She answered, giving you another smile. “So, tell me, how did you and Clark meet?” She asked, putting a lid on the pot and turning to you.

You blushed, brushing your wet hair behind your ear. “I met him, when he was doing an article on the Charity Gala my brother, Bruce and I, were hosting. He interviewed me at it, and we just kept running into each other, until we fell in love.” You told her, smiling.

“Your brother, Bruce?” Martha asked, brow slowly creasing. “Bruce Wayne? You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“I am.” You nodded, frowning back at her.

“He's the one that helped Clark and I get the house back.” She told you, her eyes a bit glassy at the memory.

“Get your house back, how did he do that?”

“Clark was...gone for a while, and while he was away I fell behind in the bank payments, and they foreclosed on the house.” She explained to you, turning back to the stove, needing a psychical distraction. “Your brother and Clark are friends, and he helped us get the house back from the bank.”

“The Smallville Union Bank?” You asked, lifting an eyebrow at her back.

“Yes, you know it?” Martha asked, looking at you over her shoulder.

“Yeah...” You nodded slowly, shocked. “My brother, he bought the bank, out right...” You told her, glancing around as it struck you why Bruce had bought the bank.

“He did it,” Clark's voice came suddenly. “as a gift to me.” he explained, sliding into the seat beside you.

“That's so incredibly sweet of him.” Martha beamed at the two of you, touched.

“It really is.” You agreed, dumbstruck, and looking at Clark, who offered you a small smile, his hand squeezing your knee.

You'd stayed on the Kent farm for nearly two months before Bruce finally did come to visit. He hadn't even so much as call, or send any other type of communication to you, while you were there. He feared that if he did, the people that hurt you would pick up where you were and come after you. So, when he showed up on the porch early one morning, you knew it was because he'd found something out about the people wanting to know about the Advanced Gene Development.

“Bruce?” You said, stepping out on to the porch with him, you'd healed well enough by now that you only had a minor limp. “Did you find out anything?” You asked, feeling your anxiety rise.

Clark had been asleep upstairs, and sensed the rise in your anxiety, he'd become quite attuned to you in the past two months, even more so than he had the year you two spent together back in Metropolis. He figured it was because you two spent every waking moment together, from sun up to sun down, you'd just become synced to him. You also found you really liked the small life of Smallville, quiet and not many people, helping Martha in her garden, and Clark on various of the farm projects; he'd even taught you how to fix the tractor in the barn. So, when he sensed your anxiety, even while dead asleep, he was up and at the screen door in a microsecond.

“Clark.” Bruce greeted him, lifting an eyebrow at the fact Clark was only in his boxers.

“Bruce.” He greeted him back, unbothered.

“I came with news.” Bruce said, turning his eyes back to you.

“Well?” You pressed, sitting down on the porch swing.

“Seems three of the CEOs in the company were working for Pamela Evans, she'd corrupted them.” he started to explain, pacing the length of the porch, which gave you an even more unsettled feeling. “They, ironically, call themselves, the Council,”

“How ominous.” You rolled your eyes, rocking back and forth on the swing.

“It was a rogue group, trying to reproduce and enhance humans,” He looked at Clark, and sighed. “to try and fight any more aliens that might try and take over the planet.”

“Such as Superman.” You understood, glancing at Clark yourself.

“Luckily, they're a small group and easily taken care of.” Bruce went on, leaning back against the porch railing. “I've tracked down most of them, and dispatched them. But, there's one person left, the leader of the group.”

“Pamela wasn't?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” Bruce shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then, who is?” Clark asked, moving to sit on the swing with you.

“His name is Oliver Maddox.” He sighed, rubbing his scruffy face. “He has a very small and faint paper trail, a trail that leaves behind a lot of bodies.” He pressed his lips together, looking at you with a down turned face.

“So, where is Maddox?” Clark asked, on edge.

“I was hoping, you'd help me find him, Clark.” Bruce told him, lifting his head. “If we can eliminate him, then the group will fall apart, and y/n will be safe again.”

“Give me everything you have on him,” Clark told him, adamant. “And I'll take care of him.”

The tone of Clark's voice worried you, but you trusted him. Bruce gave Clark the file on Oliver Maddox, but declined to stay at the farm, even for breakfast, saying he had pressing matters to deal with inside Wayne Industries. You understood that with the corrupted CEOs he had to get rid of, there would be a lot of paperwork and damage control to take of. You sat on Clark's bed after breakfast, worried over the prospect of Clark going after Oliver Maddox, and potentially killing him.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, leaning against the door jam, and frowned when you didn't answer him. He pushed off the door frame and moved to you, cupping your face in his hands. “Y/n.” He said your name, even softer this time.

You blinked up at him. “You're going to kill him, aren't you?” you asked, quietly.

Clark sank to his knees, moving his hands to hold both of your in his, pressing his lips to your fingers. “If I have to, then, I will.” He whispered, against your knuckles. “But, I will bring him to justice, and keep you safe, y/n.”

You leaned forward and kissed him, deeply, holding his head in your hands. Clark slipped his hands up your arms, gripping your shoulders for a moment, before his hands glided down your back and his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him, so your legs wrapped around him. He stood up, supporting you with one arm under your butt, turning long enough to close the bedroom door, and lay you back down on the bed. He pulled your sweats and panties off, shoving down his boxers enough to get himself free. You ran your fingers through his hair, fingertips caressing his neck and shoulders, nails racking, harshly, down his lean back and dug into his round ass, making him moan and growl into your neck as he sucked on it. His hands went behind your knees, pushing them farther up and rubbing himself against you, causing you to moan around your trapped lip as you bit into it, and you felt his cock grow and harden against your wet core.

“Clark.” You mewled, breathless, using the advantage of your hands grasping his plentiful ass to jerk his hips against you.

“Y/n.” He groaned back, his eyes squeezing shut at the feel of you.

Sex between the two of you had always been balanced and gentle, but this time it wasn't, it felt desperate and rough, like you needed to keep each other grounded by pure force. Clark rocked his hips into you, driving himself deeper into you each time, your hands moved up his back, hooked under his arms and around to his shoulders, nails breaking the skin at the top of his shoulders and making Clark hiss. The headboard knocked against the bedroom wall to the uneven and hard thrusts, catching Martha's attention as she walked into the house from picking vegetables from the garden, for that night's dinner. She looked up at the ceiling, hearing the faint noises the two of you were making, even above the banging headboard, blushed and shook her head.

“Let's go take a walk, Hank.” She called to the border collie, setting the vegetable basket on the counter. “Give the kids some space.” She chuckled, holding open the back door for the dog and following him out.

“I love you.” You moaned, pulling Clark into a kiss as you both came, needing the taste of him on your lips.

“I love you too, y/n.” Clark moaned into your mouth, brushing your hair out of your face.

It was the screen door slamming that woke you up an hour later, you found yourself alone and knew what was going on. You yanked on your sweats and ran down the stairs, your thigh throbbing from the excretion. Clark was standing a few feet away from the porch, long red cape blowing in the gentle breeze, he turned to you, the breath and words you were starting to form stuck in your throat, seeing him fully decked out in his Superman suit. It defined every muscle you worshiped and hugged the amazing curve of his ass. But, it made a huge swelling of pride burst from inside your chest, and a smile crossed your lips. You looked him in the eye, both of you smiling, both of you knowing what he was going to do, and why. Your feet didn't even touch the porch steps as your ran for him and found yourself wrapped up in his arms, his lips on yours.

“Go get them, Superman.” You whispered against his lips. “And don't be late for dinner, Clark.” You added, chuckling as you stepped back.

“I will, and I won't be.” He grinned, then shot up into the sky, a sonic boom punctuating his ascent, before he vanished into the clouds.

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writingwithadinosaur · 4 years

Text

“Under the Knife” - Part 6

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,500-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Death, Murder, and Violence

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List:

@fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude @ntlmundy @a-person-unlabled

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The last few days were weird for you. While working the Virginia Scalpel case, you still had to give lectures and work the occasional museum shift. Luckily you were able to give more and more of your museum shifts to your coworkers, saying that you needed the time to focus on the case or to finalize your lecture outlines.

Between two lectures and a museum shift, you were able to narrow down your suspect list even more. Pulling every male doctor within a 50-mile radius who fit the height range and who wasn’t super young, old, or generally weak looking. You dropped it off to Jack’s office while he was in a meeting of some sort, thankful that you wouldn’t have to talk to him just yet.

After that night at the Pencalt crime scene, things seemed to take more energy than you expected. You could get up and function through your work day, but when it came to socializing or even having to have work related conversations, you found yourself doing them through email or not at all. This included talking to Hannibal or Will.

Both of them had tried calling or texting you, and you’d try to respond with a “Can’t talk right now,” or an “I’m busy.” But sometimes you didn’t have the energy and straight up ignored them.

You knew what they wanted to talk about. And you had to admit that after letting it settle in your brain, you wanted to too. But you knew that that conversation would be a long one that required patience.

Which is why you decided to call in sick and work from home today. You weren’t scheduled a lecture or a museum shift, and everything you planned on doing in your office could be done at home.

You understood the urgency of this case. The team only had about a week left to catch this guy before another doctor would be found in pieces. But you weren’t the only one working this case, and you were still waiting on results from Beverly, Price, and Zeller. So you justified taking today a bit slower and tried to fit in some breaks for self-care as you worked.

The day started out with a peaceful breakfast, something you hadn’t had since before you joined Jack’s team. It was different and odd feeling now, but you tried your best to enjoy it and let your mind relax. After you put your stuff in the dishwasher, you sat down where your work stuff was set up at your dining room table, and felt your mind wander.

I know I should talk to Will or Hannibal, but that would be so draining right now. No. Just focus on breathing and getting as much as you can done today, alright, (Y/N)? We don’t need you combusting over personal shit while your killer is still out there. Now, what haven’t we gone over yet?

You started to sift through some of your scribbles as a piece of paper slid out of place from within your notebook. You slightly tilted your head and pulled the paper out, seeing that webname that you had learned to hate.

“Tattle Crime”

You were going to shove the article back into your book, but you knew that your curiosity would only grow the longer you didn’t read it. With a disapproving sigh, you went ahead and read the article.

Freddie Lounds didn’t spend much time talking about the killer. She states that Dr. Pencalt was found like the other victims, and how he was a doctor with no obvious correlation to the others. Her “article” tends to focus more on you, Hannibal, and Will.

“Much like her brother Will Graham, who we have talked about before, (Y/N) supposedly has a gift for the psychologically strange and unusual. But we have to wonder why he isn’t working this case? Will Graham has successfully assisted Jack Crawford and his team on multiple cases in the past. So why bring on a rookie when you have a prized horse in the stables?

Maybe that is why Crawford decided to bring in Dr. Lecter, who was also an integral role in some of the cases that Will Graham had worked on. He has years of medical knowledge outside the realm of psychology that could be helpful in this case, considering the Virginia Scalpel is suspected to have a medical background.. Maybe he will be the key to locking the Virginia Scalpel up for good?”

She then went on to talk more about Hannibal before bringing up the case again. You couldn’t even fully grasp at what you were reading or how to feel about any of it before your phone rang beside you, bringing you back to reality. Only, you didn’t really want to deal with reality when you saw that the caller ID said “Jack Crawford.”

“(Y/N) here.” You tried your best to not sound unenthused, but you couldn’t help the obvious apathy in your voice.

“How soon can you get here?” You knew that this would end with you coming into the office for who knows how long, so you begrudgingly stood up and started to try to find a comfy but work appropriate outfit to change into while talking to Crawford.

“I mean… An hour? Maybe? Give or take 10 minutes. Why? What happened?”

“Got that evidence you were waiting for.” You couldn’t discern if he was at all happy about that.

Of course the one day I try to take it easy is the day we get results. You took a deep breath in and tried to form a coherent sentence.

“I--Uh… Okay. I’ll try to--”

“I’ll see you in the lab in an hour.” Jack interrupted and then hung up before you could say much else, knowing that that was an order, not a suggestion. You put your phone down and groaned before starting to get dressed.

~~~~~~~~

Pulling into your normal parking spot, you saw that you had made it to the office with 15 minutes to spare thanks to you not having the energy to do your hair or makeup today.

You got to your office and left the door open, knowing you would only be there for a minute or two. While you unpacked your bag, you heard someone clear their throat from your doorway. Turning around, you saw Will standing in the threshold with two cups of coffee.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” He tried to joke, but you just shot him a look. He winced and extended one of the cups out to you. “Peace offering?”

You sigh and accept the cup, not sure of what to say other than a quick “thanks.” Will stood there while you took a sip and continued to set up your stuff.

“You haven’t answered any of my texts.”

“I’ve been busy. And I’m still quite busy. I have to go and meet with everyone in,” you look at the clock on the wall. “5 minutes.”

“Jack’s really got his hooks in you, huh?”

“I tried to take a sick day and work from home, but lab results are in. Which means I’m also in.”

“Sick Day? You never use sick days.”

“First time for everything, I guess.” You turn around and try to walk past him but he stops you.

“(Y/N), I-”

“I really don’t want to talk. At least not right now. You and Hannibal are on thin ice right now. And there are more important a-and time sensitive things that need to be taken care of.”

“Look, (Y/N), I can explain--”

“Explain what exactly? That you really didn’t trust me when I said that I could handle myself? That you really think I am going to let Jack push me so much during my first real case that you had to have Hannibal step in as some sort of watchdog? I know you’ve had bad experiences with Jack, but goddamnit can’t you just let me learn and experience whatever happens on my own?”

“You’re upset--”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“And I-I get that, but just--”

“No. I have a job to do.”

“Then come by the house later. Have a drink, o-or we can get takeout, and I can tell you my side of the story.”

You paused as you looked down slightly and started to fidget with your ring. Will is looking in your general direction, trying to figure out how to ease the anxiety that was surely coursing through your amygdala and hippocampus, or at least some of the resentment that had fought its way through your eyes.

“Even if you don’t want to talk and we end up just sitting around, I’m sure the dogs would like to see their favorite aunt.”

“I’m their only aunt.” You both smiled at the joke. His smile was more out of relief while yours was just a quick smirk. His fades quickly as you rub your face and sigh out, “We’ll see. I have no idea what’s waiting for me in the lab. So I can’t promise anything. And as upset as I am with you, I do miss those dogs.”

“Just let me know when you decide and we will make time for it.”

You just nod and he lets you walk past. Will follows you out and closes the door behind the two of you. Before you could hit the elevator button, he spoke out to you.

“Despite what you think, I do care about you, you know.”

You stop in your tracks and turn around to face him. You could see the pain on his face even though you know he was trying to hide it. Your heart broke as you took a large inhale.

“I know you do. We’re family. We’ll always care about each other no matter what.” You give him a small smile to try to reassure him that what you were saying was true. He nodded and headed back towards the lecture halls and you hit the button to call the elevator, preparing yourself for as much insanity as you could.

~~~~~~~~

“(Y/N), right on time” Jack announced as you walked into the lab. Everyone was there and ready to go, including Hannibal who was on the other side of the table facing you. You hoped that he wouldn’t put together how off you were feeling today from your rushed appearance.

“Sorry, I would have been here sooner, but I had a run-in with my brother. What’ve I missed so far?” You opened up your notebook and joined the circle around the exam table that had Dr. Pencalt’s body on it. You internally winced as you realized that Hannibal was most likely going to ask you about your ‘run-in’ with Will after this meeting.

“Nothing yet. We were just about to start.” Zeller spoke up as he clapped his hands together and began his presentation. A lot of it was information that was similar to the previous victims. All of the cuts were made with surgical tools to ensure clean cuts, no obvious mutilations outside the killer’s usual, all focus was on the doctor as opposed to his wife, and so on.

“The paralytic that was used on Dr. Pencalt was the same as the other vics. It was a high enough dosage that he felt the effects within a minute or two.”

“Do you have the location and angle on the injection point?” Zeller nodded and handed you a printout that had various information about the small needle mark: diameter, insertion angle, depth, et cetera.

“He was pricked right here.” He used a gloved hand to turn Dr. Pencalt’s head and point to a small dot on the side of his neck. You just nodded and tried to imagine the killer coming and attacking him. You were starting to solidify the height range of your suspect.

“The angle is pretty flat, which means our suspect is either the same height as him or maybe an inch taller or shorter. How tall was Dr. Pencalt?” You heard Jimmy open a file and hum a note as he found out.

“5 foot 11.” You nodded and saw the height range of the shadowy silhouette of the killer in your mind narrow.

“So our killer is between 5’10” and 6’.”

“Is that all?” Jack asked in an audibly annoyed voice. You weren’t sure if it was directed at you specifically or at the situation in general. Jimmy, Brian, and Beverly all looked at each other as if they were kids who had broken an expensive vase and had to tell dad. Beverly was the brave kid that stepped forward.

“No. There is one more thing.” She turned around and got a tray from the other side of the room, bringing it back to the circle. “This was found lodged in his throat.”

On the tray, there was a distorted but still legible article from TattleCrime.com, the same article that was in your apartment. The only major difference was that this one was highlighted wherever it mentioned Hannibal or you.

“We tried to pull any sort of prints or DNA off of it, but the only thing we got was Dr. Pencalt’s blood and saliva. The article is from our favorite tabloid, Tattle Crime. It’s about the case, but it also talks about (Y/N) and Hannibal...”

You tried to control your breathing as Beverly kept speaking, forcing yourself to take slightly deeper breaths than normal hoping no one would pick up on it as you finally spoke up.

“So, fun story…” Everyone’s eyes landed on you. “I have that same article printed out, but I didn’t print it. Someone slipped it under my door the other night.”

You saw Jack readjust his stance, a frustrated look growing in his eyes, and started to speak, but you cut him off, already knowing where this was going.

“I didn’t bring it up because I honestly thought Hannibal or Will had slid it into my apartment as a way to try to scare me and make me resign from the case. For personal reasons, I have avoided talking to either of them unless it was absolutely necessary. So I never confirmed my theory.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Hannibal or Jack. But if you had, you would have seen the small bit of guilt in Hannibal’s face. He knew no one else would pick up on it because he was a master at keeping his mask on to others, but after being with him as long as you had, you could see between the cracks.

Jack looked towards Hannibal.

“Dr. Lecter, did you send the article to (Y/N)?”

“I did not. I’m just as taken aback as everyone else here.”

“And did you receive a copy of this article at any point during the last week?”

“No. I have not read anything from Miss Lound’s website for a significant amount of time now.” Jack took a breath in and tried to be logical and figure out what the next step needed to be.

“Alright, you guys get me a list of every medical facility that supplies that paralytic. (Y/N), get your copy and give it to Price to see if he can get anything off of it. Then I want you and Dr. Lecter in my office.” Jack walked out before anyone could say anything.

You stood there in a bit of shock as you looked at the soiled article in front of you. You tried to read through the bits of blurred text. Everything involving you or Hannibal was doused in bright yellow marker.

“Um… (Y/N)?” You couldn’t help the small instinctual jump as Jimmy tapped your shoulder. You quickly looked to him, trying to look okay despite learning that your name was literally in a key piece of evidence. “You okay?”

“Hm? Y-yeah! I mean, not really, but we’re not gonna talk about that right now.” You let out a forced exhale that you tried to make sound like a chuckle through a very forced smile. Before Price could ask anything else, you spoke up. “Here. It-its right here.”

“And you were the only one to touch this, right?” Price asked as he carefully grabbed the corners of your Tattle Crime article with clean and gloved hands. You just nodded in response. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

You mutter a quick thank you and then make your way back to the elevator and back to your office to write out your notes on the killer’s more specific height range and the highlighted sections of the article in your notebook.

Why us? I can somewhat understand Hannibal being chosen from an occupational standpoint. He is not only a psychiatrist, but he used to be a surgeon. But he has no ties to any of these other doctors. And what’s so special about me? I’m not a doctor of any kind. I don’t fit the killer’s m.o.

Your mind kept going on this internal monologue, trying to find any solid reasoning as to why both of you are now being focused on. It got even more frantic as you realized you only had about a week to figure it all out.

Before you could write out much, you heard a soft knock on your open office door. You didn’t even bother looking up.

“Will, I really can’t do this right now. I told you I would text you when-- Oh. Sorry, Dr. Lecter.” You expected Will to be impatient and try to talk to you again, but instead you were met with the careful gaze of Hannibal.

“No need to apologize.” He shut the door behind him and took a seat. “I thought you were comfortable with addressing me by my first name, (Y/N). Has that changed?”

“Look, I know you’re not really here to talk about that. But I’m not okay enough to talk about our personal lives at the moment. And if you’re here to ask about the Tattle Crime shit, I have no idea how--”

“I came to check up on you because I am worried about you, (Y/N).” You were taken aback for a moment. Not only does Hannibal usually never interrupt you when speaking, but he isn't always the most forthcoming when talking about emotions or concern.

“I’m fine.” You go back to trying to write out your ideas, knowing that if you gave him a fake smile, Hannibal would see right through it.

“The fact that you clearly stated that you were ‘not okay enough to talk about our personal lives’ and that you planned on taking a sick day today says otherwise.”

You took a deep inhale and closed your notebook. Trying to not dump all of your thoughts, work related or personal, on him.

“It wasn’t really a sick day. It was supposed to be a day where I worked from home to try to remind myself to take a break and eat an actual meal, or do my laundry that’s been piling up, or maybe finally hang up that frame I bought three weeks ago. But apparently that wasn’t in my cards today. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I don’t want to be around people right now. Yes, I really don’t want to be talking to you or Will about anything other than work right now. So if I need to be here, then I’m here. That’s my job.”

“But no matter how stressful a job is, you need to be able to recalibrate your mind so as to not overwork yourself until you become a hindrance. Holding on to the frustration and betrayal that you feel are surely contributing to that lack of ability to rest, (Y/N). If you allow yourself to talk to Will about it, or even myself if you feel more comfortable--”

“All of my focus is trying to go to this case, moreso now that you and I may be targets. I am your colleague and your friend. But I really don’t want to ruin the good relationship that we have by talking to you like I’m one of your patients, because I’m not one of your patients. So please, just--”

You stopped yourself as you felt something click into place. Hannibal watched as you had a similar look in your eyes like how he had witnessed at the Pencalt crime scene.

“Patient…” You were slowly closing your mind’s eye and seeing things clearly.

“You’ve figured something out, haven’t you?” Hannibal leaned forward in his seat in curiosity, truly enthralled by watching how your brain worked in these situations.

“A patient! The killer is a patient! Oh my god! We gotta go now!” You quickly stood up, grabbing your notebook as you did. “I think I just figured out who our killer is!”

#hannibal lecter #Hannibal TV #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fandom #will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader

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joonsdiary · 4 years

Text

the ceo’s keeper

↳ part three of the: (not) the love of my life series

pairing: seokjin x reader (female) genre: arranged marriage au // humour with a dash of fluff and sprinkle of angst word count: 5,8k

chapter summary: visiting seokjin in his Tower of Terror™ reveals he carries a lot more baggage than you intend to claim.

warning. alcohol consumption, a few curse words here and there; nothing worth putting the mature tag but i’d still advice to proceed with caution.

note. putting it out there since i don’t think i’ve mentioned it before, but this fic was initially inspired by yuna’s (not) the love of my life. just putting it out there as a song rec in case you’ve not heard it yet!

the proposal | the first date | the ceo’s keeper | the engagement

“Guess who’s in the front cover of Daily Gossip and is trending number one in the search engines?” Taehyung barged into Seokjin's office early Monday morning a few seconds after Mina phoned his arrival. His brother plopped himself in the plush leather chair across his office table, lifting one leg to rest it on top of the other.

Seokjin didn’t have to guess as he often donned the front cover of plenty of tabloids. But not because of anything work-related, which he never really understood. Were his date nights that interesting to many people? Must be, if they were constantly writing about it. He then remembered your quip a few days ago regarding his ‘date’ with the president’s daughter but was quickly reminded that a certain Yoongi had told you about it. The corner of his lips curled downwards.

“Aren’t I always on the front cover?” he doesn’t even bother to look up as he spoke while continuing to type endlessly on his keyboard. If there was one thing he hated about his job, it would have to be coordinating e-mails. He would usually allocate the task to Mina, but certain emails that contain sensitive information would have to be drafted by him.

“Yes, but, hear this—” Taehyung cleared his throat for effect and shifted in his seat, holding his phone in front of him theatrically, “Seoul’s most eligible bachelor’s newest FLING is somebody you won’t expect!”

“As I said, it’s nothing new,” he deadpanned.

Taehyung chastised him with a shush before continuing.

“Kim Seokjin’s date du jour – I’m pretty sure they used the word in the wrong context here – is the twenty-four-year-old hotelier – wait, she’s that young?”

“I can’t interrupt you, but you keep stopping yourself for your little commentaries,” Seokjin grumbled as he hit the send button, only partially listening to Taehyung. “And she’s practically the same age as you.”

“Yes, but an owner, albeit previously, of a hotel? That’s pretty impressive.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes at Taehyung’s remark, but one of the reasons why he’d agree to this whole masquerade in the first place is due to your reputation. You were a woman of class and grace in spite of your moderate — for a lack of a better term — upbringing. As far as he was concerned, you were respected among the elites; the perfect remedy to clear his name of his tarnished credibility, which he blames solely on the tabloids. Whoever he chooses to go on a date with, no matter how frequently the person changed every week, was no one’s business but his.

Yet the camera lenses never strayed too far from him wherever he went. It was tedious and stupid because he wasn’t some celebrity who craved attention. Yet he had to make peace with the fact because the board of directors was all about reputation instead of the actual work that Seokjin put into elevating the company.

“Anyway, back to the gossip,” Taehyung scrolled down further on his screen, “blah, blah – oh! We have a feeling she’s special because unlike his other dates, he brought her to his upscale restaurant, Chateau – You had dinner at Mom’s restaurant? That is certainly news.”

The fact that Taehyung still referred to it as ‘Mom’s restaurant’ brought warmth in Seokjin’s chest.

“It was a last-minute decision. She said she went on a date at the place you suggested the night before.”

“That is also news,” Taehyung said, teasing. “Do tell me the details, dear brother.”

“Apparently it was a move to get under her parent’s skin. It was shortly before she knew of my proposal, obviously. Nothing much to spill.”

“Mhm,” the smirk lingered on Taehyung’s lips, but he pressed on with the article. He quietly read with his eyes for a while before blurting out an expletive, which caused Seokjin to look up momentarily from his screen.

“What?”

Taehyung sighed as he squinted at his brother, reciting the text verbatim. “But their rendezvous, however, ended early with them parting ways; he headed straight to Kim Hotel after dropping her off. Does this mean the night didn’t go as they’d planned? Will she be another date-and-dash for our handsome CEO-to-be?”

“Date-and-dash,” Seokjin scoffed before laughing in disbelief. “That might be the best term they’ve come up with so far.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t want everybody to think this is another date-and-dash for you.”

“I’m only worried about Dad’s opinion. Everybody else can think whatever they want.”

“They can still hire an outsider as CEO.”

“Dad wouldn’t let them do that.”

“There’s only so much power he can hold. That’s what the board of directors is for.”

He paused, letting Taehyung’s words simmer. His brother never bothered much for the corporate side of the business, opting to delve more into his artistic side. He was responsible for much of the interior design of any and every Kim Hotel they decided to build, but that’s about it as far as his contribution went. If Taehyung was content and satisfied with whatever he chose, then so was Seokjin.

“You’re right,” Seokjin’s lips pursed, hating the admission.

“Aren’t I always?” Taehyung snorts before sighing and putting his phone away. “You’re going to have to put a little bit more pep in your step, as the saying goes, if you want to make this look more sincere than it actually is.”

Seokjin contemplated the implication of the word sincere. He thought he had been as truthful as possible in his interaction with you two nights prior. His conversation with you ebbed seamlessly, save for the second half of the night where you discussed business. It had been the sincerest interaction he had with a woman whom he didn’t have to bed that same night as he normally would. The farthest he’d gone with you so far was a chaste kiss on the forehead, which he deemed you were uncomfortable with.

“Should I make out with her on our next date, then?” Seokjin quipped. He didn’t mean it seriously, but the delighted look in his brother’s face told him they weren’t on the same page. “I was kidding, V.”

He threw the nickname out with an ill-intention, knowing how much Taehyung resented it. His brother sighed, slumping on the chair and mussing his curly locks. It baffled Seokjin how one could grow their hair out past their eyebrows, but it seemed to suit Taehyung, nonetheless, fitting with the artistic look he was trying to accomplish.

“It’s something to talk to her about. If she’s comfortable with it, then why the hell not?” Taehyung shrugged, tugging at his turtleneck.

Would you even be open to the idea? Hell, you’re bound to get married in less than three weeks, but he hadn’t entertained the thought. All the women he’s dated so far knew what to expect of him, and vice versa: sex after dinner. That was the mantra.

“I don’t know, Taehyung…” he trailed off.

It’s not that he thought of you as a prude, but his arrangement with you had strictly been business, and Seokjin was the type not to mix the two. He never pried with anything past surface level with the women he had relationships with; he never stayed long enough to know. Or he wasn’t interested enough to stay and get past the tip of the iceberg.

He no longer wanted to entertain the idea of forever with somebody, and longevity isn’t something he’s interested in. Been there, done that. Not exactly his cup of tea — he’d learned the hard way. Best he moved along.

“Fine, but mild contact is still on the table. You didn’t even hold her hand, according to the article.”

“I did,” Seokjin said defensively. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure, and that was a problem in and of itself.

“Tell her, Jin.”

“I will if it gets you off my back. Now kindly screw off,” he grinned at his inside joke before continuing. “I have a meeting with a contractor in five minutes.”

“Ouch, since when do you use such harsh words, dear brother?” Taehyung whined, clasping the front of this sweater with his hand. He straightened up, nonetheless, slipping his phone in the pocket of his black slacks. “Jeju?”

Seokjin nodded, opening another email that needed a return message.

“Shouldn’t Namjoon be here for that?”

“I already called him this morning. He’s still having way too much fun in Switzerland, but he’ll be back by the end of the week.”

“Taeri’s probably mad that you’re pulling her husband away from her so early after their wedding.” Taehyung laughed as he shook his head, but Seokjin only grinned.

“It’s been two months. He has to come back. This operation doesn’t run itself; I’ll have you know.”

Taehyung dismissed him with a passive, “Yeah, yeah.”

There’s a pause, and Seokjin furrowed his brows at his brother’s sudden teasing expression.

“But I still can’t believe he got married before you.” Taehyung pointed an accusing finger at him, and Seokjin laughed.

“I can’t believe it either. He’s certainly way worse than I am.”

“But better at break-ups than you are. You just leave them hanging,” Taehyung squinted his eyes with indignation. Seokjin gives his brother a tight-lipped smile.

“Not entirely true. I technically don’t do the whole dating thing officially. What’s more, I give them—”

“Mr. Kim, your ten-thirty is here,” Mina’s voice crackled through the phone. Seokjin sighed in relief, grateful for once that he was being interrupted with another meeting.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Taehyung turned, his Gucci loafers dragging him halfway through the office. “Don’t forget to tell Y/N.”

“I won’t. She’s stopping by later.”

“Oh? I should stick around, then.”

“We don’t need your constant badgering, thank you very much.” He called out, but Taehyung was already out of his office by then.

* * *

You had never been to the Kim Hotel before, there was simply no reason to step foot into one of their many copy-and-paste buildings that dotted the entire country. You joked to Seokjin a few nights ago about the hotel being his tower, but the building was indeed massive, which would make sense seeing that they are billionaires, after all. They wouldn’t have a measly bed-and-breakfast type of hotel like you do. You stood rooted to the ground, squinting up the massive fortress.

(You’d think at some point they’d have to consider the safety of the poor birds that get confused and end up slamming themselves into its reflective windows, but that seemed like a thought for another day.)

Pushing aside all the uneasy feeling that bubbled from your stomach, you collected yourself mentally and pushed through the revolving doors. It was exactly like you thought it was — the pinnacle of contemporary interior design. Everything blended seamlessly, uncluttered and unbearably white it was practically blinding you. Not wanting to be caught ogling the furniture, you made your way to the steel elevators, punching the button to the highest floor. Seokjin didn’t give you any details as to where his office is located, but surely the highest floor of this gargantuan building would belong to him. The doors slid open after what seemed like a lifetime, and you were greeted with a curt voice.

“Do you have an appointment?”

You blinked, unsure of what to say. “I believe so. My name is—”

“Finally! I thought you’d never arrive,” a brunette with an uncharacteristically wavy hair came bumbling out of what you assumed was a boardroom office. His hands were buried in the pocket of his loosely fitted slacks and an easygoing aura surrounded him. His presence was unmistakable, and despite not sharing the same facial features as Seokjin, you could tell who it was.

“Taehyung?”

His eyes lit up when you said his name as his lips formed into an attractive smile. He turned to Seokjin’s secretary.

“Mina, darling,” he said languidly, but the female did not bat her mascaraed eyelashes. “Will you let us in?”

Ah, so this was the lady you spoke with on the phone when you’d initially tried to get a hold of Seokjin. She seemed less terrifying when you met her face to face; her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and she wore minimal makeup. She looked friendlier than she sounded, why were you afraid of calling, again?

“Mr. Kim is in a meeting right now,” she busied herself with her work while she spoke. “If you’d wait a moment—”

“But Mina, baby,” Taehyung crooned, leaning over her desk perhaps a little too close. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his antics; he’s certainly quite different from how Seokjin acted. Whereas Seokjin kept himself aloof most of the time, Taehyung wore his emotions on his sleeve. Both are still unabashedly forward, nonetheless.

Mina stayed impassive, and you can tell why Seokjin hired her to guard his lair — the woman could not be cracked. You admitted to yourself that if Taehyung were to charm your pants off, you’d be completely hooked.

His efforts were rendered futile, however, when the wooden doors of Seokjin’s office opened and gave way to an ebony-haired woman. She was in the middle of securing her wool coat as her heels echoed with confidence through the marble floors, side-stepping to get around you but not before flashing you a lithe smile. The self-assurance you held before walking into the building had all but withered away.

“Taehyung.” She greeted him, but he only stared at her with an impassive gaze. “It’s nice seeing you around here.”

She headed straight to the elevators and disappeared even before you could blink.

“I didn’t think she’d be here today,” Taehyung mumbled.

“She’s the president’s daughter, right?” you asked, not bothering to remember what her name was. Taehyung nodded.

Strictly business my ass. You didn’t want to care, but your all-too-sudden sour mood said otherwise.

You push past the same wooden doors as the woman had earlier and you find Seokjin propped to his desk, hair slicked back, forehead taut in concentration as he focused on whatever was on his screen. If he’d been doing The Deed, you don’t think he’d look as put together as he currently does. That much was enough for you to relax into his leather chaise. Taehyung followed closely, opting to sit on the couch on the far side of the room.

“Future wife, how are you today?” Seokjin began, and you’re irritated slightly by his refusal to set aside whatever he was doing.

“About as well as one can be while visiting their corporate shark fiancé, Mr. Kim. You?”

Taehyung barked out a laugh from where he sat, and you patted yourself on the back. It’s the little accomplishments, you mused to yourself.

Seokjin’s head snapped at Taehyung and he gave his brother a glare that sliced through the room.

“I told you that you’re not needed here today, Taehyung.”

Taehyung ignored Seokjin, clutching his stomach as he wiped away imaginary tears. “Damn, can I be married to her instead?”

“I don’t like the idea of me being thrown around like a piece of meat for your amusement,” you deadpanned, and Taehyung straightened up quickly.

“I didn’t mean to offend, Sis. I only wanted to rile Jin up for my amusement.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he gave you another million-dollar smile. Seokjin sighed as he stood, buttoning up the blazer of his suit. He picked up a manila envelope that was on the edge of his desk before rounding the table.

“You don’t have to sign today. You can take it home and read it over with a lawyer if you want.” He hands you the files before leaning back into the glass table. You shook your head as you pulled out the documents with confidence. If there had been one thing you learned from your parents, it was how to properly read official documents without glossing over important details. Legal documents often used extensive jargon, and you could easily tell they were drafted by actual lawyers. It gave you a tiny bit of relief that he wasn’t trying to scam you.

Your fingers skimmed your hotel’s name in print, somehow unable to wrap your mind around the fact that you no longer owned it. But the promise was clear in ink under commencement of your divorce: your hotel would be yours.

“Do you need one?” Your head lifted to meet Seokjin’s gaze after minutes of silence. He offered a fountain pen that glinted against the afternoon sun as he moved it closer to you. You felt a wave of emotions suddenly overwhelming you, and you blink up at him before shaking your head.

“Maybe I should look it over with a lawyer, after all,” you mumbled while giving him a timid smile. He nodded in understanding and moved back behind his desk.

“It’s no pressure at all.”

“It’s not that… I just,” you inhaled through your nose and out through your mouth. Between revealing your true feelings or lightening the mood with a banter, you chose the latter. “I just want to make sure you’re not hiding any tricks up your sleeves, Mr. Kim.”

“I’m not one to joke around with things like this, Ms. Hwang,” Seokjin said pointedly, and you frowned. Okay, not the mood I was going for.

“That’s true; he doesn’t. He’s as uptight as they come.” Taehyung quipped, rising from his comfortable spot before plopping beside you. He patted your shoulders, almost apologetically. “You’ll get used to him.”

“I highly doubt that,” you snorted, stuffing the papers back in their envelope. “I have no interest in being the CEO’s keeper.”

Taehyung peeled back from you for another belly laugh, and Seokjin rolled his eyes. “I’m right here, you know.”

Taehyung waved him off dismissively and turned back to you. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Y/N.”

There was a wicked gleam in Taehyung’s eyes, but you knew he was being playful rather than having malicious intent.

“Didn’t you say there was something else you wanted to talk about, V?” Seokjin’s voice was seething, which caused Taehyung’s grin to grow wider.

“Right, right,” he shifted in his seat as he whipped out his phone. “I made notes, hold on.”

“What’s this about?” you looked between the brothers with confusion.

“Apparently we did the whole ‘date’ thing wrong.” Seokjin deadpanned, rolling his eyes before he turned back to his work.

“Meaning?”

“One, lack of intimacy,” it was Taehyung who answered, and you blush at his comment. You’re reminded of how Seokjin had pulled you against him the moment you stepped out of the car.

“Going excessive on the first date would’ve made it seem disingenuous,” you pointed out, and Seokjin mumbled in agreement.

“Do you not know how Jin usually is with his former dates?” Taehyung asked, which froze Seokjin mid-type.

“I don’t make the habit of reading gossip blogs and tabloids for celebrities,” you mumbled, hoping they bought into your pretense of being calm. In your head you prayed Taehyung wouldn’t elaborate; the image of Seokjin with other women made you want to hurl your guts out. “I could honestly care less.”

“Right,” Taehyung gave you a slanted gaze, and you shrugged. “Please keep in mind to give a little bit more, next time, then.”

“Will do, Chief,” Seokjin grumbled, massaging his temples with both his hands.

“Second, no going home separately, especially since news of your engagement will hit the public this week.”

You fidgeted in your seat, the air in the room suddenly growing warmer.

“There’s a spare room in the penthouse suite,” Seokjin motioned at a door on the other side of his office with his chin. “The bathroom is always stocked with amenities in case—”

The word in case hung in the air like a thick fog, and Seokjin did not have to finish the sentence for you to figure out what he was trying to get at. The message was clear. But to be quite frank, you couldn’t care less. Right before agreeing to the arrangement, it was clear that Seokjin was that type of man, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that he would bring women to his home, which also happened to be where his office was. Yet, there was an uncomfortable prickle in your heart and your palm unintentionally raised to soothe the phantom pain.

“I’m alright with taking a spare office or something. I’ll work for a few hours then head home past midnight. That should raise enough eyebrows, right?” you hoped neither one of them noticed the slight quiver in your voice.

Taehyung must have sensed it because his voice grew quiet. “Okay, I’m sure you two will work something out. That’s it, for now. I’m going to assume the rest will come naturally.”

You had a feeling he had a longer list but opted to be sensible enough to feel your mood shift. Seokjin didn’t say anything, but the lack of clicking noises coming from his direction told you he’s not working, either. You turned, locking gazes with him, but he remained expressionless which irritated you more than you’d like to admit.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave,” you brushed imaginary lint off your high-waisted slacks as you stood up.

“So soon?” Taehyung pouted, earning a small laugh from you. The nerves were slowly dissipating, and you were glad.

“I have a date,” you paused, gauging Seokjin’s reaction. The scowl on his face made you smirk. “With some classmates from uni. Gotta keep up with the social circle if I want occasional help with my thesis, right?”

While that was true, the dinner isn’t until three hours from now. But you had no plans to stay here a minute longer; the tense air was suffocating you.

“Don’t be a stranger, Sis.” Taehyung engulfed you in a warm hug and you patted his back, chuckling in amusement.

“See you around, Taehyung.” As you pulled away, you gave Seokjin a slanted gaze. “I’ll give the papers back as soon as I can.”

You wobbled slightly as you headed for the door, disappointed that Seokjin didn’t stop you. He didn’t even bid you farewell. You scoffed.

“Have a good afternoon, Ms. Hwang.” Mina greeted you as you made your way to the elevator. You turned back to her with a genuine smile.

“You as well.”

+++

The pulsing beat of the music had your head throbbing with pain, but you didn’t think it’d be wise to complain. Especially because you couldn’t quite look Seokjin in the eyes for reasons completely unknown to you. Or perhaps you did know, you just chose not to dwell on them.

Two days after your productive visit to Seokjin’s Tower of Terror, your calendar graciously reminded you of another date you’ve set up with him. There was supposed to be a lunch date the day prior, but due to unforeseen circumstances (more so on his part rather than yours), you both agreed to have it cancelled. He apologized, but you dismissed him and said that you forgot that your mother had asked you to visit her and your father, anyways.

(In reality, she hadn’t and was delighted you called to say you were bringing them take-outs for lunch.)

“Wednesday nights are busier than I thought,” Seokjin mused, pulling you out of your mini daydream. You looked up, which proved to be a mistake because the club’s lights flickered in a way that accentuated his features; his straight nose that’s angled between his ever-so-prominent cheekbones. His fringe was down that evening — a sight that you have not yet witnessed. It made him seem younger than his actual age; more laidback, less prim and proper. In any other given scenario, this would not disarm you, but the occasional spark of colour highlighted how close his face was from yours.

In other words, you really ought to get used to being in close proximity to him if you were to continue this ordeal.

“It’s always full of people, no matter the day.”

Seokjin’s brows furrowed as his head dipped, inching his ears closer. You knew you’d flinch away if his arm wasn’t draped around your shoulders. “What was that?”

“I said it doesn’t matter what day it is — it’s always full here,” his scent made you feel more inebriated than the alcohol you held. You found it surprising that Kim Seokjin is not much into the club scene, thinking that people like him often spend half their time wasting away

He whipped his head to meet your gaze once more, a grin forming on his lips. “Of course, you’d know.”

There was something in the tone of his voice that made you want to defend yourself. “I have a social life too, Mr. Kim.”

“I never said you didn’t. But you’re more of a designated driver type rather than the drunk, party all night type of gal. Am I right?”

Your eye twitched in annoyance. Was he really stereotyping you now?

“You don’t know the half of it, Kim Seokjin,” you mutter, unsure whether he heard you or not. But you didn’t care, and instead proceeded to finish your margarita in one chug. You set down on the glass table in front of you before peeling yourself off of him and the velvet sofa. The desire to prove you weren’t prude — despite him not saying it outright — felt greater than your sense of logic and reasoning.

You wobbled slightly as all the blood in your system rushed to your brain. But you managed to steady yourself as you turned back to Seokjin. He watched you with interest, but his lips remained sealed in a grin.

“I do like being the designated driver at times. No shame in keeping my friends safe. Am I right?” you pushed Seokjin’s shoulder with one finger until his back hit the plush sofa. There was no turning back, you realized, when your leather skirt hitched higher as you placed your knees one after the other, effectively trapping him between your thighs. Alcohol was definitely coursing through your veins as you sat on his lap.

It never occurred to you that you’d be so brazen in front of Kim Seokjin. But here you were with your cheeks flushed and heart hammering wildly against your chest, wanting so desperately to prove that his expectations of you were wrong.

“But I can also have fun without being shit-faced.” The less you think about it, the better it was for you not to get embarrassed. So, you ignore his smug, seemingly unfazed expression as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You were convinced you’ve only got one functioning brain cell left. But if Taehyung were present to judge, you knew he would gag with approval.

“Is that so?” Seokjin played along, and you weren’t entirely shocked; the man was probably used to such endeavours on a nightly basis before your arrangement. He placed his palm against the small of your back, and instead of pulling away, you leaned closer. Being this promiscuous in private was nothing new for you, but never when you knew there were several eyes trained on you like a hawk.

“Shall we give them something to write about, fiancé?” your eyes trailed down to his lips before meeting his gaze once more. You knew he wouldn’t oppose, but you still needed his consent. He nodded with a glint of amusement in his eyes and the next thing you knew, your lips were in his. He was firm and unwavering, slightly aggressive but he damn well knew what he was doing. It felt as if he'd set your body on fire with one singular moment.

You broke away first, eyes seeing but unfocused as you heaved a sigh, lungs welcoming the sweet taste of oxygen. Seokjin chuckled as he studied you with newfound interest, surprisingly well put together compared to you.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhm,” you peeled back from him, pulling your leather skirt down in the process. “That’s probably enough to placate the onlookers.”

You looked around, but the dim lights made it hard to see beyond a few meters. Seokjin followed your actions, and you feel the familiar warmth emanating from him once more. His arm was draped around you once more, but the gesture felt natural this time around. The mere smile he gave you was enough to send butterflies drifting in your stomach. You wouldn’t dare to admit it out loud, but at least you wouldn’t have to pretend to be attracted to him.

* * *

“Birthday?”

“Couldn’t you have just googled this? I’m sure I have a Wikipedia page.” Seokjin said, quite peeved that you didn’t know his birthday yet, when he’d memorized yours: May 24, 1996. You gave him a deadpan look and he sighed defeatedly. “December 4.”

“Year?”

“Seriously?”

You said nothing, opting to dip a fry in your Oreo-flavoured ice cream instead. He wasn’t surprised when you asked to ditch the club to eat, citing that you’d puke your guts out if you didn’t get any food in your system. He didn’t think you meant McDonald’s at midnight.

“1992.”

“Was that so hard?” you mumbled, typing the information on your phone. “Your birthday is coming up soon.”

“If by soon you mean two months from now, then yes.”

“Technically, it’s the seventh today, so it’s less than two months,” you pointed out but didn’t wait for him to return the conversation. “Favourite colour?”

“Are you writing a slam book? Would you like to know who my celebrity crush is, as well?” he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, actually. Let me guess; is it Florence Pugh? Ana de Armas? Brad Pitt? Or someone local…Jun Jihyun?” you mused. He only shook his head at your antics, convinced that you were not fully sober yet. “I’m kidding. I’m just filling out your contact information.”

You slid your phone across the table, which landed perfectly in front of him. True to your words, most of the information was filled out: Rapunzel donned the first name, and nothing was filled out for the last name option. He chuckled but didn’t bother changing it to his actual name and proceeded to input his number.

“That was smooth, Y/n, I must admit. You couldn’t have just asked for it straight up?”

You shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He handed your phone back, and moments later, his phone buzzed in his jean pockets. He opened the message — no doubt it had been from you.

𝗂 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 “𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾” ;)

Seokjin simply shook his head; it felt unfamiliar for him to be smiling so much he could feel his cheeks go numb. If he knew how amusing it would be to go on a fake-real-date with you, he would’ve asked his father to set him up with you.

Wait, what?

He turned two strides back, retrieving the steps he made. Certainly, you couldn’t have grown on him so quickly — but in reality, it felt like that for a while now, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He thought the whole ordeal with you would be cumbersome, but it’s been quite the opposite so far. He commended your tenacity to go along with any plans he’s laid out, so far.

That’s because you’re holding her hotel hostage.

To be quite frank, it would’ve been none of his business if he decided not to meddle with his father’s whims. But he’d honestly rather be divorced and have his father lash out at him than be stuck in some arrangement he didn’t want. While it’s true that he could divorce you, either way, the key was the illusion of being in love. As Taehyung kindly pointed out to him: How devastating would it be that you both fell out of love, that they won’t consider rescinding the CEO position once you have it?

The stories would circulate around the heartbreak, instead of the bluff that was his arranged marriage for the sake of saving face.

Although now that he was sitting across from you as he watched you relentlessly dip your fried potatoes in your ice cream for the umpteenth time, the prospect of being married to you no longer felt as daunting. Especially if you were willing to make out with him on occasion as you had earlier. It wasn’t part of the contract, but he was willing to add the extra clause if you’d agree.

“What do you have that creepy grin for, Mr. Kim Seokjin?”

“I’m thinking of taking you home with me tonight, Ms. Hwang.” Seokjin’s satisfaction was evident in his smirk when he saw your eyes widen. He swore he saw you go through five emotions in the span of a mere second.

“Stop teasing. It’s not funny.”

He watched your already blushed cheeks turn a shade deeper as he chuckled. “I’m not teasing. Taehyung’s rules, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you blinked at him blankly. “I forgot to bring my laptop with me so I can have something to work with.”

“You were serious about occupying an office space?” he gawked, brows knitted.

“I was. I’m not sleeping over in your Mistress Suite.” You said in a monotone voice, but the indignation in your eyes told Seokjin you were more than serious — you were offended. At least he could tell that much.

“That name has a nice ring to it. Do you mind if I start calling it that, instead of just the guest room?” The pointed look you gave him made him think you were less than amused with his banter. Seokjin sighed and stood up, motioning for you to follow. “Don’t worry, no one has stayed there for two weeks.”

“I really didn’t need to know,” you grumbled. Seokjin reached out for you to take his hand.

“I’m sure you didn’t. But I’d still like to let you know that I wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize this arrangement.”

That was part of the truth. The other part came in the form of his animosity towards infidelity. Seokjin genuinely hoped you didn’t think he would cheat on you during the span of your agreement. He had issues committing, yes, but he couldn’t begin to imagine inflicting such pain on another person. Not when he’s had firsthand experience on the subject.

It reassured him that there was an end to your charade, a point where he can say checkmate and the game would be over. Commitment still has to be made, for sure, but nothing that would leave him like an empty husk of his former self afterwards. No monsters under the bed, no skeletons in the closet, either.

You slid off the booth but did not take his outstretched hand, so he casually stuffed in his pocket. You were setting your limits, and he had to respect that. Perhaps the silly extra clause he thought of will not be a necessity, after all.

NEXT ;

thanks for reading this chapter. feedback is always appreciated! ♡

#seokjin fic #seokjin scenarios #jin scenario #seokjin scenario #bts scenarios #bangtan scenario #jin scenarios #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin x reader #bts fanfic #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #seokjin smut #jin #seokjin #taehyung scenario #writing

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writingformadderton · 4 years

Text

The Book of You and I - Part 4

Ship: Madderton

Word Count: 3458

Summary: Taron keeps his distance from his friends and Richard,feeling betrayed. Richard gives him time but it quickly shows how bad they cope with it. When they mess up a scene Richard suggests to talk about it and Taron wants Dexter with them to calm them both down. During the talk a lot of things come up that change Taron’s life all over again.

Additional Tags: emotional hurt, dizzy, Tiny dancer, argument, memories, crying, comfort

Dedicated to @taron-eggmcmuffin ❤️

Part 3 Part 5

Taron stays at home during those two weeks and barely eats anything. He knows he should, but he can’t convince himself to do so. His head hurts and he’s emotionally unstable, feeling terrible.

He looked up his and Richard’s name for the first time and found articles about them getting into the car crash. As he scrolls further down, he finds some where they suggested a relationship between them. Taron clicks on “images” and finds a ton of them. Most are of them being outside together, having dinner or giving interviews. Taron looks at the pictures closely and sees the looks they shared. “God you’re getting brainwashed by these dumbass articles.” he growls and finds a interview of them on YouTube. He considers watching it and stares at his screen for ten minutes until it turns off automatically. Taron gives himself a push, logs back in and clicks on it. “Holy shit.” he breathes out when he sees it’s from five years ago. He looks at himself, only twenty-four back then and Richard next to him, twenty-seven years old. They fool around through the interview just like they did a couple weeks ago. He watches other ones and sees the way their behavior with each other changes throughout the years. They get more comfortable around another, finish each other’s sentences and seem to know exactly what the other one is going to say. But were they really a couple? Not possible. Probably just stupid shit talk.

He throws his phone aside and stares up at the ceiling. Tomorrow would be his first day back at work. The first day he sees Dexter and Richard. Bryce told him she would be on set tomorrow as well to keep him company and Taron was glad to have her around.

Taron isn’t fully sure if it’s good to return to work tomorrow, but he knows he needs a daily routine again. He sat around the house more than he could possibly remember of his old life. T growls a bit and turns onto his side, staring out of the window. It’s like the bright sun and deep blue sky wanna mock him, not fitting his mood at all.

After a sleepless night, he gets up with a horrible headache and takes a quick shower. He dresses up slowly as every movement hurts his head and grabs his apartment keys. Welp, welcome back to the real world.

On set he is greeted by Bryce, who watches him worried. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just haven’t slept properly the last four days.” he says and rubs his face tiredly. If this bloody headache would stop, he would feel better.

She hands him a pair of glasses. “Put those on.”

“Thanks.” he mumbles and follows her to the main building. Going in with Bryce by his side gives him a bit of security. Inside, he takes the glasses off again. The light isn’t as bright. When he comes inside the meeting room, he sees Dexter chatting with Jamie and Elton is also here today.

Just when they’re about to start, Richard steps inside, taking off his sunglasses. T glances at him and sees the dark circles underneath his eyes, the same he had seen beneath his own this morning. Ten minutes into the meeting, Taron feels himself getting dizzy and looks down at the floor irritated. His head hurts and he starts to feel sick while his world starts spinning.

“Taron, are you okay?” Bryce asks worried as her friend stumbles a bit and tries to hold himself up.

Richard looks over at them and tenses when he sees how pale Taron gets. “Sit him down.” he says to Bryce. Jamie helps her sit Taron down on the floor. Richard walks over to him and sits down in front of him. “Are you dizzy?” he asks and looks at him observantly.

“Mm.” T just hums and tries to blend out the black spots before his eyes.

“You should drink some water.” Rich says and takes a bottle from Dex. He opens it and holds it towards Taron. T takes it with shaking hands and takes a tiny gulp. Richard watches him closely. It’s scary to see him like that again. “When did you eat properly the last time?” he asks, knowing T stopped doing it whenever he was sad or extremely stressed. Taron just shrugs his shoulders and Rich nods slowly. The rest starts talking, giving them some space and Taron rubs his face tiredly. “Can we talk later?” Richard asks low enough for only T to hear and Taron looks at him shortly before shaking his head with tears in his eyes. “Okay. Then go home, eat something and get some sleep. You definitely pushed it too far.” he says.

“I can only tell you the same.” Taron says and raises his eyebrows at him.

Rich laughs weakly and pushes himself up. Taron gets up as well shaking a bit and sits down on the sofa. Bryce sits next to him and rubs his shoulder shortly. Dexter continues and Richard leans against the wall, feeling his own body growing tired. T was right. He needs sleep and a proper meal. But the last two weeks have made it impossible. He felt bad about lying to Taron, and he still doesn’t know the whole truth.

Three days later, both of them come to set feeling better physically. T shoots the Tiny Dancer scene and has some fun on set with Jamie before starting to sing. Soon enough, it’s already late and he’s freezing from standing in the dark, cold nighttime atmosphere. He sits on the top step of a little staircase and the scene starts. Taron hears Richard approaching him and takes a deep breath. Rich starts saying his lines and sits down next to him. As soon as Taron looks into those deep blue eyes, he feels the hurt welling back up inside him. He looks at him remaining silent and feels a tear running down his cheek. “I can’t do this.” he whispers and Rich bites his lower lip. “I can’t pretend to fall in love with you after what happened.”

“I know.” Richard says low-voiced and looks at him sad. “I’m sorry, T. Can we talk about it, please?”

Taron takes a shuddery breath and looks down at his knees. “When?”

“After the shoot maybe? I’ll drive you home… if you want to.” he suggests.

T nods slowly. “Okay. But I think we should take Dex with us.”

“Yea.” Richard says and gets up. “Dex?” he shouts and Dexter comes over to them. “We can’t do this right now. Not like this.” their director nods and looks at them. “We wanna talk about it.”

“Everything?” Dex asks and watches Richard curiously.

“Everything.” he says firmly and nods.

“Can you come with us? Probably won’t end well otherwise.” T admits and gets up.

“If that’s okay with you.” Dexter says and Taron nods. Seems like his friend wasn’t that mad at him.

Richard changed into jeans and a sweater, which is a lot more comfortable at 11:30pm than the suit he was wearing before. Taron changed into a pair of blue jeans and his favorite sweater. Seeing it makes Rich smiles a bit. It’s one of his that Taron kept when they got together. They sit down at the round table and Taron doesn’t know where to look.

“Do either of you wants to start?” Dexter asks them and both remain silent, hoping the other one would start. “Taron?”

T shifts in his seat a bit before looking at them. “You two made me feel like shit, honestly. You lied to my face and you were the ones I trusted with my stupid life that I know nothing about.” he feels the tears coming back but he doesn’t care this time. They needed see what they did to him. How he felt.

“I can understand that you’re upset about it but we had our reasons. The last time Richard tried to tell you, you told him kindly to leave and never talked to him again because you couldn’t remember him.” Dex states.

“Oh and that’s my fault now? I wasn’t the one who was driving. I was the victim in this crash.” Taron growls and shoots his friend a glare.

“Okay, next time I’ll run over a woman and probably kill her. Is that what you want?” Rich spits out and looks at him angrily. What happened that evening was neither his nor Taron’s fault. “You’d be traumatized now, just like I am. Sometimes it’s better not to remember something.” he says and sees Taron’s face going blank.

“Yeah, because you’re having such a hard time.” T laughs pejoratively and rolls his eyes.

“You don’t know shit about me. So don’t judge me on the last two months you’ve known me.” Richard says harshly and looks at him serious.

“And that’s it.” T leans forward and looks at him, feeling himself getting angry. “I don’t know shit about all of you. I don’t know shit about where I grew up, my family, my friends. The worst out of all of them is I don’t know shit about myself.” his voice cracks as he leans back in his chair again and shakes his head. “And it’s fucking gross to play with that, both of you. You don’t lie to someone who feels lost and depends on stories from others.”

“I tried to protect you, Taron. I know this wasn’t the best way.” Rich tries and gets cut off by Taron letting out a loud breath.

“If I really mean so much to you that you feel the need to protect me…then don’t fucking play with my issues.” he says through gritted teeth. “I need to be able to trust you, because trust is all that I have left.”

“I know.” The Scottish mumbles.

“No you don’t! Everyone thinks they know how it is for me, but they don’t. I can’t sleep because I’m constantly overthinking. I forget to eat. I panic late at night when my brain realizes once more there’s nothing left to remember!” he stops for a moment and wipes away the tear on his cheek. “I pull myself out of this shit day after day. You weren’t there to help!”

“I was, Taron. As you know now, I drove the bloody car. I was the one calming you down when you hit your head and I pulled you out of the car unconscious and covered in blood.” Richard says and it’s the first time he actually puts it into words in front of Taron. His throat gets tight at the thought of Taron at that evening.

“Well you were gone after the car crash, left me on my own. Where was the guy the media called my boyfriend, huh? Probably realized I’m no longer useful and just dropped me off at home.” Taron spits out and tucks his legs up on his seat.

“Who told you that shit?” he asks frowning.

“Don’t answer with a question.” he just says and looks at him, challenging him.

“I picked you up from the hospital and brought you home. On the first day, you handed me a picture of us. The second day, you said you need space. You practically erased me from your life. I would’ve never left you willingly.”

Taron remains silent for a moment and all the anger slowly fades. “And how should I know that you’re not lying to me again, right now?” he asks tiredly.

“Taron, Richard was your boyfriend.” Dexter steps in and T looks at him with raised eyebrows.

“How could you wanna prove that? With some shitty articles blogs would post when I went out with whoever for dinner tonight?” his voice shakes heavy now and he slips into hurt and sadness instead of anger now.

“I can’t do more than tell you again, I was there.” Rich says tiredly, getting frustrated.

“Prove it.” T says and shrugs his shoulders.

Richard groans and rubs his face. How the fuck was I supposed to prove the relationship was real? Suddenly, he remembers the letter he wrote for Taron on the day he left. “Hey, my name is Taron Egerton. I was involved in a bad car accident and am suffering from a retrograde amnesia, which means I forgot a lot.”

Dex watches him confused. “What the heck are you doing?”

“Shut up for a second.” T says and looks at Richard shocked.

“If I feel bad right now, it would be lovely if you could get me to a hospital. If I’m on my own and I don’t know what’s going on, I should call my mother.” Richard continues with a shaking voice.

“Here is her number. Thank you.” Taron finishes it and Richards nods. “Why the fuck do you know this?”

“Because I wrote that when I brought you home and you didn’t want me around anymore.”

Taron gets up quickly and gets a pen and a piece of paper. “Write it down.” he says and presses his lips together. Rich does as he says and writes down the first sentence. Taron recognizes his hand writing immediately and swallows hard. Did he really -?

Richard takes out his phone and removes the phone case. He takes out a picture and hands it to Taron. “That’s what you gave me.” Taron looks at the picture. That’s actually very cute. He’s smiling softly into the camera while Richard presses a kiss into his hair with his eyes closed. His eyes fill with tears and he looks back at Rich shocked. “That’s my sweater.” he says and points at T.

“It’s my favorite.” Taron admits and looks down at the dark blue soft sweater that gave him comfort so often before.

“I know.” Rich smiles softly. He searches for Taron’s number and presses call. The words “My love” appear on the screen and Taron looks down at his phone a bit startled. “The reason why my Air Pods connected so fast to your phone was because we always listened to your music with my headphones.” Richard looks up to Taron, standing there completely in shock and disbelief. “Can I show you something on your phone?”

Taron nods timidly and hands it to him. He watches Richard opening his photo gallery and scrolling down to the folder with the password. “I didn’t know the password, so I couldn’t open it.” Richard types it in and looks up to him shortly, before writing it down at the piece of paper. Taron’s eyes fill with tears and they threaten to fall down his cheeks as he sees the words “Theloveofmylife.”. He turns pale when he looks back at his phone and sees all the pictures of Rich and him kissing, cuddling, holding hands or at premieres together.

Taron falls onto his chair heavily and takes his phone back with shaking hands. He looks at the letter, Richard’s handwriting and the password. “Fuck.” is all he gets out and buries his face in his hands for a moment. When he looks up, tears are rolling down his face and he lets out a shuddery breath, tangling his hands in his hair while leaning forward. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks and his voice cracks in the middle of the sentence.

“When you knew about it and pushed me away, I decided to not tell you this time. I wanted to let you figure things out on your own and put the pieces together with time. It felt like forcing the fact of us as a couple onto you.” Richard explains lowly. “You can’t tell someone that they love you.”

“I-I don’t know what to say right now.” T says and his voice threatens to crack again.

“Do you understand now why we didn’t tell you about Rich and you in the first place?” Dex asks carefully and T nods slowly.

“How long have we been together?” he asks and looks at Rich, who watches him sad.

“Seven months. You wanted to make it official because you were sick of hiding it. You were talking about a future together and - two minutes later we crashed into a wall.”

“So we were happy?” Rich nods. “Did we fight?”

“Not often, harmless.” he says. “It was always about unimportant things and you came back after five minutes to cuddle.” he chuckles softly.

“Was I-Was I a good boyfriend?” he asks timidly.

“The best.” he says with a sad smile.

Taron sits up straight and nods slowly. “Tell me about the car crash. Please.”

Richard knows he’s the only one who can tell him the whole story and so he gives in. “Everything was fine until a drunk woman suddenly crossed the street. I couldn’t stop the car fast enough, so I pulled sideways. We crashed into a wall and you hit your head really bad. Had a nasty wound on your forehead. I was a bit caught up in the shock but then you asked for me and threw up. You couldn’t sit up straight because of the pain and I tried to calm you down… And then you passed out.”

“Did I say anything before I passed out?” Taron asks curiously.

“I love you forever, okay?” Richard hesitantly says and swallows hard after seeing Taron’s face going blank. “Listen, I won’t force anything onto you and if you don’t feel good around me anymore I’ll back out of the role. Blame it on stress or whatever.” Rich rubs his face tiredly and bites his lower lip nervously. “If you want me to go, I’ll do it.”

The Welsh looks up to him caught up in thoughts. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you were the most important person in my life and I wouldn’t do anything to make you feel bad on purpose.” Richard looks down at the table for a moment. “Which is why I felt like shit as well those past two weeks.”

Taron watches him startled and looks deep into Richard’s eyes. He wasn’t lying. T looks back at the picture and the letter before looking at Richard. “I’m so sorry for this mess, Rich.” he says and his voice cracks. “And the car crash wasn’t your fault. I was talking dumb shit.”

“It’s not your fault, T.” Richard assures him weakly.

Taron grabs his hand hesitantly and looks at him with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rich.” Richard smiles at him sadly and shakes his head. It wasn’t Taron’s fault that he forgot everything. “Can I hug you?” T asks timidly as he gets up and Rich just opens his arms, doing the same. Taron wraps his arms around his waist and buries his face in his shoulder.

Richard tightens his hesitant grip around Taron and softly rubs his back as he starts crying. “Hey, it’s okay.” he whispers and Taron just shakes his head.

His whole world just got turned upside down. Again. He would have never thought that Richard and him had been a thing. Maybe that was the reason that he felt so good around him so quickly and got hurt so badly when he found out about the lie. “I’m so sorry. I completely ignored the fact that I’m not the only one who’s struggling with this.”

“You didn’t know. It’s okay, bub.” Rich says and fondles over his hair. He knows exactly where to touch him to calm and comfort him.

“Please give me a chance to make it right again. I was talking shit about you.” T begs and clings onto him.

Richard pulls back and cups Taron’s face. “Calm down. You did nothing wrong.” he looks into his sad puppy eyes and feels the urge to kiss him. But he holds himself back and wraps him into a hug again. “Don’t blame yourself now, please.”

“I’m so sick of this shit.” T sniffs into his shoulder.

“I know.” Rich mumbles. “Me too, T. Me too.”

“Please don’t lie to me again. I really can’t take this.” he chokes out and sobs into his shoulder helplessly.

“I won’t.” Rich promises and plants a soft kiss into his hair.

@fuseburner @sarahegerton96 @multicoloredchicken @primaba11erina @anxiety-at-the-classroom @maddertonmyheart @madderton-obsessed

#taron egerton #Richard Madden #taron x richard #madderton #dexter fletcher #taron egerton fic #richard madden fic #madderton fic #taron egerton fluff #madderton fluff #richard madden fluff #emotional hurt #hurt/comfort #Memories #memory loss #the book of you and i

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thewayofthetrashcompactor · 5 years

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November 2019 Empire Magazine The Rise of Skywalker Article Transcription

IT ALL STARTED with a Jane Campion retrospective. The Lincoln Center in New York was entering night two of an in-depth celebration of the Kiwi filmmaker’s work when, during a sold-out screening of The Piano, one member of the audience received a text message. He then received another. And another. Hunched down in his seat towards the middle of the auditorium, screenwriter Chris Terrio glanced furtively at his mobile as yet another text pinged to life on his screen. It was from J.J. Abrams. Just like the last. And the dozen or so before that.

It was 10 September 2017, and several hours earlier Terrio had received the first in what would become a torrent of communication. “I’ve just signed on to Episode IX,” it read. “We’re gonna write a new script. Would you consider writing it with me?”

“He didn’t even say the words ‘Star’ and ‘Wars’,” recalls Terrio, with a laugh. “He didn’t have to. I’d been about to go off and direct a small movie, but when you hear Star Wars, everything else goes away.”

Terrio agreed on the spot, planning to join Abrams in California as soon as his schedule would allow. But the texts kept coming. Throughout the afternoon, thoughts, ideas and questions popped up one after the other; Abrams’ frantic thumbs tapping out the first seeds of story and flinging them across the country to his newfound partner. And so, with Michael Nyman’s haunting score swelling around him and a still-buzzing handset in his grasp, Terrio stood up, shuffled apologetically along a row of seats, and walked out of the cinema, leaving Campion’s Oscar darling behind.

[Above image caption: “Director J.J. Abrams, cast and crew confront Klaud, the Resistance’s newest addition, at Pinewood studios”]

“J.J. is constantly brimming with ideas and, in the very best way, he’s very impatient about them! So we just started getting into it then and there. I got on a plane to LA the next day.”

Less than a week earlier, however, Episode IX’s future hadn’t looked nearly as certain. In development for the past two years under the auspices of Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow, the film had abruptly flown off the rails on 5 September, when it was announced that Trevorrow was off the project. Rumours of script disagreements circled, but regardless of the reason, Lucasfilm had a serious problem: arguably the most important film in Star Wars’ history suddenly had no director, no story and a release date drawing nearer by the day. So Lucasfilm President Kathleen Kennedy sent up a flare to the one man she knew without any doubt could safely take Star Wars over the finish line.

“Getting involved in IX came as a bit of a shock,” recalls J.J. Abrams. “I had completed VII, Rian [Johnson] was doing VIII, and I was not meant to do IX at all. But the opportunity to not just finish the trilogy, but to finish the story that George began -- this trilogy of trilogies -- was too compelling and too tempting to reject.”

After delivering The Force Awakens, then the third-biggest movie in history, Abrams had taken a bow and walked away, returning to Bad Robot and a pair of TV pilots he’d been meaning to write. It was here, in his self-imposed exile, that Kennedy sought him out. Sure, it was an office just over a mile from Santa Monica pier rather than the grassy bluffs of Ahch-To, and Kennedy hadn’t so much climbed 500 hand-carved steps as punched ten digits into her phone but, like a vision of Episode VII’s final moments, there she was. Unexpected. Holding out something Abrams had thought lost and daring him to take it back.

“It’s exponentially the most daunting thing I’ve ever been involved with,” Abrams admits, eyebrows raised as if he still can’t quite believe the magnitude of the task. “But it was more exciting than it was anything.”

The director sits across from us in his suite at Beverly Hills’ Montage hotel, not far from where we last met, six years previously, when he’d just started work on a treatment for what would eventually become The Force Awakens. Abrams’ return as Star Wars’ Supreme Commander was announced just one day after Trevorrow’s departure, allaying the fears of both fans and shareholders alike: voices just a day before crying out in terror, now suddenly silenced. But with only two years to end a saga that had been four decades in the telling it was clear from the outset he was going to need some help. And so he composed a text (then several more) and sent them flying towards a movie theatre 3,000 miles away, where the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Argo was attempting to watch a film.

“I’ve admired Chris Terrio’s writing for a long time. I called on him because I knew it would be a challenge. But I didn’t know it would be quite as challenging as it was.”

[Above image caption: “Top: Martial art experts put Daisy Ridley through her paces. Above: Abrams with Oscar Isaac in Jordan”]

In a time when vast, interconnected stories have become commonplace, and breadcrumbs to the payoffs in Avengers: Endgame can be traced back ten or even 20 films, it’s hard to believe that the Star Wars sequel trilogy didn’t have its course firmly locked in before Episode VII ever left the spaceport. But, just as Abrams himself left neither chart nor compass for Rian Johnson to navigate with, so he began work on The Rise of Skywalker with nothing to guide him but his wits. It is, by Abrams’ own admission, his preferred method of working. An instinctive storyteller by nature, his impulse is to do what feels right in the moment, rather than slavishly adhere to some pre-ordained master plan. Very appropriately for a franchise so rooted in this exact philosophy, Abrams’ inclination has always been, as Alec Guinness once safely advised, to stretch out with his feelings.

“You can’t plan everything in advance -- which my ‘Revenge Of The Jedi’ poster proves,” he says. “You have a better idea and then you implement it. When I was working on VII, I’d be lying if I said I knew everything that was gonna happen in VIII and IX. I had some ideas, but we had a release date the required us to work on VII!”

So Abrams and Terrio started from scratch. They spitballed ideas during the day, swapped rapid-fire texts at night and, piece-by-piece, set about exploring the fundamental questions this movie had to address. Not least of all the aftermath of The Last Jedi, in which Rian Johnson, continuing Abrams’ story, had made some rather significant changes.

[Death Star section break]

[Above image caption: “Really big space dog just out of shot”]

THERE’S A WELL-WORN dramatic principle most commonly ascribed to Anton Chekhov that insists if you see a gun in the first act of a play, it must go off by act three or you’re simply wasting the audience’s time. The same, it appears, is true of dark side degenerates as, despite being sidelined in The Last Jedi, Chekhov’s Knights Of Ren will finally go off in The Rise Of Skywalker.

The Knights -- from which Kylo draws the latter part of his name -- are a nightmarish squad of enforcers who do the bidding of the former Ben Solo. A rag-tag band of thugs and killers decked in black just like their leader, though far more battleworn. Armoured in disparate styles -- one sports a cowl, one an angry welders mask, another a checkered draughtboard faceplate -- they pack a similarly eclectic arsenal, from multi-barrelled assault cannon to oversized, anime-style sword, poleaxe and a wicked-looking mace.

Referenced so portentously in The Force Awakens and glimpsed so very briefly during Rey’s vision on Takodana, the Knights and their role in Kylo’s fall from grace were set up as a major piece of the Star Wars puzzle. That is until Johnson, who clearly didn’t share Abrams’ interest, dropped the idea, sweeping them briskly under the rug next to the mystery of Rey’s parentage and the bisected corpse of Supreme Leader Snoke. “Let the past die,” instructed Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi. “Kill it, if you have to.” A sentiment, one could argue, that cut to the very heart of Johnson’s film.

“We thought about that line a lot,” says Terrio. “Rian did something that any good second act will do, which is create the antithesis. In The Force Awakens Luke Skywalker is a myth Rey’s obsessed with and there’s a warm embrace of the past. What Rian suggested is the past is a mixed bag and you can’t rely upon it to tell you where to go in the future. What we’re doing with Episode IX is trying to create a synthesis between those two points of view.”

And so, just as the investigation into Rey’s lineage looks set to be reopened, so too are the Knights back with a vengeance (not to mention Abrams talisman Greg Grunberg as pilot Snap Wexley). With Johnson’s tenure over, we’re playing in Abrams’ yard once more, although our suggestion that he might somehow be trying to course-correct is given short shrift.

“I never found myself trying to repair anything,” Abrams interjects. “If I had done VIII, I would have done things differently, just as Rian would have done things differently if he had done VII. But having worked on television series, I was accustomed to creating stories and characters that then were run by other people. If you’re willing to walk away from the thing that you created an you believe it’s in trustworthy hands, you have to accept that some of the decisions being made are not gonna be the same that you would make. And if you come back into it, you have to honour what’s been done.”

And what has been done is significant. Luke Skywalker is dead, passing on his knowledge and the mantle of last Jedi to Rey; The Resistance has been all but wiped out; Snoke is gone; and Kylo Ren -- now Supreme Leader Ren -- is more broken than ever, riven by conflict through the unlikely bond he forged with Rey. Bold and decisive, Johnson’s directions changed the board entirely, his sharp turns and gear shifts delighting some while earning the ire of others.

“Any time you are telling a story that people deeply care about, there is bound to be discussion and debate,” says Kathleen Kennedy. “That is something that has always been fundamental to the fabric of Star Wars.”

For Abrams and Terrio, meanwhile, the new landscape also brought with it new possibilities.

“Some of the most interesting scenes in The Last Jedi are the conversations between Rey and Ren,” says Terrio. “We’ve tried to pick up that complicated relationship that really has been present ever since the interrogation in Episode VII. When Ren takes off his mask, there’s a nakedness about him with Rey that he doesn’t express to anyone else. Rian developed that in fascinating ways and we’ve been able to develop it even further.”

Ren, left pointedly bare-faced by Johnson throughout VIII, now hides his face once more. It’s a development that, while not a rebuke to The Last Jedi, demonstrates the different touchstones that resonate with each director. Although, Abrams expands, reuniting Kylo with his mask is about more than just sinister aesthetics.

“Having him be masked, but also fractured, is a very intentional thing. Like that classic Japanese process of taking ceramics and repairing them, and how the breaks in a way define the beauty of the piece as much as the original itself. As fractured as Ren is, the mask becomes a visual representation of that. There’s something about this that tells his history. His mask doesn’t ultimately hide him, and his behaviour is revealed.”

Ren’s temptation by the light, like Rey’s temptation by the dark, forms the spine of a moral ambiguity that Johnson build on in VIII and very much carries over to IX, bringing with is a sense that George Lucas’ more clearly defined duality might be a relic of a simpler time. Neither light nor dark, The Rise of Skywalker and its characters exist more within what could be considered the grey side of the Force -- something underscored by the tantalising footage of ‘Darth Rey’ (complete with cowl, hangover pallor and double-bladed red lightsaber) that closed Abrams’ D23 Expo footage presentation in Anaheim in August.

“I’d rather let that one lie,” he deflects, when pressed on the subject. “But I will say that the movie has a number of things that you wouldn’t expect to have happen and you wouldn’t expect certain characters to do. There are surprises along the way.” He smiles, mischievously. “And that’s one of them.”

[Death Star section break]

[Image captions: “Top to bottom: Rey (Ridley), Finn (John Boyega), Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), and BB-8 listen intently to C-3PO (Anthony Daniels); Billy Dee Williams returns as Lando Calrissian; Joonas Suotamo, in Chewbacca’s threads, plays with his son on set.”]

THE VALLEY OF The Moon in Southern Jordan has seen its share of action. Cut into the red sandstone cliffs near Aqaba, the striking lowlands known in Arabic as Wadi Rum have been visited by both real and fictional Lawrences of Arabia, stood in for the face of Mars, been the birth place of the Alien in Prometheus, and will next year double as the eponymous desert planet in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune. It’s no stranger to stormtroopers, either, having played host to the ill-fated Jedha outpost in Gareth Edwards’ Rogue One. Today, though, Wadi Rum is a different part of the galaxy entirely, standing in for Pasaana: a new locale in the canon, and home to the bedouin-like Aki-Aki: a nomadic race of walrus-lie aliens with twin tentacles dangling from their maws in place of tusks.

Pasaana, along with the nippier climes of snow planet Kijimi, is one of several new worlds visited by The Rise of Skywalker. But most importantly, it’s a place where the heroes we’ve become acquainted with over the past two films will come together at last.

“The heart of Star Wars for me is the group of unlikely bedfellows on a breakneck adventure,” says Abrams. “And in Rise Of Skywalker it’s the biggest and most dastardly threat the galaxy has seen. The opportunity here was to have this group that has now become a surrogate family have to deal with this massive horror: the war to end all wars. Not just on the outside, but one the inside, which is to say it’s meant to be as much of a challenge personally as it is physically.”

Abrams’ war of wars has been well equipped: The First Order is stacked with new brass in the form of Richard E. Grant’s Allegiant General Pryde, neo-fascist ranks swollen by triangular-winged TIE Daggers and blood-red garrisons of newly commissioned Sith troopers, their angular crimson armour giving a fresh twist on the faceless squaddies -- much to Hasbro’s delight. The Resistance, too, will see its share of reinforcements, including Billy Dee Williams’ Lando Calrissian -- reprising the role after 36 years. Even General Leia Organa will return: the late Carrie Fisher making an appearance thanks to the discovery of unused footage that somehow fit the narrative perfectly.

The action itself has been teased in the barest glimpses: Rey and Kylo duelling on the wreckage of a Death Star; Rebel X-Wings and blockade runners fleeing destruction; a sky bristling with Imperial Star Destroyers, their numbers great enough to block out the star.

The presence of Old Empire firepower, easily overlooked, points to The Rise Of Skywalker’s biggest curveball to date. Back in April, when Abrams showed the first trailer at Star Wars Celebration in Chicago, the reveal of the film’s title was almost eclipsed by the familiar cackle of the original Emperor echoing over those final frames. When Ian McDiarmid himself walked out to demand, in full Palpatine rasp, that the projector “roll it again”, all present lost their shit in unison. How could this be? Is he a clone? A Force projection? Did he survive that fateful plummet down the Death Star shaft” Could Palpatine have been telling Anakin the truth when he spoke of Darth Plagueis The Wise’s cure for death? Irrespective of the fine print, Star Wars’ biggest of bads is officially back in business.

“Some people feel like we shouldn’t revisit the idea of Palpatine, and I completely understand that,” Abrams concedes. “But if you’re looking at these nine films as one story, I don’t know many books where the last few chapters have nothing to do with those that have come before. If you look at the first eight films, all the set-ups of what we’re doing in IX are there in plain view.”

The sheet scale of the task he’s undertaken cannot be overstated. Star Wars has been, by far, the most enduring and influential story of the modern era. Having to put the capstone on a saga that has shaped both childhoods and adult lives for several generations is something neither Abrams, nor producer Kathleen Kennedy, looking ahead to what the future holds for Star Wars, take at all lightly.

[Above image description: “Is it time for now Supreme Leader Ren (Adam Driver) to fulfill his destiny?”]

“We don’t have a crystal ball,” says Kennedy. “We tried to look at Solo and see if we could do two movies a year, and we found, ‘Hmm, that’s not going to work.’ So we backed off of that a little. But that doesn’t mean we don’t think about lots of different stories. That's the exciting thing about this universe.

“It’s been an honor to inherit and continue this iconic saga that has touched audiences for so many years, and we feel the weight of that every time we set out to tell these stories.”

The wider universe will, of course, live on. Whether through The Mandalorian on TV, or all-new movie sagas currently in development by Johnson and Game of Thrones’ David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. But for the core story, what for so many people is Star Wars, the final destination is now in sight.

“I’ve always loved the start of something,” says Abrams, “because of what it promises. Endings are hard. A great ending not only needs to honour everything that’s come before but, whether it’s a novel, a series or a film, you want to have it feel like it could end no other way.”

And so it comes back to feeling. In a world of meticulously planned franchises and strategic, multi-phased rollouts, Star Wars, as its core, has always trusted in The Force. Abrams had not expected to be here, had not expected to finish this tale. But now, as he places the final pieces of the puzzle, he feels like it was always meant to be. There’s a symmetry to him being the one to deliver The Rise Of Skywalker, just as there is in the fact that, faced with this near insurmountable challenge, his impulse was not to assemble story groups or worry about the top-down view, but to switch off his targeting computer, let go his conscious self and act on instinct.

“This story is alive, and you have to listen to it,” he says. “When you land on something that gives you the chills, that’s the only way you know if it feels right. You can deconstruct it all you want and try and make sense of how you found it, but somehow it finds you.”

He pauses, reflecting for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just the way I can’t quite explain how we had this footage of Carrie that we’re using. You can say, ‘Oh well, it’s just luck, it just happened to be,’ but it feels like something else. And I neither can nor want to explain any of it.”

Just as every saga has a beginning, so too will this one find its end. Abrams and Terrio have taken Lucas’ vision to its conclusion, and the story that began on 25 May 1977 will end on 19 December 2019.

“It’s been a pretty crazy ride,” reflect Terrio. “When I was a kid watching Return Of The Jedi on loop, I felt like I was the only person Yoda was speaking to. And then there I was all these years later, sitting in a tent in Jordan doing this film. You have this highly personal relationship to Star Wars, and then, suddenly, you find yourself right in the middle of it. That feeling is sort of indescribable.”

It’s one that, at the very least, is almost certainly worth having a movie interrupted for.

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER IS IN CINEMAS FROM 19 DECEMBER

((Thank you to users @arlath_ma and @chinchingin on twitter for their photos of the article))

Article images can be found here: https://twitter.com/arlath_ma/status/1178648719325093888?s=19

#star wars #the rise of skywalker #episode ix #star wars spoilers #kylo ren #jj abrams #chris terrio #kathleen kennedy

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hystericalweenie · 4 years

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Just Another Day at the Office Series - The Sexperiment

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Two: Quickies, Surprises, and Nostalgia

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n is doing better than ever; she’s finally in a relationship with the man she’s been constantly thinking about, she has some great friends, and she’s thriving at her dream job. Except, there’s one problem: being in a relationship with one of your coworkers can get really steamy, and can cause a lot of sexual frustration. Her new pitch idea may solve exactly that problem, but will George be okay with it?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! **“The Sexperiment” is inspired by an actual Cosmopolitan article (here’s the link!)

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s NSFW content..aka smut. You have been warned.

After eating some cold ratatouille and ignoring some of George’s suspicious stares, I woke up the next morning–limping to the shower due to how sore my legs still were–with much more excitement. I had ordered many sets of lingerie, all different styles, colors, and fabrics, after coming home from George’s and paid an absurd amount, nearly giving myself heart palpitations after having to pay extra for next-day shipping. My package was set to arrive some time within the afternoon, so I settled on a sexy black balconette bra and matching panties, a simple set I’d worn for George in the past.

I wore a flowy sundress that day, showing some slight cleavage to excite George. I slipped a pair of brown wedges onto my feet, noticing that it complimented the dress. I smiled in satisfaction at my reflection before getting into my work and beginning the commute. The soft sounds from the radio, with short interferences from the radio hosts, I was relaxed from the stresses of the horrendous New York traffic.

With a sigh of relief at the sight of the Essence building, I pulled into the parking lot, noticing I had gotten there much earlier than usual. With very few cars scattered across the wide parking lot, I shrugged as I made my way toward the tall building, my wedges clacking against the cement.

“You’re here early.”

I jumped, the accent too familiar to my ears as I turned my head to see my lover, looking perfect as always. He wore a navy button-up and slacks, the deep blue of his shirt making his eyes resemble the ocean. His loose, sandy waves took perfect form on his head, making me want to rake my fingers through them. I noticed his eyes trail down from my face, stilling on my chest, before examining the remainder of my outfit.

“You look stunning, Y/n,” he breathed, a smile making its way onto his plump lips.

I chewed on my lip, biting back a smile of my own as I fought the urge to run my hands through his hair.

“You look dapper yourself, George,” I complimented, taking one more glance at his figure. My eyes went wide when I noticed the sudden bulge in his pants.

He looked down, noticing my stare, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You want me to help you out?” I whispered, my eyes moving back up to his face, awaiting his answer.

He nodded, looking around quickly at the two coworkers who walked past us, into the building.

“I left some files for you in my car, Y/n,” he announced, slightly stuttering before we began speed-walking towards his vehicle.

“Files?” I whispered, giggling. “George, everything’s electronic.”

He rolled his eyes, as we reached his car. Thankfully, he’d been parked in the back of the parking lot, away from the few cars that were there. Looking around one more time, he quickly unlocked the vehicle, as we both piled into the front seats. He turned to me, a frantic expression on his face.

“How should we do this?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in distress.

I took a minute to come up with multiples of possible positions. Once I settled on one, I smirked at him, reaching for the lever on the side of the seat and pulled until the back of my seat was entirely down. He grinned, climbing on top of me and engulfing my lips with his own. He rested his elbows on each side of my head as our lips moved against each other, tongues touching every now and then. He shifted his weight onto one elbow, the other hand moving down my figure, slipping up my dress. My legs parted in response to his touch, as his fingers trailed toward my panties, pushing them aside quickly and running the pad of his finger through my folds.

I moaned against his lips at the contact, before he pulled his finger away, lips parting from mine.

“We don’t have much time,” he apologized.

I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist as he got up on his knees, unzipping his slacks and pulling his member out of his boxers. He quickly spat in his hand before jerking himself off a few times as I watched him in awe, my legs trembling at the sight. He then lined himself up at my entrance and pushed inside of me, laying himself back on top of me and returning his lips to mine. My lips moved sweetly against his whilst he entered the entirety of his length into me slowly, giving me a moment to adjust. After a moment of getting used to his length stretching my walls, I pushed my hips against him, letting him know to move.

Instead of his usual slow beginning rhythm, he thrusted into me with much more might, much more vigor as our lips began to move sloppily against one another’s. My stomach began to knot and my eyes became half-lidded as my hips bucked to meet his, desperate for a release. We watched each other, examined each other’s fucked-out expressions as we chased our orgasms, his thrusts becoming quicker and deeper. He moved a hand between us, rubbing sloppy circles around my sensitive bud, still remaining eye contact with me in search of a reaction.

My jaw went slack at the stimulations, my legs shaking and my eyes closing as I reached my climax, a string of “George”’s leaving my lips as I felt him reach his own inside of me. He collapsed onto me, his head falling into the crook of my neck as we attempted to regain our breaths. Our chests heaved against each other’s, slowly relaxing into one another as we recovered. His lips began pressing soft kisses against my neck, slowly moving up to my lips. Moving from my lips, he peppered my face with kisses, making me smile at the sweet gesture.

Pecking the tip of my nose and giving me one last concluding kiss on my lips, he smiled down at me, moving stray hairs out of my face whilst his eyes examined all of my features. It felt like ecstasy, watching him fall in love with me in front of my very own eyes.

“I think I’m falling in love with him,” I admitted wholeheartedly.

Bree paused her show, turning her head to look at me, her other hand lazily holding a glass of red wine. Her bushy eyebrows rose and her big, hazel eyes widened.

“You’re certain?” she interrogated, her voice filled with caution.

I nodded. “I’m pretty damn certain, Bree,” I assured her, moving in her direction and taking a seat beside her on the sofa.

She breathed out a laugh of shock, her lips spreading over her perfect smile.

“I’m really happy for you, Y/n,” she confessed, setting her wine on the coffee table to free her hands, grasping them within her own and boring her sincere eyes into mine. “I never thought I’d see the day where you finally moved on, and found someone healthy and good for you.”

My eyes softened at her confession as I squeezed her hands gently.

“Me too,” I answered truthfully.

She pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, but I didn’t mind. I was glad that she was so happy for me; although I didn’t want to admit it, her validation meant a lot to me at times, it assured me that what I was doing was right. She leaned into me and resumed her show whilst we lay on the couch together, basking in the love we shared for one another.

“I met someone on Tinder,” she spoke up.

My fingers played with the honey blond locks of her hair.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, not paying much mind as my eyes were fixed on the screen in front of us,

She lifted her head up to look at me, her eyes wary.

“It’s a girl,” she admitted, a nervous blush painting her cheeks.

I shrugged.

“So?”

She moved her head back down to rest on my lap and I swore I could have felt her smile.

“She’s beautiful, and she’s really funny,” she explained, “and she works for the same company that you do.”

My fingers paused against her scalp, curiosity getting the best of me.

“She works at Essence?”

She nodded against my lap.

“Do you have any photos of her?”

She nodded once more, sitting up from my lap and grabbing her phone from the coffee table. After a few swipes and taps against her screen, she handed me the device, which had the mystery girl’s Tinder profile set up on the screen. My eyes widened at the ginger haired girl staring back at me in the photos.

Faith.

“Holy shit, I know her!” I exclaimed in disbelief.

“You do?” she asked, eyes widening in shock.

I nodded vigorously, handing the device back to her.

“She dated George for a few months when she was still closeted,” I explained. “She’s also a journalist and she’s fucking amazing.”

She blushed, staring at the photos of the girl as I went on about her.

“We should all go out and do something,” I suggested.

Her eyes peeled away to look at me, a look of admiration taking over her features.

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be awkward for them?”

I shook my head.

“No, they’re still friends,” I explained with a shrug.

She tossed her phone back onto the coffee table with a groan, resting her head back onto my lap.

“God, I forgot what dating someone is like,” she whined, turning her head to look up at me whilst my fingers returned back to her blond waves. “Will you help me with her?”

I furrowed my eyebrows.

“Of course,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s what best friends are for.”

She grinned at me, eyes closing as I stroked the soft strands that cascaded around her head onto my lap. The quiet television soothed both of us as we began to think to ourselves silently; I was thinking about George and she’d most likely been thinking about Faith.

10:07 pm, Me: You’ll never guess who my roommate is talking to.

10:09 pm, George: Who?

10:10 pm, Me: Faith!

10:11 pm, George: Are you serious? Small world, huh?

10:11 pm, George: We should all do something, maybe it’ll break the ice for them

10:13 pm, Me: I suggested the same thing, maybe with Dean too though he might end up fifth-wheeling lol

10:13 pm, Me: How’s your friend Andrew?

10:14 pm, George: He’s doing really well. A lot better than Dean and I thought, actually. Maybe you can come with us to meet him sometime.

10:15 pm, Me: I’d absolutely love that, George

10:16 pm, George: I talk to him about you every time I go

10:16 pm, George: In my defense, he always asks

My cheeks turned crimson.

10:17 pm, Me: You are so fucking adorable

10:17 pm, Me: I’d love to meet him

10:18 pm, George: He’s been wanting to meet you. Maybe sometime this week you can go there with us?

10:19 pm, Me: That sounds great.

The next day, I wore a simple pair of mismatched bra and panties, hoping that I’d be able to wear my planned lacy royal blue slip at his apartment later. In a loose skirt and a matching sweater, I made my way to my work, typing as soon as my bum had hit my chair.

Dean and I began a conversation about the distinct difference between British and American desserts, and how he'd never learn to understand how Americans find the Twinkie so delicious. I told him that as an adult, I felt that the taste of them had changed since I was a child; he suggested that my tastebuds had matured. He told me of the desserts he’d had during his childhood, and how they were much more proper than the ones most kids in America have.

“I wasn’t much of a boxed-dessert kind of child, though, to be honest,” I informed him, resting my chin in the palm of my hand. “My mother made most of the desserts from scratch with the fruits from our garden.”

“A lot of pies, then?” he queried, his dark, brunette eyebrows furrowing.

I nodded with a smile. “A lot of pies,” I agreed, sadly reminiscing on the memories that flowed into my head.

George came over to our desks not too long after our nostalgic conversation, meeting us at lunchtime, which had been our usual routine after we’d started officially dating. He stood by my desk, resting his arms on the table and towering over my seated self. I exited out of my document quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t see any evidence of the experiment. With furrowed eyebrows, most likely of suspicion, I distracted him with my touch, trailing my hand up his arm. His sleeves were rolled up, as always, as I felt the raised veins against my fingertips. He grabbed my hand, pressing a firm kiss to my knuckles before holding it in his own.

Dean cleared his throat with a roll of his eyes at our intimacy.

“Stop fuckin’ each other with your eyes,” he groaned, grabbing his coat.

I giggled, standing up and grabbing my own jacket from the back of my chair.

“I was wondering if you’d like to visit Andrew with Dean and I after work today,” George spoke, returning his hand in mine as the three of us made our way to the elevator.

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?” I asked worriedly, looking into his blue eyes with my own concern.

He shook his head, a reassuring smile on his lips.

“I promise.”

“Yeah,” Dean spoke up beside us as we piled into the small elevator. “Andrew’s been dying to see if you’re as hot as George described.”

George rolled his eyes, playfully smacking his arm whilst the doors closed.

The two began bickering, and I found myself smiling. Watching the two people I’d adored most at my work, awaiting the usual restaurant down the block we went to everyday, it made me realize how thankful I was. I was thankful that I had an amazing boyfriend, someone who I’d been attracted to since my first day on the job, and I was thankful for my friend, someone I talked to every single day whom sat across from me.

I ignored the thought that reminded me the inevitability of George finding out about the experiment I was conducting. I didn’t want to think about that, even though I knew deep down I had to tell him soon.

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #George Mackay smut #x reader #x reader fic #fanfic #1917 #1917 cast

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dragonhrte · 4 years

Text

“Αγάπη” (Agapé) 1st Petal

Summary: Pallas is a life coach and matchmaker who spends her days helping other people find their happiness in life, having forgotten to search for her own. Her business running smoothly and with little to no hiccups until one phone call upsets her whole world. Bakugou Katsuki, a handsome and famous confirmed bachelor, has found himself longing for something unusual, a relationship with substance. Swallowing his pride he calls Pallas initiating an interaction that will change their lives for the foreseeable future. Will the matchmaker make a match or get matched?

Chapter Length: 10k words

Beta-readers: @samanthaa-leanne, @honeytama, Thank you @pixxiesdust for beta reading before it was considered nsfw, @natsuosfairy

Tags: @bnhabookclub

Warnings: Cussing/ Cursing/ Mature Language, Suggestive Content, Physical Assault

Bakugou’s P.O.V.

I put in the combination to my lock, deftly maneuvering the dial in a series of fluid motions, easily popping it open after years of repetition. My body moves of its own accord, the process of getting suited up being muscle memory at this point.

Some other hero in the locker room clears his throat before saying, “Hey Bakugou, it’s been a hot minute since we last saw each other huh?”

I merely grunt in response, placing my civilian clothes on the shelf after folding them, and continue suiting up for my shift.

“As talkative as ever I see. Anyways, you seem a bit down. I know I’m not Kirishima, and we’re not as close, but I thought I’d give you a quick piece of advice. Getting out of a relationship sucks, but you can’t let it get you down for too long.”

He pauses and waits for a response from me. When there is none he continues, but not before I hear a small comment to himself, “It’s like talking to a wall.”

My left eye twitches at the remark. I don’t even spare him a glance as I finish up with the final pieces of my hero costume. I shut my locker door with more force than necessary then lock it, swiftly turning around and leaving the locker room to head out for my shift. I glance at the clock briefly, making a mental note of the time as I stamp my time card. ‘The reason why you felt like you were talking to a wall is because you couldn’t take the hint that I don’t want any interaction, despite that hint being practically written in bold red letters across my forehead.’

“I’m fucking Katsuki Bakugou, Pro Hero, top in the nation. I don’t need nor do I want your opinion. Tch.” I say to myself, the words ringing through my head as I push open the heavy door and step out of the building to start my patrol.

⇜↭⇝

I lean back in my desk chair, and stretch. The reports for the day are all filled out and ready to be handed in. I take my phone off my desk and check the time. ‘2:58 am, I should put these papers on the admin. assistant’s desk, after I log off, then I’ll go punch out.’ I log off my computer before picking up the stack of reports and head over to the assistant’s desk, and placing it on the only free and available space. I pick up a sticky note from off her desk and write today’s date, then grab a rubber band from the jar on her desk and secure it around the stack of papers. ‘I swear I don’t know how she’s managed up until now, her desk is never organized. It’s a miracle we’re not backed up at the moment with the state her desk is in being in constant disarray.’ Turning away from her desk I walk towards the locker room to change and clock out. ‘Damn, I did not distract myself nearly as much as I would have liked to today. I think I know what...’ Pulling out my phone I tap on the messaging app and open up the chat between myself and my best friend since high school. ‘A sparring session with a long-time friend might just do the trick.’

Bakugou: Spar tomorrow morning?

Kirishima: Sure, np!

I finish taking the rest of my suit off and get lost in the motions of putting my civilian clothes back on, my mind returning to my recent break up. ‘I knew that woman was dating me partly based on me being a hero, but damn, to have her shove it in my face that it was the only reason she was dating me to begin with, packs a bigger punch than I thought possible.’ I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets while reflecting on the events of my most recent shift, and then heave out a sigh, “Could just go out for one or two beers,” I mumble to myself, taking a quick glimpse behind my shoulder.

⇜↭⇝

*Phone ringing*

The sound coming from my phone sets off a piercing wave of pain through my brain. ‘God damn, who the fuck is calling me this early in the morning?’ I swipe my finger across the screen stalling for a moment to allow the phone to recognize my fingerprint, and then press my phone against my ear. I throw my arm across my face to block the stinging sliver of light from shining into my eyes through the slit in the curtains.

“What’s up?” my voice comes out, raspy and barely above a whisper, but it still sounds like it’s echoing through my head.

“Hey, Bakubro, why aren’t you here yet?” I let out a low growl at the cheery tone on the other end, and wince at the old nickname, a teasing endearment made years ago, that just kind of stuck.

“What do you mean?”

“Dude it’s 9:45 right now, you’re late.”

I jolt up, and throw my covers off of myself and recoil slightly from the blinding pain the light brings on, before haphazardly scooping up my open gym bag. I rush toward the door, staggering a bit as I stuff my feet into my shoes. Nearly toppling over as I miss the wall I intended to use for support.

I do a quick pat down of myself, “Phone, wallet...” I look around frantically, the knowledge that Kirishima will not let go of something like this for the next week, no at least a month or so, is like being doused with a bucket of ice cold water. I can hear his smug tone already, putting a hand against my head and reeling out the door. ‘The gym is roughly a five minute run away. I’m not running that feeling like this, I’ll just walk it instead.’ I head for the stairs and open the door, someone has just slammed the door closed on a different floor, which has me seeing stars from the echoing in the stairwell. ‘No way in hell, am I going to suffer through shaking my brain around as I speed run down the stairs. Fuck that.’ I turn on my heel and head for the elevator, letting out a sigh of relief at the quick service and the gentle music, the lights, however, feel like they’re piercing straight through my skull and out the other side. The small jostling motion from arriving at the base floor sends a wave of nausea through me, one I haven’t felt in years, not since I was younger and less experienced with my tolerance levels for alcohol.

“Shit,” the familiar swear coming easily to me as I all but throw myself out of the elevator, muttering, “For fucks sake, pull yourself together.” as I leave the apartment complex.

⇜↭⇝

As I walk up to the gym, Kirishima spots me from his place leaning against the wall outside.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Kirishima says joyfully, clapping as if congratulating me on my appearance. I respond by flipping him the bird.

As we enter the locker room, I open the side pocket of my gym bag and grab a bottle full of pain killers, pop two in my mouth and swallow them dry.

“Kirishima, could you keep it down I’ve got a splitting headache.”

“Oh, did someone have a bit of fun last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you’re into that kind of thing, I won’t judge. You know I’ll support you now matter what, right? It’s what friends are for!”

“What are you going on about?” I ask while leaning my head against the cool locker, the chill giving a small reprieve from the now constant pulsing throughout my skull.

“Dude.”

I look at Kirishima, my aggravation settling into my features as I turn to address him directly. Kirishima points down at the floor directing my attention to a certain article of clothing, my eyes widen in shock. The garment in question is sitting on the floor betraying my activities from the night before.The bra itself is pretty bold, it’s bright red and lacy with highlighter orange accents.

“What the fuck?”

“It dropped out of YOUR gym bag.” Kirishima’s face lights up in delight.

I let out a small, “Tsk.” and snatch up the garment, shoving it into my gym bag. I take out the lock from my bag and toss the bag into the locker, closing and locking it afterwards. I glance over at Kirishima, whose face is bright red from attempting to suppress his laughter, finally he breaks down in a fit of giggles.

The absurd situation brings a reluctant smile to my face, and a small chuckle escapes my lips. I shake my head and nudge Kirishima with my elbow. He is currently buckled over, barely maintaining an upright position holds up his pointer finger, signalling for me to wait.

“Give...me... a minute.” Kirishima manages to breathe out in between fits of laughter.

I roll my eyes in annoyance at Kirishima’s discomposure, ‘It’s not like it was even that funny...’

“You know, I’m gonna pay you back for laughing at me right?”

Kirishima manages to nod his head yes as he takes in some deep breaths of air, to calm himself down. We head out of the locker room together and make a beeline for the open mat area.

“It’ll be worth the pain, because the look on your face was priceless bro.”

I pound my fists together in imitation of Kirishima’s signature move, signalling to him that I’m ready.

“Hey man, don’t you want to get warmed up or something before heading straight into it?”

I shake my head, “Nah. No need.”

Kirishima shrugs and settles into a starting position. We lock eyes and we both nod, we circle around each other for a few moments, an air of seriousness about us. Then, I lunge at Kirishima, my right arm outstretched, he quickly dodges my maneuver. He steps towards me and sweeps his foot under my leg, I drop to the floor immediately and he follows my descent. Quickly wrapping his arms around me, hooking his feet around my legs and letting his weight pin me to the floor.

He chuckles darkly in my ear, “Hehe, that was an unusually easy take down. Guess I’m getting stronger than you.”

I frown and put my hands down on the floor underneath me and push upwards. I pause after reaching full extension for just an instant, and then I suddenly drop down slamming our bodies down onto Kirishima’s hands and crushing them under our weight before Kirishima has the chance to activate his quirk.

Kirishima hisses out in pain, “Ow, you fucker...”

I push off the ground with one arm, shifting my weight and his by twisting my body quickly, so that I am facing him. I push my hands to the front of my chest and push upwards so that my hands are together and my elbows are pressing against his inner elbows. I then use my quirk setting off a small explosion, adding a boost to my arms pushing out straight. This breaks his strong lock-like hold and allows me to reach up and grab Kirishima by the ears. I pull myself up and pull his head down, bashing my head into his. Kirishima, however, activates his hardening quirk, so the action sends a new shock wave of pain through my brain stunning me and leaving me laying flat on the mat. The once dull pulsing has now been brought to the forefront of my attention. Kirishima hops up to his feet smirking down at me as I lay face up beneath him. I offer my hand and he takes it, pulling me to my feet. We go for a few more rounds, only using our quirks once in a while. The point of this sparring session is for me to get out as much energy and aggression with as little damage to the surrounding area as possible. I’m now drenched in sweat, the bleary-eyed mess from this morning is long gone. I bring my shirt up to my forehead to wipe away the sweat that’s accumulated there.

“Where’d you get those bruises from?”

“Huh?”

“Right there, did you get cupping done. Y’know, muscle therapy?” Kirishima motions towards a particularly nasty looking mark on my side.

I walk up to the wall length mirror of the gym to examine it at a better angle. Upon closer inspection, I notice what are clearly tooth impressions?

“Are you fucking kidding me...” I grumble under my breath, “the bitch marked me!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose trying to stave off the inevitable headache leering its ugly head up, caused by yet another poor life decision. ‘My usual no marking policy when dealing with temporary guests either went completely ignored or I was so far gone last night that I completely forgot.’ I hastily drop my shirt back down hoping that no one saw the wince-inducing bruises scattered along my side. If the press gets a hold of a picture of me like that they’ll have a field day. The fling will turn into a week to month long ordeal to have to deal with. I shake my head attempting to clear my thoughts and turn back to Kirishima, who is staring at me with a look of concern.

“Hey I think I’m good for the day, what about you?” Kirishima just silently accepts that if I wanted to talk about it I would. Which is one of the main reasons why we’ve remained friends since high school. He is one of the few people who I can count on to leave me alone and give me my space while also calling me out on my bullshit when the situation calls for it. I simply nod my head in response, and we head back into the locker rooms to gather our things and leave.

⇜↭⇝

I grab my keys out of my jacket pocket and turn the key in the lock, only to notice the absence of the sound of the pins catching on the key as I turn it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, someone is inside my apartment. Raising up my hand, a few pops resound from my sweaty palms as I ready myself for whatever lay in wait beyond the door to my apartment. I turn the handle and kick the door open, both hands raised in defense of myself, the sound of a few explosions reverberating throughout the almost empty living space. I am greeted by the sight of some woman sitting on my couch in my living room. She doesn’t even look up from her bowl of cereal and the current show streaming on the television.

“What the actual fuck?” I exclaim.

The woman continues ignoring me as I take a few more steps into the apartment, her face bringing back blurry memories of the previous night. I am filled with disgust at the fact that I stooped so low as to pick up some floozy of a woman in my time of distress. ‘Why the fuck hasn’t she gone home yet?’ the question blinking back at me in neon lights. I approach the armrest of the couch that she’s currently sitting on and tap her on the shoulder.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing her?” I ask, I can feel my emotions bubbling to the surface on the verge of boiling over.

She takes a quick look in my direction and says, “Hey, good thing you’re here, I thought you should know you’re out of milk.”

A few moments of absolute silence pass by as I am completely dumbfounded by her nonchalant attitude. Narrowing my eyes I stare at the side of her head hoping for at least some respect, given the very prominent issue at hand. My brows knit tightly together, ‘Is she dumb? Is she for real?’ instead of speaking my thoughts aloud I say, “Thanks for the heads up, now leave.”

She puts the bowl she has down on the coffee table and stands up huffing as she does so, “But I didn’t even finish my show or my cereal.”

I sneer, “That’s MY cereal you’re eating.”

She crosses her arms and stamps her feet at me like an insolent child throwing a tempter tantrum, “No. I am going to finish eating, and then YOU owe ME a ride home.”

Pulling out my phone I swipe through my contacts until I get to the J section, calling up a friend of mine from the force. While the phone is dialing out the woman sits back down and picks up “her” bowl of cereal and continues eating.

“Hey Bakugou, what can I do for you?”

“Hey Joe, I’ve got a situation. I had someone over last night and she’s now refusing to leave.”

“Okay, I’ll send my people right over.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No problem man.”

⇜↭⇝

There’s a knocking at the door, and I walk over and open it, two officers are standing in the doorway awaiting entry, I sidestep out of the way and motion for them to come in.

“Hello officers-”

“Are you fucking kidding me!”

The woman who had been peacefully sitting on the couch watching whatever garbage was now on the television shoots to her feet.

“This is fucking ridiculous, I’m sitting here calmly minding my own business and you call the cops on me!?”

She storms off in the direction of my bedroom stomping her feet along the way. The officers move forward to prevent her from going further into the apartment, but I hold my hand up for them to remain where they are. Her voice carries through the apartment, mouthing off about the unfairness of the whole situation and the audacity I have for kicking her out, her complaints strewn with curses. Completely ignoring the fact that she is currently in MY apartment. Her voice stopping only to take a quick breath of air in and then continuing her ranting. ‘Of all the people...’ I sigh to myself as she comes hauling herself and her belongings through the hallway towards us. Reaching into my bag I procure the garment that had mislaid itself, holding it out to her with my fingers. The strap of the bra balancing precariously as she huffs by. She flounces a bit as she approaches the door, turning her head to address me to land one last remark, when she notices her bra.

I walk towards her and say, “I believe this is yours.”

Her face erupts into a brilliant shade of red, she squeals in outrage snatching the garment up and slamming the door behind her.

“Damn...”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em Bakugou.”

I glare in their direction and walk up to the door and open it, “Thank you officers, I appreciate you coming down here. Have a great day.”

They look at each other and then file out the door, after they leave I close the door behind them thankful to the quiet that follows.

Pallas’ P.O.V.

I walk into the coffee shop, the familiar tinkling of bells on the door and the smell of freshly-ground coffee beans bring a feeling of warm comfort. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get over the initial nervousness I get when I do an intake for a client.’ I mull this over while listening to the soft, mellow music playing from the various speakers strewn about the shop. While waiting in line, I pass the time by scrolling through my social media feed. The fake smiles and duck-faced selfies never-ending. It’s not long before it’s my turn to order, when I look up and approach the counter I’m greeted by an unfamiliar face ‘Oh, he must be new.’ the thought whisks through my mind as I take in the man standing in front of me. He’s got a soft attractiveness about him, and is obviously nervous give his frantic glancing around. His ocean blue eyes finally settling on me and he’s practically sweating bullets. I pick up on the tremor of his lip when he forces a smile waiting patiently for my order. ‘Given the fact that it’s about mid-day and I’ll be meeting with a new client I think I’m going to opt for my go-to comfort beverage.’

“Good morn- Er. Afternoon, what can I get for you today?” The barista asks, his face flushing in embarrassment at his small slip-up.

‘I’m sure he’s had plenty of those minor mistakes today, the first day jitters are definitely getting the better of him. I can imagine it’s probably been non-stop for him, one order after the next in quick succession. Forcing him into this wreck of nerves at the fast-paced environment.’

Standing there for a moment more, I try to show a bit of compassion, my eyes flick down to the name pin fastened to his black apron then back up to his face and say, “Hello Reggie, I think I’ll have a medium hot chocolate, with some extra whipped cream please!”

I flash him what I hope comes across as an encouraging smile, and opt to keep words of encouragement to myself, ‘He’s high-strung as is, there’s no need to make him feel worse by having a random stranger notice how much he’s floundering around and comment on it.’ Instead I reach into my wallet and grab some extra cash in addition to the money I owe for the hot chocolate. I hand the money for the drink to Reggie and drop the extra cash into the tip jar on the counter.

“Thank you, and here’s your change. Your order will be right up.”

I cup my hand so the barista can simply drop the small coins into my outstretched hand instead of having an awkward exchange of trying to pry them out of his palm.

“Have a great day.” We happen to say at the same time to each other.

Stepping to the side I look over and survey the seating area. There are booths and tables with single chairs available, which I would usually have no problem taking, however, I am meeting with a client so I need something more. My eyes land on my usual spot for when I meet clients and I am pleasantly surprised to find it empty. It’s the perfect placement, not too close to the door, where people coming in might interrupt and not tucked away in the corner where nobody will notice me. ‘The client should be able to notice me immediately after receiving her order.’ After setting my bag down I bring out my tablet and unlock it, and start going through the various documentation required if the client does decide to book more sessions. I’m interrupted from my review by the sound of my order being called out, I look up and see one of the baristas I am familiar with holding my hot chocolate, we lock eyes for the briefest of moments before they place it down on the counter. I stand up and walk over to the counter and gingerly pick up my order, and head straight for the little island in the middle of the shop with the extra creamer and sugar packets on it. After picking up one of the paper coffee sleeves and carefully sliding it onto my drink, twisting it around to get the proper snug fit. I walk back to the booth, slide onto the seat, and resume reviewing the prepared documents on my tablet.

I let myself relax, the lull of conversation around me creating a calm atmosphere. There’s some chatter behind me, some girls are discussing a recent rumor going around about the Pro-Hero, Ground Zero. I dismiss their chatter immediately, ‘It’s just gossip, so who cares.’ Despite the lack of basis for the rumor to stand on, the women behind me continue speculating. I finish reviewing my documents then pull out my phone to check the time. ‘My client should be here any minute now.’ Scrolling through my social media feed once more I notice the rumor the women behind me were discussing has spread like wildfire. I try to ignore it to the best of my ability, ‘It’s not my business to judge other people’s life choices.’ I pause for a moment, ‘Well, it is my business as long as they are a client that is...’ I’m broken out of my train of thought by a commotion coming from the pick-up counter. Some woman is yelling at poor Reggie, something about how he got the order wrong, insisting that she talk to the manager. I turn my head and see the back of hers, Reggie is visibly shaken by the confrontation.

The woman turns around and my eyes widen momentarily in shock, ‘That’s my new client.’ I groan internally then put on my brightest smile, and stand up.

I hold my right hand out in greeting, “Hello Sandra is it, I’m Pallas we spoke on the phone a couple days ago.”

It’s like a switch flipped within the other woman’s face. Her lips that were just pursed in a thin disgruntled line, spread into a wide smile.

“Hi, hello. Sorry about the delay, the employee got my order wrong.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that, why don’t we get right into things? Is there anything in particular you are looking to get out of my services?”

“Well, everything in my life seems to be a hot mess, I just want to get back on track.”

“That seems reasonable enough. How about we take a seat and go over your intake paperwork?”

We then spent the next hour talking about the various terms and conditions that come along with the contract. Sandra keeps complaining about every other word claiming that the contract is “too opaque and vague.”

“Why can’t you just fix my problems now, why do we even need a contract?” Sandra asks, her tone changing from calm to aggravated rapidly.

“The contract is here to protect both of our interests. Without it, I will be severely restricted in the extent to which I can help you.” I try my best to explain this to her as calmly as possible.

Sandra pushes several more times to do away with the contract, at this point I am considering excusing myself for the bathroom to scream out in frustration at least three times. Each time the urge comes over me, I simply look down at the small watch on my wrist instead, remembering the seemingly everlasting patience of my late grandmother. When we finish reviewing the documents I stand up, pick up my tablet and grab my bag in preparation to leave.

I say, “After speaking with you, I’m sorry to inform you that I don’t think that I will be able to provide you with the services you are looking for.”

“What?!” Sandra exclaims, shooting up from her seated position, her sweet demeanor gone in an instant and is replaced by a look of outrage, “You had me fill out all that ridiculous paperwork, forced me to pay you for this meeting, and you’re not even competent enough to take me on as a client!”

By now the entire coffee shop has gone silent at her outburst, in this moment I can’t manage to think of anything to de-escalate the situation, all I can think about is maintaining my composure and professionalism in the face of Sandra’s harsh comments.

I muster up enough restraint and force a smile, “I’m sorry for any inconvenience I have caused you.” I bow my head in apology.

“Oh, I’ll show you inconvenience!” Sandra shouts and then knocks my tablet out of my hands. I’m frozen in shock at her actions, my face stricken with horror as the tablet appear to drop in slow motion. It clangs against the corner of the table before hitting the ground. A crunch resounds through the deathly quiet coffee shop, my stomach clenches in reaction.

A softly whispered, “Oh shit” comes from the booth with the gossiping women. I look up to see the manager approaching us, sympathy for me written all over her face, but a quiet anger-filled aura surrounds her.

She clasps her hands together and addresses Sandra, “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’ve disrupted my place of business not once, but twice now. You have also managed to assault one of my customers as well. I suggest you leave now, I have already called the authorities.”

“I can’t believe you called the cops on me! I’d like to speak to your manager. This is horrible customer service!”

“Ma’am I am the manager. Now would you please come with me.” The manager wraps her arm around Sandra’s shoulder and escorts her out, the jingle of the bells signalling that they have exited the building.

I take a deep breath in and bend down, picking up my tablet to assess the damage. Pressing the power button does absolutely nothing the first time, the lock screen doesn’t come into view or anything, so I hold the power button down and the start up sound comes from the tablet but the visual that accompanies it is absent. I try turning it off and on again one more time, after a drop like that even with the case on, there’s no way I’d expect it to still be functioning.

Unfortunately, my expectations are fulfilled, my tablet is officially out of commission. I drop it into my bag and lean against the table, waiting for the cops to show up. After a few minutes I think to myself, ‘I hope people just leave me alone right now, I am so not in the mood for some stranger to have pity on me at the moment.’ I clench and unclench my jaw a few times to try and relieve some of the tension in my body, and the I feel a gentle, hesitant tap on my shoulder. Turning my head slightly to see the new barista, Reggie looking at me apprehensively, he opens his mouth and closes it several times before I see his lips move, but I can’t find it in me to focus on what he’s saying. All I can hear is a rushing sound filling my ears... Reggie moves forward and grabs my shoulders, shaking me lightly, “-you okay?”

I nod my head and croak out, “Yes.”

“Are you sure? You’ve got quite the grip on that table there.”

Looking down I notice exactly what he’s talking about. My knuckles appear to be bleached white, my hands are holding the table in a death grip. I manage to pull my hands away then open and close them to work the blood flow back into them. I turn around and lean against the table and let out a nervous laugh.

My heart is hammering against my chest, the roaring sound in my ears has died down enough to the point where I can hear myself say, “I’m a bit taken aback is all. I mean I was expecting some reaction from her, but not that one...” I trail off and glance behind me briefly and catch a glimpse of Sandra talking to an officer, it’s then that I hear the bells chime and the other officer walks in. He strides over to where Reggie and I are standing after scanning the room of patrons for a moment.

“Hello ma’am my name is Officer Schmoe. I need to ask you some questions. May I see your ID so I can get your name down correctly?”

“No problem, here you go.” I say after reaching into my bag and retrieving my ID out of my wallet, and handing it to him.

“Here you go.” he says after jotting down my name then handing it back to me. I quickly put it back in its designated slot in my wallet and then turn back to the officer.

Officer Schmoe takes out a notepad from his shoulder pocket then asks, “What happened?”

“Well, Ms. Sandra Bonde and I were having a meeting here and after reviewing some documents and speaking with Ms. Bonde I informed her that I would not be able to provide my services to her.”

“What is it that you were not going to do for Ms. Bonde?”

“I am a life coach, and after speaking with her I determined that the problem was beyond my ability to assist her.”

“Okay, then what happened?”

“Well, I was standing up getting ready to leave when I told Ms. Bonde this, she stood up and said something of how it was unfair that I forced her to pay for an initial intake when I now plan on not taking her on as a client. I responded by saying I was sorry for any inconvenience I had caused her. She then said something along the lines of I’ll show you inconvenience, and smacked the tablet that I have for business out of my hand and it dropped to the floor after hitting the corner of the table. The manager came over and asked her to leave, I tried turning the tablet on afterwards and it is no longer functional. I will either have to get it fixed or replace it.”

“Can I see the tablet in question?”

“Sure.” I grab the tablet and hand it over to him.

He looks at it and turns it over in his hands, examining it from different angles, “Would you like to file charges against Ms. Bonde?”

I freeze at the question, ‘I mean I could, and I would most likely win, and that would all be fine and dandy. However, I would probably be forced to interact with that woman a dozen or so more times before the case was over. I do not feel like putting myself through that kind of torture.’

“No, I would not.”

He tries the power button the same as I did and gets the same results, absolutely nothing, “Okay, ma’am, here you go.” He hands the busted tablet back to me and I take it from him, then place it behind me on the table.

“Could I have your contact information in case we need to ask some follow up questions later on?”

“Will a business card be okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I root around in my bag for a moment until I find my cards, they’re still in the envelope they came in when I first ordered them. “Here.”

Officer Schmoe takes the card and places it in his shoulder pocket along with his notepad, “Thank you for your time ma’am and have a good rest of your day.”

I nod at the officer and smile as he turns on his heel and leaves the store, I pull out my phone and check the time, this whole encounter has put me at least two hours behind schedule, ‘I’ll just have to work a bit later in the office ton-’

There’s a resounding CRACK from outside, it’s sudden and pulls my attention immediately to look out the window. My eyes meet Officer Schmoe’s as his head is whipped sideways, I look past him to see his partner putting cuffs on a struggling Sandra. His partner looks pissed, ‘I would be pissed too if I had her screeching at me for the past half hour or so, and to top it all off, her smacking your partner in the face.Oof.’ I turn back around and put my belongings back into my bag. The bells jingle and the manager walks over to me with the sweetest smile, her demeanor putting me at ease. “I’m sorry you had to got through all that. Pick something to drink, my treat.”

“I’d like a hot chocolate please.”

The manager turns to Reggie and says, “Think you can manage a hot chocolate on your own?”

He nods and scurries around behind the counter to make the drink.

⇜↭⇝

Fidgeting with my keys, trying to get the key to my office open with my mostly empty drink in one hand and my bag in the other is probably entertaining to any onlookers, amused by my struggle and lack of forethought. I finally manage to find the right key and slide it home into the lock, I turn it and push to let myself in. Flicking the lights on as I enter, closing the door behind me before walking over to the thermostat, unfortunately I ended up staying out longer than expected so it will have a small effect on my bills. Yet another thing to add onto the growing list of unfortunate events for today. The chill of December has settled in my bones and I need to change that, fast. The free hot chocolate definitely helped me stave off the cold while I was on the bus, but the walk to the office didn’t help me feel any warmer that’s for sure.

I walk through the office space all but dragging my feet before I plop down into the chair at my desk and turn on my laptop. ‘I’m going to waste so much paper. There’s a reason why I switched things over to digital...’ The login screen comes up and I type in my password, the work that I had open from before is still open, ‘Good, that makes things a little easier.’ I pull up my email and write up a quick memo to the clients I’m supposed to see over the next week informing them of the slight adjustment given an unfortunate occurrence. Clicking off my email I review the file for the client I am meeting with tomorrow, and make sure I have everything I need compiled and print off some notes that I made on potential goals they need to set. I get a few emails back, responding quickly with their understanding. Some other people are slow to respond. I even have one person say that they aren’t going to pay me more just because I broke something. I immediately saved that to respond to at a different time, being in no state of mind to do so now and think to myself, ‘I know I said I was going to work late tonight to make up for lost time, but it just isn’t happening. I am officially done for the day.’

I put alligator clips on the notes separating each client. After putting all the notes in my bag next to the tablet, I grab a pen from off my desk as well as a sticky-note. Writing out a reminder to call up tech support and find out a quote, I take the sticky-note off of the stack and place it on the brim of the laptop and shut everything down. Returning to the office entrance I slide the deadbolt into place, and give the doorknob a quick tug making sure my office is secure. I turn around and grab my phone and keys from out of my bag and head to the stairs leading up to my apartment. Rustling the keys around until I find the right one, and then unlocking the door, “Hey, sorry I’m late, I’ll throw something together real quick!”

I turn around and lock the door behind me then place my keys on the hook beside the door. Walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge I think about what I can make for dinner. After staring blankly at the contents with nothing coming to mind I come to a decision. “You know what, how’s frozen pizza sound to you?”

I crane my neck to the side listening in for a response and I hear an affirmative noise over the sound of the television playing in the living room. I close the fridge, open up the freezer and take out the frozen pizza, wiggling the box a bit to try and slide it out from under the other frozen goods without taking everything out. ‘Success!’ I think to myself once I’ve pried it out of its spot without the entire freezer falling out onto my feet. Quickly setting the oven to the right temperature and then I rip the box open and put the pizza on a pan to cook on. While I wait for the oven to heat up I start talking to Neville in the other room, “So remember how I was saying just yesterday that work has been pretty slow lately. Well, remind me to watch what I ask for next time because I had quite the interesting client today.”

I hear an inquisitive noise from the other room, “Yes, I am aware you can’t hear me very well, I’ll be there in just a minute, give me a moment to put in the pizza.”

The oven beeps signalling that it has finished the heating process. I slide the pan into the oven, set the timer on the stove and walk into the living room joining Neville on the couch. He slides over and rests his head on my lap, he looks up at me expectantly and I chuckle a bit. I reach down and massage his head, his hair soft and velvety to the touch, the repetitive motion eliciting a content sigh from him and I continue telling him the events of my day. From the initial conversation between me and Sandra to her outburst, and finally the image of seeing Officer Schmoe reeling back from Sandra’s assault, her being put in handcuffs and hauled away. Throughout my retelling, Neville sat patiently listening to everything I had to say, making small noises here and there indicating how he felt exactly in regards to what was being said. It’s moments like these that I appreciate him the most. He’s not very vocal, but he is an extremely good listener and just that alone helps ease my stress on a hectic day like today. The timer on the stove beeps and Neville moves, letting me get up and go back into the kitchen. I put on an oven mitt from inside the drawer beside the oven and I hear Neville pad into the kitchen. After taking the pizza out of the oven, and placing it on the stove top I look over at Neville who is licking his lips in anticipation.

“No, absolutely not. You know what dairy does to you. I am not dealing with your flatulence and explosive diarrhea for the next three days.”

He huffs at me and saunters over to his food bowl full of dry food, and eats a few bites before deciding he’s over it and leaving the kitchen. A definitive meow can be heard from the other room, and I sigh after grabbing myself a plate and putting a slice onto the plate.

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s not like I wouldn’t mind giving you some it’s just your lactose intolerance is no joke my dude.” I say as I walk into the living room and switch through the channels idly.

Bakugou’s P.O.V.

“In local news this evening, a woman was arrested just this afternoon at a local coffee shop for assaulting an officer. The alleged assailant, a 31-year-old female, supposedly assaulted an officer after being informed that she would be taken down to the station for disturbing the peace among various other charges. We spoke with the manager of the coffee shop where the incident occurred and she claimed that the woman not only assaulted an officer but also assaulted a frequent patron of hers prior to the police becoming involved. We have not received any further information regarding the other party, and the manager has chosen to remain silent as to their identity.”

I watch the clip of the woman slapping the officer in question and recognize Joe clicking my tongue and turn off the television shaking my head. ‘Poor Joe, and I had just spoken to him earlier this morning. I guess I’m not the only one who’s had a shitty day then huh?’ I quickly grab a plain, black, hooded sweatshirt from the drawer in my room and pull it over my head. Looking around the room I am a bit surprised that the incident from earlier this morning did not leave my room in disarray. ‘Calling him was definitely for the best. If her reaction was anything to go off of, without the cops she would’ve definitely trashed the place.’ I close and lock the door to my apartment. The stairs no longer a problem because the hangover from earlier is a distant memory. The familiar stairway down to the parking garage calmed me, the echoing and clanging of my feet against the stairs blocking out my thoughts. I push open the door and take in a sharp breath of air, the sharp chill invading my lungs. Even though I was expecting the chill given the time of year, it still caught me a bit off guard with exactly how cold it has gotten as the sun goes down.

Walking over to my assigned space and unlocking my car takes a matter of moments. The leather seats make my butt clench as it makes contact with the chilly surface. I turn the keys in the ignition and it starts up with a roar. Pulling out of the parking space is a quick maneuver of the steering wheel and then I’m on my way. Weaving in and out of traffic on my way to work, my head nodding to the music, I come to a stop at a red light and tap my thumbs against the wheel in time to the beat. It’s only a matter of minutes before I pull into the parking garage of the hero agency, stopping briefly to scan my ID card in front of the sensor. The machine beeps at me and then the automated gate bar lifts up and grants me access to the garage. I turn my head and wave at the guard sitting in the booth before driving to the second level and pulling into my space. I turn the car off and grab my ID and close the door, locking the car as I head into the stairwell.

When I step out onto my floor, the admin. assistant rushes over to me, she seems a bit frazzled, but not more so than usual and she says, “Bakugou, the boss would like to see you now. Before you get changed or anything.”

She scuttles off, probably to carry out some other task assigned to her by the boss. ‘What could he want, it’s not like I’ve gotten into any real trouble recently...’ The speculations are endless as I approach his office, the door slightly ajar. I knock on the side of the door frame anyway to announce my presence.

A booming voice urges me in, “Come in Bakugou, have a seat.”

I open the door and close it gently behind me, and then take a seat in one of the red cushioned arm chairs in front of his large desk. The boss’ presence is a bit intimidating as he looks up from a folder on his desk. He nods to acknowledge my presence, and then peruses the paperwork in front of him for another moment before closing the cover and meeting my eyes.

He stares at me for a moment before speaking, “I got a call this afternoon, there was an issue of sorts at your apartment this morning and the police had to get involved. When Kirishima came in for his shift earlier today I called him into the office and he was a bit concerned. I asked him what was going on with you and he mentioned that you haven’t been acting like your usual self. Now, you may not like it, but it is my job to pry. If you are not in the right mental state to do this job I need to bench you, even if it’s just temporarily.”

He stops speaking but continues to look into my eyes gauging my reaction, I don’t say anything in response to his words. I try and maintain a neutral expression, but the boss seems to see through it and says, “See that expression tells me that benching you might be the right call.”

The sides of my mouth turn downward into a frown, the thought of being assigned to desk work for an undefined amount of time does not appeal to me in the slightest.

“I am mandating you see the department therapist.”

I shoot up out of the chair, clenching my fists at my sides. A familiar scowl on my face as I exclaim, “I’m not crazy, why do I need to see a shrink?!”

The boss furrows his brows and says, “I know you’re not crazy, there are other reasons for needing to see a therapist through. If you want to stay an active Pro Hero you WILL see a shrink as you called it.”

“This is bullshit! Sorry. This is bullshit sir!”

The boss chuckles at that, then says, “I understand you’re upset but this is non-negotiable.”

“I go out for one night on the town-”

“It’s no about that. It’s not about the woman you brought home. It’s not about the police getting called. It’s a combination of all these things and I can tell from the way you’re responding right now it’s the right call.”

“But-”

“This conversation is over.”

I simply bow my head and say, “Yes sir.” and head back to my desk. I sit there for a few moments and contemplate a week or more of tedium chained to a desk and unable to do my actual job just stuck doing paperwork and watching the walls. ‘The boss never said that I wasn’t allowed to go on patrol today explicitly.’ I hop out of my chair and head over to the locker room, I get no more than two steps in that direction when I hear the admin. assistant day to me, “You know if you do that, the boss will know before you even finish getting changed.”

I huff in exasperation and annoyance then sit back down at my desk. I put my head in my hands with my elbows propped up on my desk, ‘I said it before and I’ll say it again. This is utter bullshit.’

⇜↭⇝

The bright fluorescent lights of the office have burned a circle in my retina, ‘I’ve been spinning around in this chair for about thirty minutes, if I don’t do something I’m going to lose my damn mind.’ I look over at the admin. assistant. She’s busy at work at least that’s what I think is happening, all I can see is the top tuft of hair peeking over the monitor to her computer, as she is otherwise surrounded by paperwork. Bringing forth the silent question as to how in the hell she saw me despite being barricaded behind stacks of papers. I stand up and walk over to her, tapping on the desk to catch her attention.

“Hey, I’m not going on patrol, but I am going to head over to the police department to see if they need anything.”

The clacking of her nails against the keys doesn’t stop even after I say something to her, but her tuft of hair bobs so I just leave, taking my badge from off my desk and my phone heading out the door of the main entrance. The cold filling my lungs with crisp air, it’s refreshing after being in the stuffy office for a few hours. The walk to the police station is short but the entire time there is a constant stream of thoughts going through my mind. ‘The past few weeks haven’t seemed especially different from any other. It’s been nothing but routine for me in terms of getting through work and getting over my ex. I didn’t think that my behavior had been too out of the ordinary.’ The sidewalks are still pretty busy at this time of night and I have plenty of company on my stroll to the police station. ‘Even so, I still don’t want to go to a therapist.’ The thought crosses my mind as I walk up the steps into the police station. The air in the police station is just as stuffy if not stuffier than that of the agency. Looking around I see the usual crowd, some new faces here and there but most of the personnel are the same. Then the person I least expected to still be at work comes sidling up beside me patting my shoulder, “Hey there Bakugou, it’s not your first day here so why’re you gawking around like you don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Hey Joe, why’re you still here? Your shift was over hours ago right?”

“Well, yeah, but they forced me to get checked out by the doc just in case before I headed home.” he says pointing at the lurid bruise covering most of his left cheek, continuing “I was just picking up my stuff, on my way out the door.”

“From that woman earlier right? I saw that on the news right before I came in today.”

“Yep, and boy was she a piece of work, that one. Anyway, what brings you here?”

“Boss told me I was on desk duty, I figured I’d pop by and see if you guys needed anything. I am glad I ran into you though.”

“Is that so?” He looks at me with a questioning look on his face.

“Yes, maybe you can answer a question I have. Other than a therapist, who would someone go to for help, asking for a friend you understand.”

“Well, if it isn’t an actual mental health issue but more needing assistance with getting their life on track they could try a life coach.”

“Uh, huh.” I nod my head slowly at his statement.

“Not to say that a life coach and therapist are on the same level of course. However, the thing that they do have in common is that they help people who may be a bit lost in the weeds and not able to see a way forward.” Someone approaches the doorway and we move off to the side to avoid being in anyone’s way.

“I actually have a business card right here.”

Joe pulls the card out of his shoulder pocket and hands it to me, I take it and put it in my jacket for later. We talk for a few more minutes, Joe complaining mainly about how much paperwork he’s going to have to deal with now that the woman who I have learned is Ms. Sandra Bonde is in custody. We laugh a bit at the comment, knowing full well the only reason we do any paperwork is because of our jobs. Paperwork takes up so much of my time, I’d rather be out on patrol than sitting down at my desk doing mindless busy work, filling out forms and whatnot. The idle thought causes my eye to twitch in annoyance, reminding myself of my mandatory desk duty, I don’t know how I’ll survive.

We part ways as he heads to the direction of the subway and I stay put. After conversing with the officer at the front desk I wait a few minutes for some files on small time villains they were going to send over later, and with those in hand I walk back. Even though the whole point of me going to the police station was just a ploy to get out of the office I feel glad that I could accomplish something even if it is as mundane as carrying files back and forth. I pause for a moment, I did accomplish something else as well, I have the business card of the life coach that Joe gave me.

I am greeted by the stale hot air of the office and the sound of keys tapping away at the keyboard, coming from the admin. assistant’s desk who is as always surrounded by mountains of paperwork. I almost feel bad as I walk up to her and say, “Here’s what they had for us at the station.”

She simply looks up at me and says, “Just add it to a stack and I’ll get to it.”

After placing the papers onto one of the smaller stacks I head back to my desk. Dropping down into my chair and looking at the bare desk in front of my. I lean back in my chair and look up at the tiled ceiling pockmarked with holes. The standard soundboard material is a soulless institutional white-grey and lacking anything better to do, I start counting the holes, ‘This’ll be better than staring at the lights. At least I won’t blind myself out of boredom.’

⇜↭⇝

“4,262... 4,263-”

“Hey Bakugou, I’m heading out,” says the admin. assistant, “Thank you for picking up the paperwork this evening. It did make things a bit easier. Oh, and the therapist should be calling you sometime tomorrow to schedule an appointment.”

She gives me a small wave and then walks away, a minute later I hear the door close and am alone in the empty office, all the other heroes for this shift are out on patrol. ‘Lucky bastards.’ I lean back in my chair once more and try to find the spot where I had left off but I had lost track. I click my tongue, although the task was pointless, at least it gave me something to do. I stand up and head over to the vending machines, a quick snack doesn’t sound too bad.

The selection is limited and most of the bags are probably filled with stale chips anyways. After a few moments I reach into my back pocket to grab my wallet after deciding on a bag of pretzels. My wallet is not there, I furrow my brows in confusion, maybe I left it at my desk? No, when I get back there it’s empty. I pat myself down, and the only things on me are my phone, hero ID, and keys. Wait, maybe I left it in the car? A sinking feeling in my stomach tells me otherwise, but I figure it’s worth a quick peek anyways.

Ten minutes later it is clear that it’s not here. I’ve checked under the seats, in between the console and the seats, and in the glove box. I even checked in between the seats and the side panel of the car by where the seat adjuster are, nothing. I huff out in annoyance at my fruitless search and resist the urge to slam the door to my car, closing it behind me and lock it before heading back inside ‘Great if it isn’t at the house I will have to call around and cancel all my cards, just what I need.’

⇜↭⇝

I have managed to accomplish nothing in the four hours after getting back from the police department other than count the divots in the ceiling and down eight cups of coffee, I have never had that much coffee in one shift before. I spent hours literally staring at the ceiling, hopefully this desk duty nonsense will be over soon. I can’t sit at a desk all day, my brain will atrophy. Maybe I won’t even need to talk to the shrink more than once, I’ll contact the life coach, set up an appointment and then I’ll be out on patrol in no time. The boss is just giving me a nudge, he’s not holding my hand on the issue.

I drive back to my apartment a bit slower than usual, lost in thought. Considering what I should say to the therapist and life coach that will finish up this whole scenario as quickly as possible. My train of thought lasts until I get to the parking garage of my apartment complex. The dim lights of the garage a bilious yellow hue against the stark night.

I unlock the door to my apartment, take off my shoes and walk inside, “Okay, now where the hell is my wallet?” I say to myself as I lock the door behind me.

I spend the next few minutes walking around the house wandering about, and have made a full circle in my search for my wallet. I sigh and take off my jacket, walking over to the coat hanger shelf by the door, I notice my wallet placed on the shelf. I take in a deep steadying breath, ‘It’s been here the whole time. At least I don’t have to cancel all my cards now.’ I rest my keys on the shelf next to it and take out the business card from Joe out of my jacket.

Padding into my room, the floor is chilly despite the socks on my feet. My thumb runs over the surface of the card. It’s smooth and warm to the touch after being in my jacket pocket for so long. I set it down on my bedside table and quickly undress, putting on my pajamas, readying myself for bed. After pulling my shirt over my head I pick up the card and walk over to my desk, sitting down in the chair and opening the laptop. While waiting for the login screen I look down at the card in my hands. It has a matte finish, and is heather gray in color, the black lettering standing out from the soft tone of the card stock. I flip the card over in my hand and see that it’s one sided. The small chime of the laptop lets me know that the startup screen is on display and I can log in. My fingers tap lightly at the keys, pausing every so often to glance at the card for reference. After typing the website into the url bar at the top of the browser the page loads up instantly. The platform is simple and easy to navigate, I find the application for the intake immediately. Looking over the requested information I scroll to the bottom of the page and come to a decision. ‘There’s no way I’m filling all of this out. I’ll just call them when I wake up.’

#my hero academia fanfic #multichapter #Agapé #bakugou katsuki x oc #kirishima eijirou x oc #slowburn

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