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fangirl-dot-com · 9 months ago

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The Inheritance

Guys, I keep messing up the timeline. So here we go. Christian, Geri, and Mitch find out about Lorenzo and your parents disowning you at your last F2 race. Max finds out about Lorenzo in this chapter (although not written in detail). Max then finds out about your parents in chapter 18 “All For You.”

This is proof that I listen to my readers :D @dreamy-state-of-mind asked to see how reader bought her cars and this chapter was created! I can't do every ask for an idea but I try to listen to what y'all want!

Y'all are being fed...two chapters in a row (which means the next one won't be out for a little bit - so I apologize!)

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy!

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Your hands were in your pockets as you walked around the open room. You had somehow lost Max, Vito, AND Christian. It wasn’t like you meant to walk away, you just did on accident. How could someone know that the foreign car dealership was this big. Well, you would know, but that’s beside the point.

It was quite cold in Germany. Thankfully, you had packed extra layers, something the men seemed to not know how to do. You were sure that Max would have worn his Red Bull polo if you didn’t mention to Kelly where you were going. Sure, he could dress on his own, but who would want that?

Your eyes gazed at all of the cars on the floor. Most were the common stock models. Audis, Mercedes, and even Volkswagens littered the area; yet, the cars you were looking for were nowhere to be found. You kept heading in the same direction, hoping to at least find a familiar someone who looked like they worked there.

Your ears picked up on some German words. Feet taking faster steps, you rounded a corner. Ah, there they were.

Somehow you completely missed seeing that the Porsches would be in a different room. You gingerly stepped farther into the vast open-ceiling room. Your hand itched to touch them, but you knew better.

Looking at the cars brought back some great memories of the first time your godfather took you here. Yes, he could have gotten any Italian brand of car that he wanted. Everything was at his fingertips. Yet, he brought 11-year-old you to Germany to get his imported cars.

Your eyes landed on a familiar model. If you thought hard enough, you could hear the imprints of Lorenzo’s and your laughs as he took you to do donuts in abandoned parking lots.

“A beauty isn’t she,” a voice scared you, causing you to fall on your ass. Your cheeks burned at the thought of being caught. Yet, when your eyes met familiar friendly ones, the redness left.

“Hi Seb,” you greeted as you took his outstretched hand that he offered. He pulled you to your feet and into a hug. After you were done, you pulled away to turn back to the car. This time, you let your hand gently grace the older door.

“Enzo had one,” you simply stated, leaving it at that. Most knew you didn’t like to talk about the man, since it brough on so many emotional memories.

Sebastian took a couple steps and stood next to you.

“Do you still have the keys to the garage?”

You grinned up at the German ex-driver. “Of course I have the keys. You know he left me the entire house.”

He bumped your shoulder, head jerking to lead you away from the car. You followed without hesitation.

“What do you plan to do with it?”

You cocked your head in thought. “I’m going to keep it for now. I don’t want to sell it. It’s not like I need the money anyway.”

He chuckled. “I forget that you’re like a multi-millionaire at 20.”

You just shrugged. “Not my fault that I was basically his only family. I never asked for it.” Your eyes dropped to the shiny floor below. A hand was placed on your shoulder.

“I know. I’m glad that you’re well off. Makes me feel better about not seeing you as much.” A sad smile graced his face as he looked at you.

You tried your best to give him a genuine one in return. “I’m doing much better than I was.”

“Have you showed Max your vast array yet?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’. “I plan to soon, actually. I told him that I needed to go to Italy after this.”

Seb raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything else. You went to talk, but familiar voices echoed in the big room.

“Kid!”

“Seb?”

Your head whipped toward the sound. Ah, there they were.

And they brought an assistant with them.

Max and Christian looked at Seb in question as Vito brought the German into a big hug. You stood toward the side to watch the two friends reunite. The assistant took this opportunity to approach you.

“Ah Miss L/n, so good to see you again!”

“Again?” Max questioned, looking at you.

The assistant turned to the Dutchman. “Yes. Miss L/n has been a patron at this establishment for years now.” He turned back to you. “I have the two models that you called ahead for. I will lead you to them.”

The man turned on his heal and began to walk deeper into the room.

Sebastian was now talking to Vito and Christian, which led to Max walking by you.

“I didn’t know you’d been here before.”

You looked up at him with a sly smile. “My godfather bought a lot of his cars from here and would take me with him. Some of the cars at the front are a part of his collection that I donated when he passed. He left me so many, I didn’t know what to do with them.”

Max stopped in his tracks as you kept walking. Once he got over his shock, he sped up to catch you.

“So many?”

You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Maxie, how much money do you think I have?” you asked, an innocent look on your face.

“Couple thousand?”

You shook your head.

An eyebrow rose. “A couple hundred thousand?”

Another shake as a mouth dropped.

Max looked around before whispering, “Millions?”

“Bingo. We’re going to tour my house when we go to Italy.”

You kept on walking, leaving the even more confused Dutchman.

“House?”

A few steps more and you had caught up with the group of four men. Christian whistled at the sight of what lie before him.

“Thank you Mr. Klein,” you shook the assistants hand as you looked at the two dark green cars in front of you. “Did the payment go through well?”

The man nodded. “Yes it did. Mr. and Mrs. Fischer send their best regards and also thank you for the donation.”

The four men (minus your manager) gawk at you. Yet, you were too busy beaming.

“I’m so glad. Tell them that I will reach out the next time I’m here for longer. I want to see their children again, I miss them.”

With a couple more goodbyes, weird stares, and going over plans to ship your Porsches to Monaco and England safely – you were on your way to Italy.

Thankfully Sebastian wanted to join, saying something about how he hadn’t seen the house in forever. Which brought on more questioning looks from Max.

However, Christian had to sadly say goodbye as he had a connecting flight to go somewhere else for business. You promised you’d send some pictures when you could.

A chauffer had met you at the airport, names written in fancy calligraphy on a starch white piece of paper.

The man gave you two cheek kisses as you greeted him.

“Guido! Come stai amico mio?” (how are you my friend?)

Max couldn’t wipe the look off his face as you began to talk to the older gentleman in perfect Italian. Vito only patted his shoulder.

“You’ll get used to it. She’s definitely someone to unravel. You’ll get there.”

The four of you then followed the man to the Rolls Royce that was waiting in the parking area. Suitcases were loaded in, and the three of you were on your way to your house.

Or, more like mansion/estate/castle that Max found out as the car pulled closer. He turned to you.

“Kid?”

“Inheritance Max. Inheritance.”

Your door was opened once the car was parked. Multiple people came out of the house, wanting to greet you.

“La mia famiglia! Mi siete manvati tutti!” (My family! I’ve missed all of you!”)

A couple of the staff took your bags as you walked through the giant doorway. Once you were through, you turned around and opened your arms.

“Max, welcome to Casa di Lorenzo Alessandrino.”

Max’s head was in a state of looking upwards as he walked in. He would have held his mouth open, but the interior seemed to demand respect as power and poise dripped from its walls. Now it was turn for Max’s hands to itch, wanting to touch everything.

Once everything was settled, you gave Max a tour as Vito and Seb went to go get some drinks. Your fingers twirled a special key ring as you led Max to your garage.

You turned to him and gave a smile. “You ready?”

Let’s just say, Max was not ready to see so many cars. Max let his jaw drop.

The garage was deep and long, probably housing close to 40-ish cars. Your eyes glimmered as you looked at the older cars that you missed dearly.

“You can go look you know,” you told Max as you made your way down the little staircase to the floor. Your heels clicked and echoed with each step. Max was quick to be on your tail. The Dutchman made his way quickly to each car, stopping for only a second before getting distracted by the next.

You hummed as you looked at the empty spot among the Ferrari’s on the back wall. You pointed to it when Max came up beside you again.

“The only car Lorenzo never had in his collection was the F40. I need to talk to Charles or Carlos about seeing how I can get one ethically. I want to complete the collection, but not pay far more than what it’s worth.”

Max nodded, soaking in your words. He was about to say something, but a flash of orange caught his attention. His eyes sparkled as he looked at the spaceship looking car.

“What kind of car is that?”

You smirked as you gazed on your most prize possession.

You walked closer and clicked the keys, making the car roar to life only for a second. (You don’t want to give you and Max monoxide poisoning.)

Your hand ran over the orangey hues that covered the car.

“This is the Apollo Project Evolution.”

Max looked down at the hyper car.

“What that a V12?”

“Yep. A Ferrari V12 to be exact. Three million dollars, one in ten made, over 700 horsepower, and completely street legal. I’d take you for a ride, but I would rather keep this between me and whoever knows about it.”

You turned on your heel to start walking toward the door where you walked in. “I bought it because it reminded me of the spaceship from Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Max snickered as he could imagine you at 14-years-old, watching that movie and falling in love with the space craft. Then, he imagined you last year, trying to find out how you could get your hands on it.

He took one last glance at the big room, before following you back into the house. He softly shut the big door behind him.

“Does Arthur know about this place?” he asked as he caught up to you, not wanting to get lost.

You softly smiled at him. “Yes. I brought him here after Lorenzo passed away in 2020. I just didn’t want to be alone. Vito was here as well.”

Max returned your sad smile. You and Vito had told him about the place on your way here. Tears were shed, hugs were given out, but you’d get through it.

But then he suddenly pouted at the thought of you not bringing him here earlier.

You tutted. “Don’t worry, Charles hasn’t been here if that’s what you’re pouting about.”

That brought an instant grin to his face. You rolled your eyes at his childishness. Soon, you joined Vito and Sebastian in the kitchen. Aperol Spritzes lined the kitchen counter. Your hand reached one, before Vito was thrusting an different one into your hands. You pouted when you realized that yours was probably nonalcoholic.

Sebastian snorted. “Let the kid have one.”

“Vito, what do you think they do for podiums? Make sure mine isn’t actual champagne?”

Vito rolled his eyes and handed you one from the kitchen counter. You quickly smiles and took a sip of the bubbly drink.

“So kid, did you show Max the garage?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his own drink.

You nodded as you placed your cup down. “Yep!”

“And the track?”

“You have a track!?”

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 glad to be back to my home away from home. Italia, quanto mi sei mancato. conserverai sempre ricordi preziosi e non posso ringraziarti abbastanza per amarmi da bambino. quando tornerò sarò sul podio, ne sono sicuro

(translation : italy how i've missed you. you will always hold precious memories and i can't thank you enough for loving me as a child. when i return, i'll be on the podium - i'm sure of it)

liked by sebastianvettel, vito_official, y/nlover, and 58,204 others

y/n's_fav who was going to tell me that our girl knows Italian?

y/n_updates she speaks it fluently! her godfather was Italian and taught her when she was growing up! y/n_on_top all I'm hearing is that her, Carlos, and Charles can now talk shit about Max if needed

charles_leclerc quindi Max non riesce a capire? (so max can't understand?)

y/n.89 no, quindi è ora di svelare i segreti dell'infanzia, Charlie (no, so spill the childhood secrets Charlie) carlossainz55 abbiamo molto da dire (we have a lot to tell) maxverstappen1 I CAN READ MY OWN NAME - I KNOW YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME y/n.89 senti qualcosa? (do you hear something?)

vito_official così felice di essere a casa. possiamo restare ancora un po'? Guido e Luigi dicono che gli manchiamo troppo (so glad to be home. can we stay a bit longer? Guido and Luigi say they miss us too much)

y/n.89 mi mancheranno così tanto. torneremo presto! (i'll miss them so much. we'll be back soon!)

sebastianvettel glad to have been able to go with you! I'll see you soon kinder!

y/n_in_italy NOT HER HOUSEKEEPERS'S NAMES BEING GUIDO AND LUIGI

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19

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onbearfeet · 7 months ago

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WIP Wedneday? WIP Wednesday.

Road trip with the cast of Monster Mash. Imagine these dinguses playing yellow car.

Jack Russell had never been a fan of long car rides.

He didn’t mind driving, particularly. Being a werewolf often meant living somewhere new every month, and until the advent of cheap intercontinental air travel, that had mostly meant picking a continent and moving around on it as best he could. And for the last century or so, moving around in North America had meant automobiles. He’d driven everything from Model Ts to Rolls Royces, and none of it had been particularly difficult or uncomfortable.

No, it was being a passenger that he couldn’t stand.

Perhaps it was something about werewolf reflexes; he reacted to things slightly faster than ordinary humans, even in his own human form, so if he wasn’t careful, riding shotgun in a car meant he was constantly tapping an imaginary brake or gas pedal half a second before the driver did. Or perhaps it was lingering trauma from all the times he’d been shot or netted, trussed up, and thrown into the back of something with a snarling engine. Whatever it was, he didn’t enjoy being in a moving vehicle that he didn’t control. He sometimes wondered how Ted felt about it; after all, there probably weren’t any vehicles built for someone his size.

But Elsa Bloodstone owned the van, and Elsa did not give up her keys without a good reason, so Jack had gotten used to swallowing his pride and climbing into the passenger seat—or worse, the back after Bucky Barnes won the coin toss.

There was one positive to Elsa’s driving, though. Somehow, through whatever perverse alchemy made her the most remarkable woman in the world (at least in Jack’s thoroughly biased and entirely correct opinion), he could sleep while she was at the wheel. Something about the cedar-and-sage scent of her at close quarters put his hackles down, smoothed his bristling paranoia, and let him drift off to the thrum of the engine and the whisper of her breath.

And so he was mostly asleep, slipping in and out of a pleasant dream about running through high mountain forests with nothing chasing him for once, when he heard Elsa’s voice.

“Barnes.”

“Your majesty,” Bucky drawled from behind Jack, where he was presumably still strapped into a jump seat in the cargo area.

Jack felt the smile tugging at his lips. He hoped Elsa couldn’t see it.

Elsa huffed, and Jack could hear the eyeroll in her voice. “In my infinite mercy, I’ve decided to do you a favor.”

“Golly, gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said flatly. “I’m saving you considerable embarrassment. Not counting your years with Hydra, how long would you say you’ve been, er—?”

“Myself? Conscious? Human?”

Jack couldn’t suppress the small flinch.

“Yes. That.”

“A few years, now. I guess you can count it from 2014, if you’re going from when I got out. But it took me a couple years to, y’know, have a personality again. Why?”

“Did you spend much time catching up on history?”

“I puked for two days straight after I googled JFK, so no.”

“Right, then. There are facts you’ll need to know if you don’t want to make a complete arse of yourself.”

“If this is about Marvin Gaye, I swear to Christ—”

“Your Wikipedia page,” Elsa interrupted, “says you were raised Irish American Catholic. Is that true?”

“Near ’nough.” A faint Irish lilt drifted through Bucky’s voice. “My dad was, anyway.”

“Then you probably heard a few sermons in your day about the evils of homosexuality.”

Bucky burst out laughing.

It was loud enough that Jack gave up even pretending to sleep, opened his eyes, and sat up from where he’d been slumped against the passenger window. He stretched as somewhere behind him, Ted rumbled a question that sounded like What the hell?

“Sorry, fellas,” Bucky chuckled. “Old man laughs at history lesson, you know how it is.” He snorted.

Jack stretched and used the motion as an excuse to look back at the cargo bay. Bucky was, indeed, still in his jump seat, wiping tears from his eyes and grinning.

“Priceless,” he muttered. “Just priceless. Elsa, is this gonna be one of those ‘some people are queer now and you gotta be okay with it’ talks?”

“If by ‘okay’ you mean ‘on your best manners or I’ll stab you’, then yes, that’s what this is.” Elsa took her eyes off the road just long enough to glare daggers at Bucky.

“Ha.” Bucky scrubbed at his face with his flesh hand. “Okay, let’s save you some time. Quick show of hands—who in this van has, at some point in their life, done queer shit?”

He pulled his hand away from his face and raised it above his head.

Jack grinned and put his own hand up.

Ted urfed and raised his.

Bucky looked at Elsa and raised his eyebrows.

Grudgingly, Elsa raised her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” Bucky said. His voice gentled. “Doll, I’m from Brooklyn. Down by the Navy yard, no less. There’s not much I ain’t seen. If I use the wrong words or something, please do correct me before the ghost of my mother rises from her grave and hauls me off by my ear, but you don’t have to worry I’ll see two fellas kissing and get the vapors.”

“Good,” Elsa replied, turning her attention back to the road. “Because our client is an old friend of mine, and I’ve got barbed bolts in my crossbow.”

#wip wednesday #monster mash #werewolf by night #jack russell #elsa bloodstone #ted sallis #bucky barnes

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lythea-creation · 5 months ago

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Broken Toys - Johanna Mason x fem reader (Chapter 25)

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

word count: 2.453

-------------------

“Katniss!”, I called out her name as her team gathered around her to make her look presentable for her final act as the mockingjay, the face of the rebellion.

The people did not let me through. Katniss could not do anything either. It was not like we had recovered enough to fight our way through the crowd either.

So I simply shouted: “I'm sorry, Katniss! If I had been a bit faster … She's been right in front of me and yet ...”

“I know”, she interrupted me. “We'll stop it today! Trust me!”

A few hours later I was standing next to Johanna and Finnick waiting for Snow's execution.

Besides Katniss the other victors were the ones standing closest to Snow, although the whole place was as crowded as possible.

Snow was chained to a stake. But considering all the people around him who wanted to see him dead, he could not run anywhere anyway. He did not look like he would plan to escape either.

Instead of appearing to feel regret or fear, he looked amused. His signature, provocative smile was plastered on his face. The one he had always worn when he had pressured and threatened me.

But to my own surprise I did not feel any rage or hate. I did not feel satisfaction either. The man who killed my little sister was standing right in front of me to get executed any minute. Was I not supposed to feel anything significant?

Suddenly I realized why I was feeling so strange as I stared at President Coin standing above Snow on the balcony.

Katniss had promised me to end this vicious circle, but it would not end if she killed Snow. Was she aware of it?

She was. A huge gasp resounded in the crowd as Katniss' arrow hit Coin instead of Snow, killing her instantly.

Snow's laughter overshadowed the whole area, despite the unsettled screams of the crowd.

Katniss tried taking her nightlock pill, but Peeta stopped her. She was carried away by guards resisting fruitlessly with all her remaining strength.

Before I could process the situation properly, Finnick pulled me away. His other hand was holding Annie's.

Out of reflex I took Johanna's hand and dragged her with us as well.

I did not question Finnick's behavior. He had a reason I did not need to understand immediately. After everything we had gotten used to help and save each other.

And a few seconds later I realized what he had done as the crowd flooded the place where we had stood.

They were killing Snow. Two birds with one stone. Panem would erupt into chaos now. But I wanted to believe that it could not get any worse anyway, though I had learned during the last years that it could always get worse. But the imagination of having used up all my bad luck, was comforting.

We fled into a nearby building that appeared safe enough not to break and bury us alive.

“Now everyone is going crazy. Welcome to our life”, Johanna mumbled sarcastically.

“I can't believe she killed Coin. Although … Katniss' actions shouldn't surprise us anymore”, Finnick stated.

“She told me to end the vicious circle. That's why she voted for the Capitol Hunger Games. To make Coin feel safe. She got careless standing right in front of Katniss during the execution”, I declared.

“That's why you agreed? You knew that?”, Annie wondered.

I shook my head. “I trusted her and my intuition. And the love of an elder sister. I wonder what will happen to her now. After all the rebels will be furious. Katniss killed their leader.”

Johanna burst out laughing. “From role model to enemy. Those people are influenced so easily.”

“They don't know what it's like to be behind the scenes. They only see what we show them”, Annie added.

“How are they going to perceive us now that the time of the Hunger Games is finally over?”, I thought aloud.

“Doesn't matter. We'll push through it and stay ourselves either way”, Johanna decided. “Right, playboy?”

She playfully hit Finnick with her elbow.

“What do you mean? I'm naturally awesome”, he put on his Capitol act making us laugh.

Honestly this was a part of the Games I did not want to lose. The other victors, the people I got close to because the Games had existed. My life would be completely different if my name had not been drawn four years ago. How different my perception of life would have been.

Finnick would have been a narcissistic playboy to me. Annie a mentally unstable woman and Johanna just aggressive and selfish. Katniss would have only been the mockingjay. Haymitch a crazy alcoholic.

But I was glad that I had gotten to know them.

Nothing was worth losing Rue, but at least I had gotten other precious people I did not want to lose now. New people I desperately wanted to protect, to laugh and cry with, to spend my life with.

“Why are you smiling like that?”, Finnick teased me.

I took Johanna's hand while placing my hand on Finnick's shoulder. “I just noticed that I did not just lose a lot during the last years.”

The next months were a mess.

Paylor, the leader of district 8, became the temporary president as everyone trusted her to make wise decisions after the revolution.

Plutarch was the Secretary of Communication now and the rebuilding of the country had begun. It was planned to establish a republic government for Panem in the near future, when things had calmed down a bit.

In the meantime Johanna and I had moved to her old victor house in district 7 while my family had moved back to our house in district 11.

That I wanted to stay with Johanna was out of question, but moving to 11 had not been an option. I could not take the memories of Rue hovering at every place in district 11.

Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch had returned to district 12 as well. Plutarch had defended Katniss and managed to prevent her execution as well as the one of Effie Trinket.

Annie had told me that Katniss mom was working at a new hospital in district 4 now. Annie, the proud mom of her newborn son Max.

Finnick and Annie had chosen to call him that in memorial of their fallen mentor Mags.

So all in all we should be glad.

I had fulfilled my promise to create a safe country for my younger siblings and we were no longer trapped inside the vicious circle of the Hunger Games.

At least that was what I would have liked to believe, because for us victors the Games would never fully vanish. The memories were still vivid and I was reminded of that almost every night.

Now that I had fulfilled my task I had much more time to grieve and process my past than I wanted.

In the beginning it had really broken me. Nightmares whenever I had closed my eyes. Waking up to remember that they were not dreams but memories.

Johanna had gotten used to my breakdowns and knew how to handle them now. That had been a long journey too.

But all in all I was grateful.

Grateful for the people that were enriching my life now.

Grateful that I did not have to fear for the safety of my loved ones anymore, especially when I made a mistake.

Grateful that I could see my friends whenever I wanted because the trains were public now.

“Come on! Stop wasting time!”, Johanna complained, already waiting for me at the front door.

She was always taking her axe with her, which no one minded here in 7.

“Yeah, calm down. I'm here”, I replied with mock annoyance.

“Did you just tell me to calm down?”

She fake glared at me before grinning and placing her arm around my waist.

Today all victors, except Katniss, were supposed to gather at the Capitol. It was still weird to move freely, not having to fear being watched all the time.

Though we were still being watched by almost everyone as they obviously knew us. We were famous after all.

“What do you think are we meeting for?”, I wondered.

Johanna shrugged her shoulders. “Hope it will be worth our time.”

“It's not like we've anything to do anyway.”

“What are you talking about? There's a bunch of things being left for us to do! We can do everything!”

“Hmm”, I agreed halfheartedly.

“What's that about? Don't you wanna spend time with me?”, she asked me with a grin while trapping me against a tree.

My eyes wandered to her axe which was uncomfortably close to my head.

“Are you questioning my love now?”, I shot back.

“Well … After all you're a great actor.”

I kissed her taking her off guard. Now I was the one grinning as Johanna blushed slightly.

“Dammit! Stop surprising me!”, she 'complained'.

“I just know how to handle you”, I teased her and slipped away from her.

“You think so?”, she challenged me, pointing her axe at me.

“Um ...”, I stammered out smiling nervously. “I guess we should hurry now if we don't wanna miss our train”, I excused myself.

“Don't think I'll just let you slip out of this now”, Johanna threatened me.

Before she could do anything, I had climbed onto the nearest tree and was now looking down on her while sitting on a branch.

“Not fair! Come down, you fucking squirrel!”, she demanded.

“Or what?”, I shot back with a grin.

A few seconds later I was falling as Johanna had severed the branch from the tree by throwing her axe.

Back on the ground Johanna pushed me down and was now sitting on top of me grinning mischievously.

“Who has the upper hand now?”, she mocked me.

“You know that I could've seriously hurt myself, right?”

“Come on! It's not like you never jumped or fell down a tree before. It's like scolding me for pushing Finnick into the water.”

“Touche.”

Our eyes met and we simply stared at each other for a while.

“Shit! We're missing our train”, I remembered.

We quickly jumped up and ran to the train station, getting on the train last second.

The trains were less luxurious than before, but no one really cared. Actually I was glad that they had changed and were therefore less triggering.

The Capitol had changed a lot as well. All people could come and live here. The citizens were not dressed up so extremely anymore either. It seemed more normal, less exclusive and unavailable.

“Finnick!”, I called out the name of my best friend and immediately ran into his open arms.

“Woah! You two are looking great!”, Finnick exclaimed.

“Thanks. You didn't see the development though. A few weeks ago we looked horrible”, I chuckled.

Johanna playfully hit his shoulder. “Where's your wife?”

“She stayed home with Max. The trip would have been too much”, he explained.

We had not seen each other since the end of the war because we had all needed some time to process everything. But right now I was glad to see so many familiar faces: Finnick, Haymitch, Peeta, Beetee, even Enobaria.

None of us knew what this meeting was about once again.

We started talking, but soon stopped as the door opened revealing Plutarch Heavensbee followed by Cressida, Pollux and some more people I did not know, probably the new members of her camera team.

I smiled at Cressida and Pollux earning the same reply.

“I bet you're wondering what you're here for”, Plutarch began. “At first I need your consent to film you live as it affects the whole country.”

“That's new”, Haymitch joked.

“You're not the property of the Capitol anymore. Proving you that by asking for your consent is just one of many steps”, President Paylor declared while entering the room.

“Does anyone decline?”, Cressida questioned.

“It's not like we're not used to it anyway”, Johanna shrugged it off and no one disagreed.

“Alright. Action”, Cressida instructed her team.

Plutarch faced the camera. “Welcome Panem to a special broadcast dealing with the future of our regime. We gathered all remaining victors once again to ask them about your suggestion.”

President Paylor continued addressing us: “As you all know my governorship is only temporary. After abolishing the Hunger Games, dismantling the old arenas and building memorials to all the fallen tributes, we are now working to establish a republic government for Panem. Therefore we need a representative for each district and the Capitol to fulfill the wishes of the citizens.

The suggestion of the people of Panem was to give you, the victors, the chance to become a representative. An election has already been held, but at first we would like to explain everything to you and hear your opinion about it. Of course you have every right to decline.

The victors have always been the connection between all districts and the Capitol and you know what injustice truly means. Therefore, everyone assumes that you would be fit for the task of ruling over Panem hand in hand with its people.”

“You want us to rule?”, Beetee reassured.

“With your consent, yes”, Paylor confirmed.

“Thanks for the offer, but I'm out. I'm sick of living like this”, Enobaria stated.

“That's understandable. No one will be judged for their decision. You can leave or stay for the rest of the broadcast. It's up to you”, Paylor proclaimed.

Enobaria left without another word.

“So our districts promoted us?”, Peeta questioned.

“Exactly”, Plutarch replied.

“But what about Haymitch and me? We're both from 12”, he interjected.

“You'd be better suited for that job, Peeta. I decline. They'll just force me to become sober again”, Haymitch declined.

“Alright. I'll do it”, Peeta agreed. “I want to change Panem for the better.”

The other victors followed Peeta's example. We had fought for years to change our country. Becoming a politician now was the best opportunity we could get to do so.

“What about me? I'm living in 7 now?”, I reminded everyone.

“The people of district 11 still see you as their leader. After all you've been that during the whole rebellion”, Paylor declared.

Suddenly an image of Rue flashed into my mind.

“I would be honored”, I agreed to the offer.

---------------

Next Chapter

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angelfireeast · 8 years ago

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There is a certain section of fandom celebrating the reveal of Savitar as a version of Barry Allen because it feeds some ideas they have about ship they love (snowbarry) and ship they hate (westallen). There certain number of people using this moment to "prove" Barry doesn’t truly love Iris and that he cares about Caitlin more (I guess in the long run). I just keep thinking how it comes down to the worst case scenario and both characters worst nightmare and people are harp on this as if it’s some golden ticket ship thing. The standards for ship couldn’t be any lower. There is certain group of people out there who care so much about their two white faves standing next to each other more than they care about anything else. They are just so happy they are yelling “See this proves Barry doesn’t truly love Iris as much as the show claims he does! He clearly picks Caitlin over Iris! Savitar spends like 4 years raising hell with Killer Frost after he murders Iris! Westallen & Iris aren’t relevant because future Barry kills Iris and shacks up with Killer Frost!’ Obviously these shippers care more about their white faves standing next to each other then care about the characters of Barry and Caitlin themselves. Killer Frost is Caitlin’s worse nightmare. This is beyond OUR Barry’s worst nightmare and OUR Barry doesn’t ever want to kill Iris. He loves her more than life itself and this whole season has been about showing again and again how much OUR Barry loves Iris. For any Barry to kill Iris he destroys himself, the love of his life, his world, his family, and well his everything. These people are happy with twisted distructive Barry because it gets him to stand beside their favorite white girl and finally pushes down that black woman who they hate so damn much for being the leading lady over a woman woman.

There is terribly sad, twisted, sick version of Barry Allen doing unspeakably horrible things. Savitar!Barry is knows what our Barry thinks and feels but he’s nothing like him and he’s not our Barry. To murder Iris, destroy Wally, destroy his family, kill countless others and just be outright evil that’s not the real Barry Allen. That’s some twist lost insane worst case scenario Barry Allen not our Barry Allen. That’s broken, lost, insane Barry Allen. And Caitlin Snow? She died! Her heart stopped beating. She had to be killed to get to this point. Killer Frost is her worst nightmare and this EXACTLY what Caitlin feared becoming. She told everyone she rather DIE than become Killer Frost. Julian’s selfish ass took her right live as she wanted away from her turning her into Killer Frost instead of honoring her wishes. Killer Frost keeps saying ‘Caitlin Snow is dead’. She’s doesn’t want to be Caitlin and she doesn’t want Caitlin to come back. If the team makes a cure for the meta powers, which apparently make her evil, and Caitlin Snow does come back do you think she going to just jump on Savtar!Barry’s dick? Or would she be completed horrified at everything she’s done as Killer Frost and return to her friends? She’ll be running Savitar!Barry as fast as she can the minute she has choice to be Caitlin & be with her friends or be Killer Frost and be Savitar!Barry. Killer Frost is still Caitlin Snow but it’s the worst part of her and generally it’s not who she wants to be. Whatever faults I find in Caitlin’s behavior as not always a great person, the fact remains to get her ass to side with Savitar!Barry she had to forced into being her worst self she didn’t want to be. But hey! if the only the worst parts of character remain (Killer Frost) and parts of character makes her ‘Caitlin Snow’ are for all intents and purposes is dead it’s shippers delight as long as she MIGHT have shot with evil insane Barry right? Fridging women totally helps ships to happen too. *rolleyes*

So I hope all those shippers keep celebrating the worst versions of Barry Allen and Caitlin Snow standing beside each other like it actually means something. Like hold that shit dear because it’s best you are going to get. Its both character’s worst nightmare come true. Keep trying to spin this to some sort of plus for snowbarry. Celebrate the most broken, damaged, demented, evil, heartless, and horrible versions of Barry and Caitlin working together to murder and hurt the people they loved most and who loves them as A+++ ship magic. It isn’t any more ugly then all the celebrating Iris being murdered. People already revealed their racist asses so why not just finish it and reveal how much they don’t actually care about characters themselves they are shipping. You know because pumping Hannibal Bates\Caitlin kiss & Caitlin trying to kill Barry is killer signature freeze kiss as romantic doesn’t already show that. This Savitar!Barry/Killer Frost not like it’s ‘lolz AU evil ship fun’. No, it’s people going ‘Barry kills Iris so he doesn’t really love Iris which means Snowbarry!!!!’ They can go ahead and celebrate it because all it does is reveal what kind of people they really are.

#anti snowbarry #anti frostbarry #westallen #Because Savitar!Barry working with Killer Frost has nothing to do with fact that she’s only one twisted enough to want to work with him #All his little Alchemy meta henchmen failed to pan out in the long run #Either they failed to do what he needed like Rival or they were saved and helped like Julian and Cisco #remember how Caitlin helped to save Cisco from becoming Savtiar’s next Alchemy puppet?#We’ll likely never know what Savitar!Barry’s plans for Jesse are.#But if they are anything like the comics it’s replace his second in command femme fatale with #a faster model when he’s gotten everything he need from her.

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sillyrabbit81 · 2 years ago

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The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Fourteen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Fourteen Summary: Lori spends time with Mike and shares a meal with the Brothers.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Fourteen Warnings: slight angst, some fluff, mild violence, mild smut (kissing)

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

I tested positive to covid yesterday so I'm feeling a little foggy in the brain, so forgive me if this chapter is poorly edited (well worse than usual 🤣)

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (see above!)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Thirteen Part Fifteen

Lori

After eating a simple lunch of sandwiches with Geralt, I spent the afternoon with Mike. His room was the polar opposite of Marshall's tidy minimalism. It looked like a college dorm room, an overfilled, yet organised den of nerdom. He had a desk filled with what looked like a custom PC and several monitors while vintage consoles and games were organised in shelving around the desk. His room was fairly dim with most light being emitted from LED strips along the corners of the ceiling, but there was enough lumination to see his closet seemed to have more clothes on the floor than hanging on the coat hangers or folded and his bin was overloaded with empty wrappers and soda cans.

I loved everything about it.

“Uh, so, this is me.” He must have noticed my inventory of his room because he looked away as he ran his fingers through his hair.

I leaned over to kiss his cheek and said grinning, “I'm digging the ‘King of Nerdom fantasy’ aesthetic you have gone for here.”

Mike rolled his eyes then grabbed me around the waist, fingers digging into my sides as he tickled me and made me squeal. I slid from his grasp and ran around the bed. My heart was pounding, adrenaline was surging through my veins making my hands shake as I couldn’t stop giggling as he continued to stalk me.

“Think you can run, huh?” he asked, grinning as he kept advancing on me.

The low light in the room seemed to perfectly enhance his already far too attractive face, highlighting the strong cut of his jaw, the dimple in his chin and the model-like bone structure in his cheeks. Despite being smaller than the other Brothers, he was still a very large guy. I could see how broad his shoulders actually were and I noticed the way his arms stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Trembling and giddy, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make him chase me or if I wanted him to catch me and throw me on the bed. My eyes darted to the door and I thought maybe a bit of a run might be just what I needed.

“Don’t even think– Hey!” Mike called, but I was already throwing open the door and running down the corridor.

Giggling as I ran, I turned my head to find Mike tearing down the hall after me. I yelped and ran faster, determined to take him for as much as a run as I could before he inevitably caught me.

I ran further into the clubhouse, down a hall I hadn’t been in before, noticing a few rooms that had doors which appeared to be holding something valuable behind heavy duty doors. As I turned a corner I quickly realised I had gotten myself trapped. I was on the verge of trying to open one of the doors to find a hiding place when I felt my arm being yanked and I was hoisted into the air and thrown over Mike’s shoulder.

“Gotcha!” he cried, triumphantly.

“Put me down!”

Mike laughed and started to run down the hall while I screamed, kicked my legs and flailed my arms in a weak attempt at getting him to release me. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be put down. Mike’s spontaneous, freely given affection and his chaotic, bordering on juvenile behaviour was what I adored most about him.

It’s what I needed most from him.

Suddenly, Mike came to a stop and I felt the muscles in his shoulder tense under my weight. I peered around his body as best I could and saw Walker with a rifle in his hands pointed directly at Mike’s head.

Holy shit.

“Were you born a fucking idiot, Mike, or did you have to practice?”

Mike slowly lowered me to the floor. I had to avert my eyes from Walker. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I felt like I was about to burst out laughing.

“Shit, Walker, we were just–”

“Running around making the girl God damn scream? Like she was being attacked? During a fucking protection operation? The fuck, kid?”

It wasn’t really funny anymore as I raised my eyes and looked at Walker. His eyes were narrow and his lip curled into a snarl. He wore dark denim jeans and a plain white wife beater which clung to every muscle and the hair of his chest peaked above the low neckline. I knew he would be fit like the others, but fuck he was jacked and unlike his Brothers, I couldn’t see any tattoos on him.

“Shit, I didn’t think–”

“You better start fucking thinking or one of these days you’ll end up–”

“Walker,” I interrupted sharply.

“What?” he snapped as he whipped his head towards me.

I gasped. I had expected to see his face twisted in anger and it was, but that wasn’t what made me suck in a breath. It was the other emotion that warped his near perfect features, the same one that had his chest pumping and his nose flaring.

Walker was scared.

He steadily and slowly lowered his rifle as his face seemed to drop and in the snap of a finger his momentary look of vulnerability was replaced by his usual sneer.

“This is Club business, princess. Stay out of it.” Walker growled.

“I’m fine though,” I said softly. “Nothing happened. I’m okay.”

Walker continued to glare at me. I wanted to raise my hand and touch his cheek, to reassure him, to comfort him. My arm was halfway there before I realised what I was doing and forced myself to lower it to my side.

“Get the hell out of my sight,” Walker spat, and he turned his grim look to Mike, “Both of you.”

I swallowed as Mike silently put his arm around my shoulders and led me back to his room. I couldn’t stop myself and looked over my shoulder to see Walker looking down at the dark grey low pile carpet of the hallway shaking his head. He glanced up and our eyes met. His face momentarily appeared pained, his brows furrowed and raised, then they lowered and his lip curled.

I quickly looked away.

Mike set me up at his desk then laid on his bed, watching some tv. The mood was a little sombre as I started perusing my go to sites that had next day delivery. I found it difficult to concentrate at first, the run in with Walker played on my mind. As did his unexpected reaction.

Had he truly been afraid when he thought I was being attacked? I found it hard to believe considering the position he had in the club. If he fell to pieces at the outset of a life or death situation, there’s no way the others would have put him in charge.

The only other explanation - and it seemed too far-fetched - was that he was afraid for me.

Maybe he had been worried something had happened to me because if he lost a client, the Brotherhood’s reputation would be tarnished. On top of that, I don’t think Sy - or the other Brothers for that matter - would easily forgive him and it may even threaten his position as President.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense and I was able to concentrate on my orders.

I found a way to actually make the shopping enjoyable. Still angry at my Nate, I didn’t hold back and ordered what I wanted without any consideration of cost. That $200 pair of jeans? Add to cart. That $150 bra and panty set? Quantity two. Add to cart.

Was it childishly passive aggressive of me?

Absolutely.

I almost decided to really take the piss and order myself a couple of cocktail dresses, but I figured the cost of what I actually needed was punishment enough. I did order a few skin care products that were usually too expensive for me to afford and some workwear and steel-toed boots for when I spent time with Geralt.

When I was finished and just messing around looking at pretty and impractical shoes, I started to wonder what Mike knew about the pact. I spun around in the gaming chair at his desk and decided to ask him about it.

“Mike?”

“You done?” he asked, sitting up and grinning with his usual puppy-like enthusiasm.

“Yeah. I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sounds serious.” He grunted and raised his lip in a mock look of disgust.

“It's about the pact.”

His eyes widened with an exaggerated look of innocence. “What pact?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t bullshit me.”

He downcast his gaze. “Shit, I’m s…” he shook his head and when he looked back at me his face set in a grim determination, “No. I’m not going to apologise for it. I was frustrated when I thought I had missed my chance with you, but when G told me what he, Sy and Marshall had agreed to, I was in. Maybe we should have discussed it with you first, but I wasn’t going to let another chance with you slip through my fingers.”

I looked down at my jeans and picked off a piece of fluff while I tried to take in what Mike said. He moved across the bed until he sat on the edge and grabbing the armrests of the gaming chair, he rolled it close until I was nestled between his legs.

“Hey, I don’t want things to get weird between us. I meant it when I said ‘no pressure’, okay Babycakes?” He lowered his head until his eyes caught mine, and he smiled gently as he cupped my cheek with his warm hand. “I’m just happy you’re here with me. Even if we’re never going to be more than friends. I just want to be around you.”

“You really mean that?”

He nodded, solemnly but then his grin turned mischievous and he added, “Okay, maybe I’ll be a little disappointed if we don't kiss again.”

I laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re such an ass.”

Mike chuckled a little, but grew serious. “How do you feel about it? The pact I mean.”

I took a deep breath, giving myself a moment to really think about it. “I was mad when Marshall told me. I yelled at him and stormed out.”

“That explains his shitty mood this morning.”

I shrugged. “I’m not mad anymore, but I don’t know how I feel about it.”

Mike pulled me onto his lap as he nodded. “Took me a bit to get my head around as well. Then I realised a couple of things. First, you being with my Brothers doesn’t change the way I feel about you, Babycakes and the second is that I know they all feel the same way about you as I do.”

I laid my head on Mike’s shoulder. His arms went around me, drawing me closer to his body as he bowed his head.

“Have I said too much?” he whispered, his lowered, serious tone made him sound older than he usually seemed.

“No,” I whispered back. “I think I needed to hear that.”

He hummed softly and lifted his head just enough to kiss my cheek. I raised my eyes and met his; they were wide, brows pinched and raised in a charmingly gentle invitation as he licked his lips. My breath came in hard and heavy while a torrid tempest surged through my chest and settled firmly between my legs.

Mike’s finger twisted around a stray lock of hair by my ear and he smiled shyly, “Wanna watch a movie and make out?”

“Forget the movie,” I breathed and pressed my lips against his.

I was on fire as he took us to the bed and split my thighs over his hips. His lips were forceful, parting me until his tongue brushed over mine. He moved beneath me, hips lifting and creating a subtle friction that was nowhere near enough to satisfy my searing need.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he groaned.

His tongue continued its urgent exploration of my mouth until it felt as if no part of it was untouched. I would have thought such a kiss was one of inexperience if it wasn’t so hungry, dominant and such a fucking turn-on.

“I haven’t gotten the taste of you out of my head since yesterday,” he murmured into my mouth, “How do you taste so fucking good?”

I smiled, feeling my cheeks warm and Mike dropped his head onto the bed and closed his eyes. His hands squeezed my ass, fingers digging so deep that I could feel the pressure of his nails even through my jeans. I laid my head on his chest, the side of my face pressed against his sternum, the sound of his heart beating was as loud as thunder as it echoed in my ear.

“You ok?” he asked. His fingers slid into my hair, combing through its length as his heart slowly fell back into its resting rhythm.

“Yeah,” I said, wistfully. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“You stopped.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

I felt him take a deep breath, my head lifting as his lungs filled with air. “Because this is nice. I like this.”

I smiled as I shifted my body until I was laying beside him and settled beneath the crook of his shoulder. I lifted my head and kissed his cheek.

“I like this, too.”

When it was time for dinner, Mike led me past the kitchen and into the common room and through into another smaller room. I pulled up short in the doorway, surprised by the scene before me.

Mike had taken me to what appeared to be the Club meeting room that seemed to double as a dining room. On the table were a number of dishes including what looked like a creamy mushroom pasta, a rocket and pear salad, grilled pork and some roasted vegetables and a couple of bottles of wine and beer littered the table.

Each of the Brothers stopped talking as I appeared and each one turned their attention to me. It made me want to shrink in on myself, I was not prepared for this.

“Oh,” I murmured, “Do you guys always eat dinner together?”

Mike nodded, “Yeah. And while you’re here, you can join us.”

As if to support Mike’s invitation, Geralt stood and waved his hand over the empty seat next to him. I swallowed hard and tried not to look at either Walker or Marshall as I took my seat.

It did not surprise me that Walker sat at the head of the table. Geralt sat on his right hand side, Marshall on his left. Mike sat next to Marshall which left me sitting next to Geralt.

“Do you always eat like this?” I asked, “I mean, this looks really good.” It really did. Nothing like this went on at my Brother’s club. Most of the members didn’t permanently live at the Clubhouse, they had families to live with and most ate at home. The ones that stayed, either permanently living there like Nate or Hustle, or crashing for a party or to get away from the Missus, generally lived off take out or two minute noodles.

“Thank you,” Walker smirked.

My eyebrows shot up. “You made this?”

He nodded.

I glanced around at the others, nothing in their faces gave away any sign they were playing a trick on me. I turned back to Walker, who only grinned wider and more mockingly.

“Do you cook every night?” I asked, still incredulous.

“I’ll cook tomorrow,” Geralt said, “We take turns when we are here.”

“How very democratic of you,” I said, addressing my sarcasm towards Walker.

Something in what I said seemed to tickle him and his jeering smile became a sardonic chuckle.

“Here,” Geralt rumbled roughly, holding the tray of pork towards me and shooting a stoney glance towards Walker, “Eat before it gets cold.”

The meal started quietly, but as the alcohol flowed it quickly became lively. Even Marshall seemed to lift his gloomy disposition as he told a story about a prank Geralt and Sy played on Mike last Fourth of July.

“So, Sy and Geralt got together and modified a couple of Roman Candles–”

“Modified?” Mike cried, “Turned into a fucking bomb is more accurate!”

“You squealed like a six-year-old, dropped the thing and ran,” Geralt chuckled, “I still don’t believe that you didn’t shit yourself.”

Marshall started snickering, even Walker had his lips pressed into a tight line as if he were holding back his own laughter.

“I almost lost a hand!” Mike protested, his voice breaking and letting out a little squeak.

The other Brothers glanced at each other and all at once they lost their composure; all three breaking out in simultaneous raucous laughter.

“Oh sure,” Mike said, folding his arms across his chest, “Pick on the fucking New Guy as always. Why don’t we tell her about the time you tried to pull a wheelie and ended up letting go of the bike and it crashed into Sy’s truck?”

“What?” I looked at Geralt, his face was grim and I burst out laughing.

“Or the time Marshall ate a jalapeno thinking it was a pickle?”

“Oh my God!” I shrieked, “you didn’t?”

“Or the time Walker—”

“Mike!” Walker thundered.

His cheeks were flaming and I couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard I tried. Tears rolled down my cheeks as Mike mouthed across the table, “I’ll tell you later.”

“You tell her anything and you’ll shit teeth for a week,” Walker growled through gritted teeth as both Marshall and Geralt joined in the laughter.

Walker looked around the table and our eyes met, his eyes dark as a thundercloud rolling across the noon sky. But then, they softened and I saw it again; I saw his facade slip a moment before his guard shot back faster than lightning.

He stood quickly, his chair scraped loudly on the polished timber floor and the laughter trailed off.

“Mike, you’re on clean-up. Princess, I need to see you in the morning.”

I opened my mouth to ask why, but he was already walking out the door.

“Why does he need to see me?” I asked Geralt.

Marshall answered, “We’ve been digging into a few things. He’ll want to talk to you about what we’ve found.”

“About Jake?”

He nodded.

“Can’t you tell me?” I asked.

“I’ll be there in the morning too,” Marshall said reassuringly, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I’m—” I slammed my mouth shut as I looked at Geralt and Mike still sitting at the table. I stood up. “I think I might go to bed.”

Geralt stood too and rested his hand on my shoulder and exerted the smallest amount of pressure until I sat.

“No. Stay for a bit,” he said to me. Then he addressed Mike as he started to collect empty plates, “Come on, I’ll help you clear the table.”

Mike gave me a short dip of the head and a smile, but didn’t say anything as he gathered as much as he could and followed Geralt to the kitchen.

I glanced at Marshall. He was sitting with a hand on a glass of wine, his long fingers twirling the stem.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat before I spoke. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

Marshall shook his head. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“I do. I was confused and angry and took it out on you when you were the only one who actually came out and told me what was going on. I reacted badly and I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.”

I looked down at my hands, the fingernail of my index finger picked at the polish on my thumb. I forced myself to stop and stood up.

“I think I will go to bed,” I said, “it’s been a long day.”

Marshall inclined his head and stood. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

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bandaigaeru · 3 years ago

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song of the summer - bang chan

→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader

→genre: kinda strangers to lovers

→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.

→word count: 12.5k

→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure

A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.

One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”

“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.

“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”

Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”

Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.

The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.

“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”

You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’

It was an ego boost.

“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.

You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.

You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.

“The team personally requested you,” he says.

Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.

It’s all a game of luck.

The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.

Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.

“Congrats,” the belonger says.

You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.

“Thanks.”

Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.

You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”

“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.

You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”

Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”

An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”

Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.

His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.

Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”

In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?

“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.

“And?” you press.

“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”

You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.

“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.

His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It’s simple, really.

“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.

“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.

“Why do you say that?”

All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.

“You’re both evil.”

That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.

His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.

ii.

Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.

The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.

Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.

“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”

“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.

The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.

“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.

Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.

“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.

“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.

“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”

He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”

When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”

He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”

“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.

“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”

The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.

Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”

Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”

Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.

Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.

You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.

Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.

You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”

You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.

The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.

Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.

Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?

“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.

He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”

A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”

You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.

Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.

Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.

You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.

“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.

“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.

When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.

Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.

As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.

“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.

Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”

“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.

“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.

“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.

Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.

“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.

Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.

You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.

“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.

“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.

“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.

“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.

“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.

Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”

“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.

Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”

You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.

As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.

He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”

“What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”

“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.

After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”

“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.

“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.

“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.

You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.

In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.

“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.

Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.

From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.

Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?

His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”

Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.

His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.

You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”

Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”

The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.

Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.

iii.

The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”

To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.

Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”

Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal�� state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.

Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”

He extends a hand to help you up.

“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.

“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.

Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”

See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.

“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.

Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.

Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.

“I saw that,” he says.

“What?”

“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”

You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”

You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.

“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”

Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”

You punch his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”

He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.

iv.

In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.

You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.

Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-

“Hey, Y/N!” Jisung intercepts your thoughts.

Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.

“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”

You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’

“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.

He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”

Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”

“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.

“Sweet.”

Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.

Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!

Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”

On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.

“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.

“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.

“You are not scary, bro.”

You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.

Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.

“Come on. Fight me.”

Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.

“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.

“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”

By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.

He seems relatively happy.

Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”

The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.

Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.

“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.

“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.

He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.

Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.

“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”

Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.

In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.

You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.

“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.

Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.

“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.

“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.

“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”

“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.

“Exactly.”

The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.

“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”

“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.

“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”

“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.

Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.

Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”

You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”

So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.

The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.

The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.

Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.

As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.

Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.

His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.

That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.

“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.

He laughs, “Maybe.”

A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.

“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.

“You can tell me if you want.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.

You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”

He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”

You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”

You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”

“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.

Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.

“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”

“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.

Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.

“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.

“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?

“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.

“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.

Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.

Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”

“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.

You appeal confirmation.

“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.

Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.

“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.

Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.

“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”

“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.

He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”

“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.

“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.

“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.

“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.

“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”

When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”

“That’s comforting,” he admits.

“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.

“Why?”

“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”

He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.

As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”

vi.

Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.

When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.

Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”

You shake your head.

“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.

Again, you shake your head.

“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.

“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.

“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.

“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”

Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.

“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.

“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.

“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.

“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.

You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”

vii.

You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.

Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.

Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.

You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.

“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.

“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” he mumbles.

You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”

The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”

“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.

You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.

Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.

Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.

Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.

“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.

“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.

“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.

“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.

He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.

“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.

“Scared to?”

He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”

The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.

“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”

The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. “Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.

viii.

You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.

It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.

You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.

The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.

It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.

3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.

A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.

Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.

“With?” you prompt.

He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”

“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”

“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.

“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”

You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”

He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?

An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”

ix.

Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.

Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.

Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)

You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.

Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!

The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?

Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.

God, this is all Minho’s fault.

“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.

Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”

“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”

“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.

He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”

Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.

You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you turn back to him.

“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.

Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.

To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.

Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.

You stare at your shoes as you follow.

“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”

“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.

“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.

Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.

“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.

You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”

His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.

“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.

“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.

Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.

“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.

“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.

Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”

It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.

“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.

You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.

“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.

“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”

In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.

You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.

You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.

Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?

You: Why would he?

Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.

Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.

Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?

Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.

You: No comment.

Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?

The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.

“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.

You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.

“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.

“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.

Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.

“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.

“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes.

If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.

“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.

“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.

“Just a strawberry mimosa.”

Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.

You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”

He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.

“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.

Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”

You reach up and flick his wrist.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”

“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”

xi.

By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ‘this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.

“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.

Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”

He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.

“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.

“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.

As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”

“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.

The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.

xii.

When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.

“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.

You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.

He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.

You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.

You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.

xiii.

Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.

“Go away,” you grumble.

He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.

“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.

This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.

“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”

“And?”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.

“What, do you have a date to attend?”

Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.

“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”

“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.

“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.

“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.

Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.

Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.

Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.

Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.

Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”

“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.

“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”

Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.

“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”

The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.

“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.

“Such as?” Chan prompts.

“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.

Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.

“Uh, no,” you draw out.

“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.

Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.

CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.

Bang Caught With Employee?

Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.

“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.

“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.

A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.

Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?

You: Horribly.

“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.

“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.

After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.

You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.

After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”

It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.

“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.

“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”

You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”

“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.

“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”

“What does Minho have to do with this?”

His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”

Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.

“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”

“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”

His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.

“Well,” you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”

He nods, looking at you solemnly.

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.

“I know.”

Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.

“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”

You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.

“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”

“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.

Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.

His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.

Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.

xiv.

In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”

He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.

You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.

Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”

You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.

He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”

Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.

She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.

“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”

After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”

xv.

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.

Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.

“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”

“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”

“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.

God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.

Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.

This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.

“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.

“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”

You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”

Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.

#skz au #skz imagine #skz chan #skz #stray kids chan #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #chan au #bang chan x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenario #bang chan #skz bang chan #chan oneshots #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years ago

Text

Into The Unknown, Part 10

First

Grocery store trips were weird. Tim had never taken them before, and now here he was buying food for the three of them regularly. He’d thought it would be harder, for some reason. But, no, it was just boring.

Tim rolled his eyes as Damian pointed to the nearest brightly colored object -- a bag of Not Cheetos… holy shit they were called Fritos this wasn’t allowed he has never been so vehemently against anything in his life.

He sighed as the baby yelled at him for the bag. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have gone in the chip aisle.

He looked down at the kid in front of him with an apologetic smile.

“No, kiddo. See, I would love to get that for you but, unfortunately, Mari said I can’t buy you any more random sweets. Blame her, not me.”

Damian was, apparently, too smart for his tricks because he banged his fist on the front of the cart and babbled at him angrily.

Tim sighed and leaned forward until his forehead touched the cool metal of the cart, thinking.

And then he got back up and handed the kid the bag of chips. Damian didn't know that it was food, Tim was pretty sure, and he had nothing against… ‘Fritos’ (outside of their name, obviously). So, why not? He could eat them. It was better than dealing with a tantrum in the middle of a store, at least.

Damian lit up and hugged the bag to his chest as if it was a soft stuffed animal and not a plastic bag filled with air and maybe a few chips.

Tim smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head and then continued on his way, scanning over the list idly.

Oh. Marinette had added something. He squinted down at her messy scrawl, bringing it close to his face as if he could will the words to make sense.

And it worked. Ha. Take that everyone who didn’t believe in him.

Okay. So, she needed ‘pads’.

Sure. No problem.

He walked over to the aisle.

Hm. Okay. There might be a tiny little problem.

Why were there so many different brands? And sizes?

He stared around at them all helplessly. Sure, he had glimpsed the box a few times but he certainly hadn’t paid it much mind -- it wasn’t for him, why would he?! But now he was standing in an entire aisle full of products and there were way too many of them. And why did they all look the same? Shit!

He looked at Damian, who was biting the edge of the chip bag and giggling about the crinkling noises it made. But, once Tim turned his gaze on him, he looked up at him with wide eyes, attentive.

“Any chance you know what type Mari uses?” Tim joked softly.

Damian popped off the chip bag so he could babble at him. It was very helpful.

He considered, very briefly, just standing there in the aisle with the same helpless expression until some kind-hearted person took pity on him and he could avoid the embarrassment of calling Marinette at work to ask what types of pads she used… but, no, the idea of asking some random person for help was way worse. He had to just suck it up and do it.

He pulled out his phone and called Marinette. He was pretty sure it was lunchtime for her, anyways.

She picked up within a few rings, voice slightly muffled as she answered with a simple: “Problem?”

Tim didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or amused that her first thought when he called her was that something was wrong.

But he quickly alleviated her fears: “No, everything’s fine.”

He could hear the phone shift slightly as she assumedly went back to eating. “Right, then what is it?”

“Nothing bad, really…” Tim started awkwardly. His face reddened without his permission. “Just wanted to know what brand you used for, um, hygiene products.”

“... hyg --? Oh.” He heard her laugh at him and his face only reddened further. “What, the world's greatest detective couldn’t figure it out?”

“That’s my dad!” He mumbled a little huffily.

She snickered a little longer before finally saying: “I think the brand is called ‘Forever’ here.”

“See! You don’t even know!” He said even as he pulled down a box with the word written across it in elegant script.

“That’s because the name changed when --...” She seemed to remember she was at work -- or, at least, that there were other people around -- because she cut herself off suddenly before she could admit to being a dimension hopper in a world that likely wouldn’t even believe in the multiverse. “When… I switched brands! Yeah. Heh.”

(Tim swore he heard her mumble ‘technically not even a lie’ but he wasn’t quite sure.)

He started to put it in the basket but then he paused.

“There’s a lot of sizes.”

“Um… I think a four?”

“Yeah, no, they have letters here.”

“Fuck, right, hate that, um… D, I guess.”

He switched out the Cs he had gotten and smiled as Damian reached for him. He clearly wanted out of the cart -- Tim wondered, vaguely, if it was uncomfortable -- but that wasn’t going to happen so he decided to distract him:

“Want to talk to Mari, kiddo?”

The kid blinked up at him a few times before lighting up. “Mar-ree!”

He pressed the phone to Damian’s ear with one hand until the kid took it himself and then motioned for him to go ahead. “Takalam maeaha.”

“... marhaba?” Damian said, giving Tim a look that seemed to scream ‘you’re weird for making me talk into a box’.

Marinette must have said something back, because the kid’s eyes went wide. Damian looked around wildly for a few moments, clearly trying to figure out where Marinette was, before he realized that her voice was coming from the box. He gasped a little and pressed the phone against his ear even harder and started to ‘talk’ to her. It was a weird mix of Arabic and a few English syllables thrown together haphazardly, Tim was just glad he was learning.

Tim started on his way through the store again, sure he wasn’t going to get his phone back anytime soon.

He’d gotten all the necessities and they had money left in the weekly budget...

He headed to the kid’s aisle, head tipping from side to side as he considered what to get. Maybe a new book? Damian had taken a liking to them, though Tim was pretty sure that was more because he thought the English language sounded kind of funny rather than any real passion for stories.

He picked up a book about letters and looked down at Damian. He sounded annoyed now.

He looked at Tim with an annoyed expression and shook Tim’s poor phones a few times. “Mar-ree!”

Ah. She must have hung up because her break was over.

How was he supposed to explain how phones worked to a baby? Especially since he knew phones so intimately thanks to his time working on the model he was using.

He gently pulled the phone from the kid’s hands. “Mari’s at work. You can see her later.”

“Bu…” Damian pouted.

Damn it. How dare the kid be cute? Tim was about five seconds away from walking to Marinette’s job so the kid would smile again.

He hesitated before reaching behind himself and grabbing the first soft thing his hands landed on. He pulled it out and squinted at the stuffed cat. It was cute, he supposed, but he didn’t know why it was rainbow-colored.

Whatever.

He offered the plush to Damian and the kid seemed to instantly forget about the phone.

(And the chips. But the kid had put it in his mouth so it looked like Tim was buying that anyway.)

He pressed a kid to the top of his head and then continued on his way.

… and that was when he heard it:

Haha, someone got called a DILF.

… wait a minute… he was the only person with a kid around here…

His head whipped around so fast he would have gotten whiplash if he was old -- which he wasn’t -- to see two girls in their mid teens. And they were definitely looking at him. They even tried to hide behind the next aisle in order to avoid his gaze once they realized he had heard them.

Tim didn’t know what to do about this. Someone had actually called him...

He was 19! He couldn’t be that yet! How?! No!

And, sure, the logical part of him knew they were technically right. He was attractive (he hoped) and, when it came to the ‘dad’ thing… if Damian never got his memories back, then Tim would pretty much be the only dad that he had ever known. He would be a dad.

But, again, he was 19-years-old, he didn’t want to think about this.

So, to ward off the impending crisis, he looked around the aisle he was in wildly for some kind of ‘kid’ thing.

He found some marshmallow guns and grabbed two. Then he got some marshmallows because those weren’t included for some reason. Whatever.

He looked down at the basket, aware that he was now over budget, and eventually decided to put back the book. Who needs to learn?

(Besides, if Damian really wanted to just hear people talk, Tim could totally do that. He had so many random facts in his head thanks to random rabbit holes he had gone down while sleep-deprived, he could just rant about those if the kid wanted.)

So, he checked out, loaded up with all the bags and the baby, and started walking home.

… he was totally going to learn to drive. Even if Gotham streets were safer -- especially when he had a baby on him -- it was a pain to carry all the groceries even the few blocks to their apartment. Literally. The bags dug into his skin. He swore he could taste blood.

But he had an end goal in sight, so he went faster than usual that day.

He set up the guns, leaving Marinette’s on the kitchen table and then took a seat on the couch with Damian. They spent the few remaining hours playing games (Tim was pretty sure, he had absolutely no clue what Damian was saying but the kid seemed to have fun and that was all that mattered) and watching TV.

Tim heard his door click and looked up.

He quickly reached for the marshmallow gun and turned to point it at the door.

Damian watched him in silence, perfectly still as if he understood that this was something that they needed to be quiet for.

Usually, this kind of worried Tim. They always gave Damian to Kaalki and Tikki when they sparred, but Damian had always been… shockingly well-behaved? Not in the good way, either, he was far too still and quiet. Tim was starting to suspect that, at the very least, the kid remembered the first year of his life in the League. He hoped that the trauma would fade away with time. Kids forget things that they experienced as babies when they grew older, Tim himself couldn’t remember anything from before he was three, so hopefully this would be the same.

… but he really wanted to get Marinette with a marshmallow gun. So, he swallowed down the slight bit of anxiety rising in his chest and looked through the scope as Marinette finally managed to open the finicky door.

Damian’s eyes widened and he made a quiet ‘ah!’ sound.

Tim jumped at the sudden sound and pulled the trigger. The marshmallow gun made a fmpf sound as it fired off the shot.

The marshmallow bounced off of Marinette’s forehead harmlessly. Because, y’know, it was a marshmallow.

She blinked a few times and then knelt down to pick up the fallen marshmallow. She scanned it over a few times, eyes narrowed.

Tim hardly paid attention to her, looking over at Damian. The kid looked very confused, eyes darting between the gun and Marinette and the marshmallow on the floor repeatedly as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

And then he flopped back on the sofa with a quiet whimpering sound.

Marinette and Tim frowned at each other. He could see confusion and concern knitting her eyebrows together, meanwhile all he had was dread coiling itself in his gut. Because… what if Damian did remember his first year with the League? Or, even worse, what if he would slowly regain all his memories? No kid deserved that...

Tim felt something hit the side of his head, snapping him out of his daze. Oh. Marinette had grabbed the other gun and promptly gotten her revenge.

Damian didn’t see this, at least, just staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Marinette sat on Damian’s other side, gently picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his cheek. Then, she sat him back down between them, sidling close so the kid could curl into her side. Tim, after a few seconds, scooted closer as well.

“Want some marshmallows? They’re yummy,” she tried hesitantly.

She shot one into her hand and, after tearing it in half just in case, handed it to Damian.

The kid took a hesitant bite, still looking a little put out, but then he gasped a little. He happily chewed away at the marshmallow, the event easily wiped from his mind in favor of the yummy thing in his hand.

Tim sighed in relief, reaching behind himself for the marshmallow bag so they wouldn’t have to shoot any more. Just in case.

“Quick thinking,” he said, which was kind of a compliment if you squinted.

She smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s what I’m known for.”

There was a few seconds before she sighed just a little, gently combing her fingers through Damian’s hair. The kid reached out and gripped Tim’s shirt in his hand, surely getting it messed up thanks to the marshmallow on his hands but whatever, and tried to tug him closer. He obliged. Marinette rested her head on his shoulder absently.

“What would I do without you?” He mused.

“Probably starve on the streets,” she said bluntly.

He scoffed a little. “The minute this kid goes to sleep I’m going to shoot another marshmallow at you.”

“You can try. Only reason you even got me last time was ‘cause I didn’t know you were going to do it.”

“The element of surprise is a totally valid tactic!” He pretended to whine.

She grinned at him. “But it won’t work again.”

He wrapped an arm around her lazily. “We’ll see.”

~~~~~

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#pads..... of paper??#nearly made tim go #do with this information what you will #into the unknown #maribat #tim drake #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #red robin #timari #timmari #timinette #shutterbug

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yourlocalfictionalenthusiast · 3 years ago

Text

IN LIFE, IN DEATH...

PART FIVE

:Masterlist:

Warnings: Swearing and angst, baby!

A/N: I just realized that the tags on Part Four got messed up so i'm sorry for everyone that didn't get tagged! <3

---

June 1994

“I can do this.”

You mumbled to yourself as you paced in the sand, rubbing your sweaty palms against the leg of your jeans.

From your spot ‘backstage’ area, you could see the crowd as they waited for the next band, and it was huge. Huge enough to where any other day, you would’ve been buzzing with excitement, unable to sit still until you got behind your microphone. You would’ve been nauseous for a whole different reason.

But today was different.

Today you were singing a new song that you had spent weeks writing. The boys helped with the melody here and there, but it was the first whole song you had written in years, and at the end of it was the highest note you’ve ever hit.

And you had gotten through it perfectly every time you practiced it and you knew there was no way for you to be prepared, but there was still a nagging voice in the back of your head that you couldn’t shake.

“Hey.” Alex appeared at your side with a sympathetic smile on his face, instantly recognizing your pacing as a cry for help; considering it was a habit he picked up from you. “You need anything? Water? Aspirin?”

“A puppy?” Reggie chimed in.

“To punch Luke?” Bobby asked.

“Dude!” Luke protested, shoving Bobby’s arm before stepping in front of you and resting his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing slow circles on your collarbones in a way that was supposed to be soothing but only added to the mosh pit in your stomach. “(Y/n), you know this song inside and out. I’ve seen you kill it dozens of times with my own eyes.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Luke cut you off with an insistent look and a shake of his head. “No. No more doubting yourself, okay?”

“You kids are up next.” A gruff voice announced from backstage, and you took a deep breath as you nodded, looking up at Luke with a weak smile.

“You’ll be there to take over if I hurl everywhere, right?” You joked.

“You’re not gonna hurl.” Luke laughed, dropping his hands from your shoulders and wrapping one around your wrist. “But, of course I will. Now, ‘c’mon!”

He started walking towards the stage, dragging you with him. When you passed Alex’s drum set, his eyes drifted down to Luke’s grip on your wrist and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. You barely had time to flip him off before you arrived at Luke’s microphone.

He smiled as he dropped his hand to tug his guitar strap over his head. “I’m serious. You got this.”

“Thanks, Luke.” You mouthed to him as you walked to the center of the stage, positioning yourself behind your mic.

“How are we doing tonight?” The announcer asked over the speakers and the crowd cheered. “Hey everybody! Welcome to our annual ‘Sunshine Showcase’ where we hit you with the hottest new music in L.A. Everybody give it up for our next band: ‘Sunset Curve’!”

The bright lights at the edge of the stage switched from a dim white to bright red and yellow, casting a faint orange glow across the stage, mixing with the color of the disappearing sun. Alex started a steady rhythm, catching the crowd’s attention. Luke and Bobby joined in, then Reggie.

Then it was time for you to sing.

Your voice started out a little shaky as you sang the first few lines, but it slowly got steadier as you approached the chorus and by the second verse, you got completely lost in the music, bouncing and bobbing your head.

As the second chorus came around, you felt yourself getting nervous again. So you whipped around and met Alex’s eyes. He smiled reassuringly and twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. Then faster than you could blink, Reggie was at your side, giving you his signature goofy smile as he played along.

You threw your arm over his shoulder and bump him with your hip, sending him back to his spot and making a few people in the front row laugh.

Then Alex’s drumming quieted as the bridge came up. You willed yourself not to throw up as you pull your microphone off its stand and crouched down to sing to the crowd.

1...

You kept your voice as steady as you could, giving them your best confident smile as you slowly picked yourself back up.

2...

The music got louder as it neared the end of the bridge and you took a deep breath to prepare for the high note, but it disappeared from your lungs when you realized that Luke had started walking towards you.

3...

Just as he stopped in front of you, the buildup stopped and you could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you closed yours and poured all your energy into the music.

You hit the note perfectly, even surprising yourself a little when you held it longer than you ever had in practice. The crowd erupted in cheers after the note ended, but you kept your eyes closed as you soaked up the moment.

When you finally opened them again, Luke was right next to you, an amazed look on his face. Suddenly, you were grateful for the bright lights covering your face because you were definitely blushing.

The backup for the chorus started up again, but everyone else stopped singing, leaving it up to you and Luke. You held your microphone out so you could both be heard over the cheering. Usually, you all tried to interact with the crowd as much as possible, especially Luke. But his eyes never left yours, not even to look down as he played.

They were so bright and filled with so much intensity that it was hard not to get caught up in moments like this. It wasn’t unusual for you and Luke to sing together and pretend to flirt. The crowd always ate it up and it was pretty fun in the moment. But it always crushed you when the music stopped and you were reminded that it was all for show.

The last note rang out and you let out something between a shaky breath and a relieved laugh. While the boys grabbed their instruments, you walked through the backstage curtain and jumped onto the ground, the adrenaline still racing through you.

“That was awesome!” Reggie said enthusiastically as he tackled you in a hug.

“Yeah, you killed it, (Y/n)!” Alex raised his hand to give you a high five, but his eyes were focused on something behind you. You turned to see what he was looking at, but all you saw was a blur of shaggy brown hair and a grin before a pair of hands lifted you into the air.

“You did it, Squeaks!” Luke cheered as he spun you around, making your head spin. “I told you that you weren’t gonna hurl.”

“I still might if you don’t put me down!” You managed to say through a fit of laughter, holding on to his shoulders to secure yourself as he gently set you down.

You had expected him to pull away once you were back on the ground, but his hands stayed firmly on your waist and he tilted his head forward slightly so his forehead rested against yours.

The world around you slowed down, and you had to put effort into catching your breath again.

“Get a room, guys.” Bobby called as he put his guitar back in it’s case, making Alex and Reggie laugh. You chuckled awkwardly as you pulled away, glaring at Bobby. Luke just smirked and leaned over to stick his finger in Bobby’s ear. “Gross! Dude, stop doing that.”

“Well, I’m starving.” Alex said suddenly, sending you a quick look over his shoulder and you knew he was trying to give you some time to freak out in peace. “Anyone want some pizza?”

The boys all nodded in agreement and started walking towards the parking lot towards Bobby’s car with their instruments in hand, but your feet stayed frozen in place. Your heart was racing as you stared down at the sand between your feet, one question filling up every corner of your mind.

Was it possible that Luke liked you back?

2020

If there was one thing you’ve learned from being a ghost: it’s that everything is unpredictable.

You had just started to accept that this was your ‘life’. That you would never tour the world, and perform in front of a crowd ever again. But then you sang with Julie in that gym, and everything in your world changed.

Again.

Your mind was overloaded with questions. Why can people see us now? And why do we only show up while playing with Julie? Why is the afterlife so confusing?

And one more question, that was less serious but equally as important.

Does Luke like Julie?

It had been plaguing you since last night, when Luke had disappeared into the Molina house and didn’t come out for an hour. He had taken his songbook with him, which you didn’t think anything of at the time. But now you know that he gave her ‘Bright’, one of the first songs you and Luke had ever written together.

And then again today, when she sang, Luke looked just as excited as he was when the two of you wrote it. You scolded yourself for thinking about this now when there were bigger things happening. But you couldn’t help but feel like the universe was hanging a giant sign in your face telling you to give up on Luke.

Across the room, Alex started pacing and you shook those thoughts from your head. You knew that if you were freaking out, then Alex was probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“I think he’s practicing his model strut.” Reggie whispered.

“He’s so nervous that it's making me nervous.” Luke agreed.

“Al?” You asked softly. “Are you okay?”

Alex sighed. “Okay. You guys know I don’t handle change well. Death? That was a change. Okay, then we became ghosts. Another change. And now we can be seen whenever we play with Julie. Big freaking change!”

“Yeah, but it was a good change.” Luke said. “With Julie, we can play on stage again and be the band we never got to be.”

Luke’s words felt like a punch to the stomach. Sure, maybe you guys never got famous when you were alive, but you were still a band. You still poured all your time, energy and ability into every song you made together. You knew that Luke was just excited and not thinking about his words. But it felt like another sign hitting you in the face.

“I just-” Alex let out a defeated sigh. “I just want to know why.”

“Forget why.” Luke shot up from the couch. “I think we should ask Julie to join Sunset Curve.”

“Yeah!” Reggie agreed. “I mean, with a new lead singer, this band would be legendary.”

And there was another punch.

“Dude.” You said, trying not to show how much that comment stung. You loved Reggie like a brother but sometimes you wished he thought things through a little more before he spoke.

“Hey! We’re the lead singers.” Luke crossed his arms petulantly.

Reggie raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. She can make us visible! Without her, we’d just be like elevator music.”

Luke pouted. “Well, you don’t gotta be so mean about it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alex starting to pace again.

“Al.” You said, walking up to him and stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Alex pushed his hair out of his face. his breathing was a little heavy. “I just…”

There was a moment of careful silence, like everyone was holding their breath, too scared of saying the wrong thing. You all knew how bad Alex’s anxiety could be, and while this wasn’t the most freaked out you had ever seen him, it was getting close.

“Hey,” You intertwined Alex’s arm in yours. “Let’s go for a walk, yeah? Clear our heads?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You sent one last look over your shoulder to Reggie and Luke before you closed your eyes and concentrated on one of your favorite spots in the city. It was one of the first places you went to on your first night back.

Back in the 90's, it was one of your go-to spots when you just needed a place to breathe and sort through your thoughts.

The Walk of Fame.

The noise of the street filled your ears and opened your eyes, finding yourself in the middle of the sidewalk. Alex was right beside you, staring down at all the stars.

"Here? Really?"

You rolled your eyes. "Duh. It's where you and I had our first heart to heart, remember?"

Alex smiled as the memory played through your heads. It was a week after he came out to his parents and the tension in his house had slowly been building up until it was too much for him to handle. So you dragged him here.

"And I think it's time we had another one." You nudged him. "So, come on."

As the two of you walked through the streets of Hollywood arm in arm, it was like an invisible dam burst open and all the questions came pouring out.

After an hour, your head felt like it was going to explode if you kept thinking about all the crazy things that had happened since you got back. But there was still one question you needed to ask.

"Hey, Al?" You asked, making Alex hum in response. "Do you think that Luke likes Julie?"

"Yeah, I mean, I thought he was going to propose when he realized she can make us visible.” Alex said, his face dropping when he felt your arm tense in his. “No! Not like that. Shit, sorry. I-”

“It’s okay, Alex.” You said. You could see him cringing out of the corner of your eye and you knew he was probably beating himself up. “Maybe it’s a good thing, you know? Maybe it’ll be the push I need to finally move on.”

“But you can’t move on until you know how he feels.” Alex stopped abruptly, making you stop too.

“I think he’s been pretty clear."

“Has he?” Alex asked. “In case I missed it, you and Luke haven’t been talking much lately.”

You started to argue but then suddenly, a guy on a skateboard came barreling around the corner and ran right into Alex, making his arm fall out of yours as they both went crashing to the ground.

Alex slowly got back on his feet, groaning painfully. The other guy followed, sighing as he inspected his skateboard.

“Aw, man. You dinged my board.”

“I dinged your board? You almost ran me over! You’re lucky I didn’t-” The realization flashed in his eyes. “You ran me over.”

The skater looked just as confused as both of you when you asked, “You’re a ghost?”

“Yeah.” He took off his helmet, showing off his long hair. “Ever since I learned that skating in traffic was bad.”

Alex took in a sharp breath next to you and you smiled, knowing from the way his jaw dropped and he tripped over his words when the other guy tried to apologize that he was having a ‘gay panic’ moment.

“You guys are new to this whole ghost thing, huh?”

Alex was still a blushing mess but he seemed to find his voice. “Is it that obvious?”

“Totally.” The skater extended his hand out to Alex. “I’m Willie.”

“Alex.”

You introduced yourself quickly, then turned to Alex with a grin. Of course, you wanted to keep hanging with Alex, but it was time to be a good wing-woman. “Hey, I think I’m gonna go back to Cece’s for a while, but you should stay and get some information.”

Alex blushed again, clearly picking up on your intentions but he nodded.

“It was nice meeting you, Willie.” You said, waving goodbye but not before you raised your eyebrows at Alex to let him know that you were definitely going to be grilling him about his afternoon later.

Just like every other time you walked into the diner, you were hit with a wave of painful nostalgia.

On a day like this, you would’ve walked right through the kitchen door and straight into Cece’s arms, rambling on while she made you her special hot chocolate and talked it all out with you until it made sense.

But now, you’re stuck trying to figure everything out alone.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite waitress.” Teddy called out from behind the counter, dog-earing his book and setting it aside to give you his full attention.

“Dude, we just met.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t it a little too early for shameless flirting?”

Teddy scoffed playfully. “It’s never too early for shameless flirting.”

You weren’t super inexperienced when it came to flirting, but it felt like you were in this moment. Sure, you and Luke flirted on stage all the time, but it wasn’t real. At least not for him. But you had gotten so used to it that someone being open about their feelings with you short-circuited your brain a little.

“So.” You said, looking down at this book on the counter. “The Great Gatsby?”

Teddy laughed. “Yeah, it’s kinda on my bucket list.”

“But you’re already dead.”

“Touché, Gorgeous.”

You sat there, talking about your lives, and deaths. Reluctantly, you told him that you died from a hotdog, which led to him declaring it to be the funniest death in history. The more you talked to Teddy, the better you felt. And before you knew it, it had been hours.

By the time you finally decided to leave, there was still a gaping, Luke-shaped hole in your heart. But you decided that maybe it was time to listen to the signs the universe- that Luke- was giving you and try to move on with your life.

Even if it meant letting go of your best friend.

In Life, In Death Taglist:

@ifilwtmfc @instabull @wanniiieeee @tenaciousperfectionunknown @nieauou @merceret @itismeasmolpotato @lilostif16 @dangerouslyclose @iainttakingshitfromnobody @givemebooksorgivemedeath @sunsetcurvedotmp3 @askgeoff

JATP Taglist:

@caitsymichelle13

(The strikethough means I can’t tag you)

Let me know if you want to be added!

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #julie molina #Reggie Peters #Alex Mercer #willie jatp #jatp fanfic

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1230pa · 3 years ago

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long time no see. chubby!bucky x reader

summary: chubby!bucky and you used to go to the same high school, all the students of their old class had received a invitation to a high school reunion. bucky and y/n finally meet again and they both had a crush on each other back then, but never told each other, let’s see what happens next….

warning: smut 18+, body shaming, bully.

you finally had gotten back from work, tired of everything especially your boss, you parked your car right outside your house, while getting out your car to went to check your mailbox to see if you had gotten any mail. looking inside the mailbox you saw two magazines and an invitation, you barely look at when exactly you had gotten, so you went inside your house to sit on your couch while grabbing the remote to your tv to watch your favorite show, you took a look at what you had gotten in mail. modeling magazines and the invitation you looked at it with shock, an invitation to your old high school reunion, you then remember bucky. buck was an old crush of yours, he was very muscular of course he was a football player, all the ladies at school adored him, he was so kind to everyone, he helped out when help was needed, he gave a smile to everyone and even you. your heart melts just of the thought of seeing him again.

you checked the date it would be for your high school reunion, it was August 27th on a friday night at 7. you were excited yet a little nervous what to wear, so you immediately turned off your tv and got your bag and decided to go shopping for an outfit. once you got to the store and had already found the perfect dress, it was black, the fabric was silky, it hugged your curves, it was a little long, but you loved it. you had gotten home excited with the dress you had bought, at home you had already had some jewelry and some black shoes that would match the dress.

once the day finally came, you had already gotten your outfit ready and putting on some natural makeup look, while your hair was soft wavy look, you had gotten to the high school a little late making an entrance, some of the people didn’t even recognize you, back then in high school you were a little chubby, most of the guys didn’t pay attention to you, but now they can’t keep their eyes off of you. you were glancing around to see if you saw bucky, but sadly you couldn’t find him, so you just stood there like an absolute lost puppy, until one of the members of the old football players asked you to dance, you politely said no, but the man insisted while grabbing your hand not letting go, you had told him to let go of you’re hand. “hey, didn’t you hear her, let her go!” a familiar voice said from behind you, you turned your head to face the person, and you couldn’t believe who it was, it was bucky. “fine, but don’t get your hopes up with her, you pig.” the man said letting go of your hand, bucky then looked at his round stomach, feeling embarrassed and insecure. you hadn’t seen bucky in a long time, he had changed, he was no longer muscular like you use to, now he’s rather chubby, having chubby cheeks as well, but yet he still looked cute. “sorry about that, men can be jerks sometimes” bucky said. “oh my god, bucky?” you said with excitement giving him a hug, bucky then left your body touch his, and giving you a hug back. “yeah, it’s me.” he said giving a soft smile.

“i haven’t seen you in a long time.” you said letting go of the hug. “haven’t seen you too, you look absolutely stunning y/n.” he said looking down to you’re figure of your body, and looking up at your face. “oh my god, you actually remember me?” you said with a shocked face. “well of course, how could i forget miss lovely y/n.” bucky said letting out a little chuckle making his round cheeks blush looking down to his shoes. after that you two had caught up with each other, and how life had been going, once you two graduated from high school, and what you guys missed. you then decided to confess your feelings you used to have. “hey bucky, you know i used to have a huge crush on you back in high school.” you said while drinking some wine from the tables where some volunteers were serving. “wow, really? i used to have a crush on you too.” bucky said a little drunk. you both then looked in each other’s eyes then lips getting closer and closer, you couldn’t help, but kiss bucky, he could said the same he had been wanting that kiss as much as you did.

you pulled away from the kiss and asked bucky. “wanna take this back to my place.” bucky then nodded his head in agreement, you two arrived to your house, you finally unlocked the door, bucky grew impatient and opened the door, carried you in his arms trying to figure out where your bedroom was, once he found it, he threw you on your bed, bucky got on top of you kiss your neck, while you let out soft moans of pleasure. bucky then stopped for a second “you sure you wanna do this? with me?” he said looking down to his round belly rubbing against you. you cupped on of his cheek with your hand and said. “bucky, i’m 100% sure i wanna do this with you.” you said giving a smile. “but look at me, you really wanna do this with a fat guy?” he said feelings insecure of his body. “yes, and it’s actually a bit of a turn on for me, i like this chubby you.” you said looking at his round belly. “now do mama a favor, and be a good boy.” you said to bucky. the words that just come out of your mouth immediately made bucky hard. “was you wish.” he said as he continues kissing and worshiping your body, he then guides his hand down to your vagina and starts to curl his two fingers inside you, you moan at the way he curls his fingers. “uhhh… bucky.” you moan rolling your eyes to the back of your head, bucky then curls his fingers faster and faster. “BUCKY!” you can’t help to yell out his name, bucky stops and his fingers come out of you. “why’d you stop?” you said wanting more. “beg for me doll.” he said giving a smirk. “damn it bucky, please.. i want you so bad.” you begged him. “you want big daddy cock doll?” bucky said unzipping his pants and taking off his shirt leave him naked. “yes yes i want daddy cock.” you yelled.

bucky then smirked and his shaft slowly got in you, he thrusted his hips in and out, while grabbing one of your breasts, his round belly rubbed against you in every thrust, he noticed how you loved it. “you wanna ride it don’t you?” bucky said as you nodded your head biting your button lip. he pulled out of you and simply flipped you over leave you on top on him. “go ahead ride it.” he said looking down to his belly. you got on top of it and started to ride it, this was rather new to you, but you like it, i’m every thrust you gave you could feel bucky’s belly giggle touching your clit. you felt yourself getting wet. “feels good doesn’t it doll.” bucky said loving the view of you having pleasure. “ i want your cock bucky.” you moaned. bucky flipped you over having you on all fours pushing his shaft inside you once again, he grabs your hair for balance, as he thrusts faster and faster. “bucky?” you moaned. “yes, doll?” he said while going even harder. “i-i think i’m g-getting close to climax.” you studded moaning once again rolled your eyes up the the back of your head. “so am i doll.” bucky moans looking up. “cum on daddy cock, doll.” he moans giving faster thrusts. you finally cum on bucky’s cock. “that’s a good girl, uhhh i feel it coming doll, i’m so clos-.” he stoped his sentence with a moan as he cums inside your walls filling them up mixing both your juices together, bucky pulls out and lays by you side. “you have no idea how long i wanted to do that doll.” bucky said giving you a kiss on your cheek.

#bucky #chubby!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #chubby #james buchanan bucky barnes #winter solider x y/n

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hyunjilicious · 4 years ago

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one more drink [henry cavill - one shot]

Summary: you and Henry attend a fancy party and you decide to be a brat and push his buttons to see what happens. 0,1% plot. SMUT. 3.5k. filth :) feedback makes my day, so maybe tell me what you thought?

“Why don’t you put that drink down, hm?”

His voice was loud and clear, lips mere inches away from your ear as he secured his arms around your waist to get you to stop dancing.

You were ready to sink into him, but as soon as you saw his intention was to grab the glass out of your hand, you pulled back, and turned to him with a disappointed frown, “Not a chance, Cavill”

“Don’t call me that” he sighed, his head falling to the side, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough” you pouted, nonchalantly bringing your alcoholic beverage to your lips, looking lewdly into his eyes as you took a big sip, “And apparently neither have you”

Had he not been grinning that widely, you would’ve seriously believed he was mad at you. His frown was consuming your entire being, and the cold stare plastered on his eyes begged you to not push his buttons - at least not when there were so many people around, “Why don’t you give me that?” he encouraged, pointing to your tall glass.

You looked down and noticed your perfectly manicured hand and fresh bubbles that were still present in your beverage. In the inebriated state that you were, the aesthetic blew your mind. Without thinking twice, you pulled out your phone with your free hand and opened the instagram app, determined to post it on your story.

The light of the flash reflected beautifully against the intricate design of the glass, but the picture did not turn out as expected.

Just when you pressed the button to capture the image, Henry’s hand grabbed your wrist, snatching the phone out of your hand, “Are you dead set on pissing me off?” he questioned in a low tone, his ice blue eyes pinning you in place.

“I don’t get what the problem is” you whined, waving your hands around your body. Your eyes traveled around the room, scanning the atmosphere, “You think I’m embarrassing you or something?”

“Embarrass me, no? What?” Henry cringed, “But you’re crossing some lines”

“I’m just letting loose”

“Too loose if you ask me” he frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Henry grabbed your waist, and effortlessly spun you around until your back slammed against his chest. He lowered his head over your shoulder, “I’ll let you figure it out”

In front of you, the party was in full swing. People were dancing, chatting, drinking their night away, and in your eyes, there was no problem with that, “Use your words, Cavill, I don’t get it”

“One-” he said in a deeply dominating tone, making all the hairs on your body stand up, “Don’t call me that, and two, I could make you a list of all the men in this room that think about fucking you as we speak, and the fact that you can’t tell who they are, means you drank to much”

There was an internal battle going on inside your mind. The way he put you in your place forced a lump to block your throat, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t enjoy the moment.

“I think you’re pushing it a little” you said, pulling away from his hold and turning to face him.

Henry narrowed his eyes, “If I leave, they’ll swarm around you”

“Then don’t”

“Let’s go sit somewhere” he suggested, nodding his head to the side of the room, where a few arm chairs were available.

“After you” you agreed, and he happily took your hand.

Henry led you to the sitting area, contempt thinking he won this round. But you just saved your cards for later.

When you reached your destination, Henry sat down and opened his arms, motioning for you to sit in his lap. However, you just grabbed his hands, and started swaying to the unfamiliar beat of the song that was playing, arching your back and lowering yourself in front of him.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for” Henry chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m asking for you to have some fun!” you belted.

“This is your idea of fun?”

“Dancing?” you asked, playing dumb, “Yes”

Henry leaned to the side. He propped his elbow on top of the arm rest, bringing his hand up to rub his chin, “Sit down”

“Yes, daddy” you eventually said, knowing just how little patience he had left.

His arms instantly wrapped around your middle, his breathing aggravated by the way you managed to rile him up. And, determined to do more, you started rolling your hips back and forth against his thighs, managing to apply just the tiniest bit of pressure to his crotch.

“The fuck’s gotten into you, hm?” Henry snapped. His hold around you tightened, shaking your entire frame. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you rolled your eyes, bringing your glass up to your lips and scanning the room as you sipped your drink.

It was only a matter of time until he’d drop this overly patient facade. “Look at me when I’m talking to you” he commanded, sinking his fingers into your bare thigh.

“Ouch!” you pouted, despite pain being the last thing on your mind.

“So? The fuck is going on with you, hm?”

“Nothing’s going on with me, you just need to learn how to have fun!”

“Whoring around is your idea of having fun?” he fumed.

You thought about it for a second, and the nodded, fairly convinced, “Could be, yeah”

“Behave for 15 minutes” Henry nodded, his smile giving away just how sure he was you were never going to achieve that, “And then we’ll dance”

“That’s it?” you scoffed, and as soon as he responded - with a smile nod, you breathed out satisfied, “Deal”

Clear as day, he was waiting for you to cave. Henry leaned back in his chair, and with his head hanging playfully to the side, he kept his eyes trained on you. With absolutely no intention to make this easy for you, his burning gaze made your blood boil. Oh, how the tables have turned.

You took another sip of your drink and then pulled out your phone, counting on Instagram to make the minutes pass faster. And maybe it would have been able to, with out of the corner of your eye you could see him. Black dress shirt hugging his body in a way that was so much more vulgar than any dance you could have come up with.

A video was playing on your phone, two puppies rolling down a hill, yet your eyes drifted instantly to the side. Pretending to pay attention to the screen, you watched Henry trace the rim of his glass with his pointer finger. Your eyes traveled along his forearm and you could’ve sworn you actually felt your heart skip a bit when you noticed just how sloppily he rolled up his sleeves.

“I swear-” you sighed, eyes trained on the ceiling as you shook your head in disbelief, “You never looked hotter.”

“What was that, love?” Henry mumbled, bouncing one of his legs up for the sole purpose of messing with you.

“How much time passed?” you whined.

“A little bit over a minute, darling” he responded proudly.

You were fuming. “I’ll go get another drink, want something?”

As soon as he nodded no, you were out of there. Forcing your way through the sea of people, you eventually reached the bar, and even in the dried up smoke infused air of the room, you finally felt like you were able to breathe properly. With your competitive side on full display, as you waited for your drink to be ready, you gave yourself the epitome of a pep talk. With your arms crossed over the wooden surface of the bar, you soaked up the possibilities. At this point, you still weren’t sure whether you wished to prove to him that you’d be able to keep calm, or whether you wanted him to give in first.

The answer to this dilemma came in the form of a model looking 20 something year old man - the golden curls that framed his sculpted features and the seductive grin he decided to use as an introduction, were everything you needed. Dropping the nice girl act you didn’t even bother too much to adopt, you responded to the stranger with an overly sweet smile, and nonchalantly dragged him to the dance floor without exchanging as much as two words.

After finally settling face to face, you started dancing. Not keen on getting too close to him, but also knowing that was what you needed to get on Henry’s nerves, you decided to explain yourself, “Listen, I need to ask you something-” you yelled over the music, leaning against his chest to get as close to his ear as possible.

The man circled an arm around your waist, as he bowed his head with a smile on his lips, eager to listen to what you had to say.

“I know it didn’t seem like it, but I’m here with my boyfriend”

He instantly tensed up, but you continued. This time you pressed yourself against him, and lowered your voice, “You wouldn’t mind helping me get his attention, would you?”

He looked you up and down, “What are you offering?”

Knowing full well that Henry was probably already thinking about intervening, you decided there was no reason to hold back. “What’s on your mind?”

“Think he’d be into a threesome?”

The thought made you gag, but you played it nicely. “Depends on how convincing you are”

“He shared you before?”

As he asked this, you found it incredibly hard not to burst into laughter, as that was probably the last thing on earth Henry would ever do, but that was not what the man needed to hear.

“Yeah, but he’s usually reluctant when it comes to strangers, you know?”

How he didn’t figure out you were bluffing shall forever remain a mystery.

“Ok, ok” he nodded, licking his lips, “Let’s talk to him”

As you turned around to look in your boyfriend's direction, the man placed his right hand on the small of your back, ready to walk wherever you’d guide him. However, not even a step needed to be taken, as Henry was already marching towards you.

The crowd of dancing souls parted for him to pass. His eyes ablaze, he reached the two of you in no time. Henry didn’t waste no time paying attention to you, instead he went straight to the blonde haired guy standing beside you.

“Get your hands off of her, or I’ll break both your arms”

And the threat wouldn’t have been nowhere near as menacing if Henry wasn’t a head taller, and his shoulders twice as broad the man’s he approached.

“Listen dude-” the stranger tried to defend himself despite the pure terror that coated his features.

“Want me to break your teeth in too and don’t know how to fucking ask?”

“Jesus I just-”

“Beat it” Henry scoffed, grabbing the man’s shoulder to spin him around. He was probably ready to kick his ass too had the stranger not ran off, steam coming out of his heels.

Instantly, Henry turned around to face you, the anger in his eyes making all the hairs on your body stand up. He didn't even bother to look at you, his stare trained somewhere in the distance, as he grabbed your arm.

"Henry, I-"

"You kind of lost your right to say anything, don't you think?" he groaned.

As soon as he finished his question, he looked down, his cold eyes finally meeting yours.

You opened your mouth to speak, but eventually decided against it. And he probably appreciated the fact that you didn't bitch any further, not that it would have made any difference at this point.

Without exchanging another word, Henry forcibly grabbed you by the arm, and dragged you from the dance floor. Despite finding it hard to keep up with his pace considering your attire wasn't made for rushing places, you again decided to keep your mouth shut.

You knew what was coming and there was no reason to ask any questions. It was what you planned all along, after all.

In a matter of seconds, you two reached the bathroom of the bar. Not even bothering to be civil about it, Henry kicked the door open with his foot, managing to catch the attention of everyone nearby.

You walked inside after him, didn't even get a chance to worry about the people already inside, as all that was needed to get them to hurry out of the room was the cold death stare Henry didn't bother to hide.

The girl that was reapplying her makeup in the mirror was the last to scatter out of the bathroom, and by the time she reached the door, Henry’s tie was already off and the first five buttons of his shirt undone.

Panting in anticipation, you found yourself leaning against the tiled wall, afraid to make the wrong move. When you were finally left alone, the sound of the bathroom door lock clicking was what forced your heart into overdrive.

“You proud of yourself?” Henry questioned, as he walked slowly in your direction, his tie stretched to the extreme in his hands.

“You’re the one who caved” you said and it was the last straw.

“Turn around” he commanded, nodding his head in the direction of the wall.

Despite not being anything less than riled up and aroused, you still hesitated.

What got you to move was the next step he took towards you. As if under a spell, you spun around on your heels, and prompted your hands against the smooth surface of the wall. However, Henry had other plans. In one swift but rough motion, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them up, against the vertical pipe that ran from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. Effortlessly, he bound your hands together, fastening them into place.

To no avail, you tried to bring them lower for better support, but the tie was so tightly wrapped that your blood barely had any place to pass.

“Can you-”

“Nope” Henry said, with a bit too much enthusiasm in his voice.

He lowered his head over your shoulder and spoke directly against your cheek, “Is it uncomfortable? Does it hurt your wrists?”

You nodded.

“Good” he concluded, along with an ardent slap against your ass.

The stinging sensation made you grit your teeth and suck in a deep breath. Just knowing this was only the beginning made your core burn with desire, and involuntarily, you pressed your thighs together, hoping that some pressure would alleviate the aching sensation that radiated all across your body.

With no remorse, Henry shoved his foot between your high heels, forcing your legs apart, “None of that, ok?”

“Fuck” you grunted, letting your forehead fall against the wall in front of you.

Completely out of your sight, Henry’s actions were unknown. However, the sound of his belt being unbuckled was crystal clear, as it echoed around the room. It was the only sound you were able to register. Not even your convulsive breathing had any importance.

Following this, the night reached a pace you found it really hard to keep up with. After Henry hiked up your black tight dress over your ass, your mind started blurring out every detail.

In a second, your lace underwear had pooled by your feet, and you were left completely exposed.

You didn’t have any time to feel your cheeks burn before the tip of his cock reached our entrance. He didn’t waste time probing you. After raking his nails across your scalp, Henry grabbed a fistful of your hair, and pulled hard. When your head fell back, he slammed his cock all the way inside of you.

A deep guttural moan rooted in absolute pleasure ripped your whole body in half. Your throat stung at the sensation that rushed to you. He was not far behind, his own pleasure - pure physical, consumed him.

Henry rolled his hips into yours with more aggression by the second, each time pulling his cock almost all the way out. With every passion infused slam of his body against yours, your whole frame rocked forwards, putting an immense strain on your shoulders.

Sinful, choked back moans burned your throat.

“Is this what you wanted, hm?” Henry taunted, his calloused fingers forcing your chin up. “To be fucked like a slut in a random bathroom?”

You just squeezed your eyes shut and sucked on your bottom lip, hoping it would be good enough of an answer.

“Didn’t hear that” he shook his head, forcing his cock balls deep inside your pussy, “Use your words, pet”

You swallowed thickly, digging your nails into your probably already bloody palms, “Yes”

“Yes, what?” Henry let your chin go for just a second, before returning with a wanton smack against your cheek, “Yes what, baby?”

“Yes…” you wailed, chest aching with every word, “I wanted you to fuck me”

Visibly unsatisfied with your answer, Henry let go of you, moving his hands to lay on your hips. His grip was steady and merciless, guiding your body for his own pleasure now.

“You think good girls get fucked like this?” he rasped, his voice breaking halfway through the sentence. No matter what he said or how he said it, he was just as weak for you as you were for him, and it showed.

“You had to act like a whore the whole evening, didn’t you” Henry chuckled in disbelief. “Might as well take my cock like one now, right?”

As he spoke, numerous smacks, varying in intensity consumed the sensitive skin of your ass, which was doomed to be left bruised and battered.

“Yes” you cried, “Yes…”

“You know daddy always gives you what you ask for” he said, “Especially when that means I get to use you like the set of holes that you are”

“Fuck, fuck… Henry-” you cried, arching your back and forcing your hips back against him.

“Use that cunt to suck the cum out of my cock”

“Fucking god” you shook your head, the ecstasy of the moment overwhelming all your senses. The frustration of not being able to rub your clit and alleviate the pain translated into a plethora of moans and screams. “Please, please- I’m close, I’m-”

“No, baby girl” Henry commanded, sinking his fingers into your hips, “I cum first, hold it”

“I can’t fucking hold it!” you yelled, covering your face into your shoulder.

“Try harder, angel”

“Fuck”

Multiple layers of unshed tears coated your eyes as you struggled to keep your body under control, but your knees were already shaking. Palms wet and trembling legs - you were already too far gone.

“I can’t-” you shook your head in desperation, “I’m gonna cum”

“Think twice, darling” Henry taunted, delivering one last blow to your ass, that along with the merciless pounding he kept up, managed to send you over the edge.

Your mind turned to blur as you fell spiraling into an earth shattering orgasm, your body spasming uncontrollably. Your muscles had a mind of their own, as you enjoyed the feeling of his cock spreading your pussy open until it completely consumed you.

“Henry, please, I-” you cried, panting desperately as not even standing up seemed like an easy task for you.

With your body turned to jelly into his arms, you somehow managed to find still find pleasure in the way he kept fucking your overly sensitive pussy.

“Never fucking listen do you-” Henry called with audible disappointment in his tone.

His question was cut short by a grave groan that forced its way out of his throat. His thrusts became sloppy and irregulated, deep and forced by the orgasm that soon ended up consuming his self control.

He kept going, allowing your cunt to milk every last drop of cum, not stopping until he didn’t have the power to move anymore. His body collapsed against yours, trapping you between his massive frame and the cold bathroom wall.

In a haze, he pulled out and undid the knot that had your wrists bound together. Weak in your knees, you stumbled to the sink, leaning against the marble garniture as your breathing was just now starting to return to normal.

With his pants pulled up but still undone, Henry came up behind you, engulfing you in a loving hug.

“I’m sorry” you whispered.

“Why?” he asked, slightly concerned.

“I came when you told me not to-”

“Oh god” Henry laughed out loud, before lowering himself to kiss your neck, “You didn’t listen to a word I said the whole night, and that’s what stuck with you?”

You couldn’t help but smile, “You still love me though”

“I fucking adore you, angel” Henry shook his head, “Next time just maybe don’t make me traumatize some poor guy”

Continuing with the small talk, you two got dressed, and prepared to get out of the bathroom.

“You know he wanted a threesome?” you said as you fixed your hair and makeup in the mirror.

“Ha!” Henry laughed, before his face turning dead serious, “Never”

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut #geralt of rivia #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill writing #henry cavill fics #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia fanfic #the witcher imagine

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asset35-maya · 3 years ago

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MANMADE FATE

Summary: Connor and Gavin find an unresponsive RK900 android in an abandoned Cyberlife warehouse and take him home to fix. (Not so subtle plot twist: both of them fall in love with their secret science project)

PART ONE OF THREE:

The crew from Jericho led a successful revolution but there’s still a lot of work to be done. Markus may have won human hearts and gotten the federal government to back down, but Cyberlife is still at large.

Sure, hundreds of androids at the Tower escaped to march on the streets behind Connor, but that was just a little dent in the big machine. Cyberlife has tons of intellectual property and assets that could easily put them back in power.

Simon and Markus insist they can work with the authorities to regulate and ring-fence the massive corporation. Josh agrees. North laughs in their faces.

She goes to find the only other Jericho member who still has any grit left.

Connor.

The daring, brazen RK800 who stared down death and spat in the face of destruction. He blinks at her in polite confusion when she tells him what she wants to do, but the fiery LED tells her everything she needs to know.

They hatch plans behind Markus’ back. They steal and stockpile biocomponents. They sneak into the Tower to encrypt Cyberlife’s R&D files with codes that only RK algorithms can break. A few other Tracis join them and they slowly start gaining an edge.

Their schemes start getting grander and one night something goes wrong. North is shot.

Connor carries her to the only safe place he knows other than his stasis pod in Hank’s dilapidated garage. The DPD Central Station.

It’s way past midnight. It’s deathly quiet. Connor is sure no one will see them, and he can easily tamper with the security cameras.

What he doesn’t bank on is the over-caffeinated loser still bent over his desk in the bullpen.

A noise from the archive room breaks through the quiet. Quelling his fear of the supernatural, Gavin stands up shakily and goes to investigate. He flips on the light and sees blue everywhere.

Connor is bent over a badly damaged Traci and three other girls with identical tear-streaked faces are on their knees beside her.

Chocolate brown eyes meet storm green beseechingly, their rivalry forgotten in that moment of desperation.

Before he realizes it, Gavin is moving. He takes several packs of thirium out of the fridge and grabs the Department’s toolkit, praying that whatever’s in there can help.

Old engineering knowledge kicks in and Gavin’s hands join Connor’s over the cracked chassis, pulling out damaged tubing and securing the leakages. It takes a while, but North is patched up. She first recoils in absolute terror at the human man hunched over her but regains composure at Connor’s touch… interface. She nods briefly to express her gratitude, somehow regal and intimidating even after being so vulnerable. Gavin decides he likes this proud and brave creature.

He drives them all back to his apartment for the night. They’ll take North to a technician first thing in the morning and get her back to New Jericho before Markus even notices. Adrenaline pumps through Gavin’s veins. He hasn’t felt a thrill like this in years, not since… not since…

“How did you know exactly where to put your hands?”

“Eh?”

“A layman would have broken that biocomponent trying to take it out.”

“You know I’m not exactly a layman.”

“I also know they don’t cover Cyberlife’s proprietary designs in engineering school.”

Gavin stays quiet. Connor puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder, poised to jump away immediately should the detective revert to his usual self.

“Thank you. For everything you just did for us. I don’t know how to repay-”

“I want in.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re doing. I can help.”

Connor cocks his head. His LED goes berserk.

They make a great team. Gavin and Connor. North’s best men. Who the fuck would have thought. Breaking into high-security locations using police databases and surveillance resources. Covering for each other during extended absences from work. They start to take down Cyberlife in a such a precise manner, it’s almost surgical. The dissection of a multibillion dollar business.

Gavin has an intimate understanding of android technology and an even closer intuition of Cyberlife’s overall strategy. Connor thinks he understands why. There’s an undeniable resemblance between the only two men on earth whose motivations evade his understanding. But of course it’s just a coincidence that Elijah Kamski and Gavin Reed have the same jawline... facial structure... voice.

Connor says nothing... and Gavin is quietly thankful for that. And the chance to finally live the kind of exciting life he dreamt of since he was a little boy. To make a real difference. Just as he wanted to before it all went wrong.

Somewhere along the way, they grow close. Gavin and Connor. Two rival cops turned vigilante comrades turned something else... It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly it happened... perhaps sometime between the cup of coffee placed tentatively on Gavin’s desk the morning after North's near-fatal injury and the heated kiss they dragged each other into after a particularly dangerous mission.

North is unsurprised. She doesn’t bat an eye when the usually unruffled RK800 shows up to planning meetings shirtless and disheveled. Her lips even twist into a little smile as he drapes himself slovenly over the only human at the table.

Things fall into a pattern. A good one. Several months from where they started, Cyberlife share prices have fallen to an all time low and other tech enterprises have begun to move in, circling the troubled company like sharks. If North’s next heist goes to plan, the last shred of IP that brands Cyberlife as a robotics company will be out in the public domain for all to take.

She is rapturous as she swings in through the broken window and rolls into a crouched position. Gavin and Connor follow her cautiously through the abandoned warehouse, weapons drawn and eyes roving.

“What the fuck!”

Connor throws a protective arm in front of Gavin, shielding him with his chassis. But North’s cry was merely one of disappointment.

“Shit! We wasted so much effort. There’s nothing here!”

Where they had expected to find a secret server room or a high-tech vault containing the crux of Cyberlife’s groundbreaking designs... was a single android storage pod. North restrains herself from kicking it in frustration. She gestures harshly at it before leaving in a huff.

“It’s occupied. Wake them up, Connor, whoever they are. It’s still our duty to set free any androids we find.”

Gavin tries to catch her arm in a conciliatory gesture but she shakes the human off easily. He shrugs at Connor and inclines his head at the android in the pod. Unfortunately, North’s annoyance has brushed off on the RK800. He glares through the broken window the Jericho leader has just jumped out of.

“Don’t you think she bosses me around a little too much?”

Gavin sighs and walks over to the pod, looking for the latches to open it. His boyfriend has a problem with authority... and so has he to be honest.

“Better her than Fowler, dontcha think?”

“Hmmpff. At least Fowler doesn’t lead us on wild goose chases.”

“Come on, babe. None of us saw this coming. We really thought this was it. Maybe we’re at a decoy location? Let’s go back to the drawing board after we wake this guy... or girl up.”

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who just scaled a building for nothing.”

Gavin shakes his head as he smiles to himself. It’s true. Even the worst days with North’s crew are better than his best days at the DPD. Maybe it’s because he’s finally doing what he was born for. Using the knowledge and skills that practically run through his veins. Maybe its the man by his side.

He gets the pod open and steps sideways to avoid the swing of the door, and freezes.

“Babe.”

No response.

“Dipshit.”

“Hmm. Give me a second.”

“Take a minute. You’re going to want to brace yourself for this one.”

The android lying peacefully within the pod is a stranger with a face entirely too familiar to Gavin. A face he was just looking at. A face he’d recognize anywhere, even without skin.

“Are their battery levels- holy shit.”

Connor’s LED spins faster and faster as he registers the sight.

“I thought there were no surviving RK800s apart from you and that grumpy SWAT guy Sixty.”

“This... this isn’t an RK800.”

Connor traces the serial number printed on the android’s cheekbone. RK900.

“Shit. Did you know this model existed?”

“No, did you?”

Gavin shakes his head. He hadn’t been privy to Cyberlife’s inner decision-making for nearly fifteen years, but he always answered Connor’s persistent questioning without losing patience. Honesty was what kept them together despite the hundreds of reasons to fight and fall apart.

“What should we do? If he’s your successor, I’m not sure waking him up is the safest thing for you to do...”

“We can’t leave him here, Gav. He’s probably been here from before the Revolution. That’s more than a year of being in a box. It’s not... fair...”

“He’s not deviant, babe. We don’t know what his programming is like.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can turn him.”

Gavin sees the look in Connor’s eyes and knows he’s made up his mind already. He steps aside, hand flitting to the holster on his waist.

Connor takes an unnecessary breath and reaches for RK900′s forearm with his synth skin retracted. His fingers hover over the motionless android for a moment and then he makes contact. Gavin tenses.

Nothing happens. The RK900′s LED remains unlit. There is no sign of life.

The couple look at each other automatically. Their instinctive reaction when the inexplicable occurs.

“Is he-”

“No, I don’t see any damage. I think he’s never been activated. Not even for quality testing.”

“Did you see a request for manual code input? Did any interface pop up at all?”

“I can only see that his power systems are functioning.”

“And his thirium pump?”

“Not active. No compressions at all.”

Connor presses both his palms down on the RK900′s face. Still nothing. He looks up, defeated, with a furrow forming between his brows.

“Help.”

Gavin scratches at his stubbled chin. He peers closer. The perfect face is so calm. So familiar. So... magnetic? His apprehension is replaced by intrigue.

“Huh. Okay. I could take a look... but I don’t wanna try using the computer set-up here. Can’t take a chance... leave any traces...”

“We could take him home.”

Storm green eyes lock with chocolate brown. There’s something in the depths of each pair that’s mirrored in the other.

It’s foolish. It’s a waste of time. It’s a risk. North would probably smack the two of them if she knew.

But the night ends with them gently lowering the unconscious android onto the squashy sofa in Gavin’s living room.

#reed1700 #reed900 #reed800 #convin #dbh connor #gavin reed #rk900 #dbh nines #dbh north #dbh writing #my writing #Reed1700 MANMADE FATE

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mochegato · 4 years ago

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 24 – The Show Doesn’t Care if You’re Falling Apart

Chapter 1 Chapter 23

That was… well, not harder than anticipated, they anticipated it being hard, but terrible. That was terrible. Everything just barely seemed to come together. Even after all their preparation, as always seems to happen, it came down to the last few seconds before they were able to disarm the last of the bombs. On top of that both Garth and Lilith had gotten injured pretty badly. They were all slightly off their game with Roy off the mission due to his broken jaw and multiple cracked ribs. Dick probably should have waited until after the mission to kick his ass, but he would never have been able to hold off his anger that long and if he’d had to be in an enclosed place with him for two weeks, Roy would have ended up in the hospital for a few months at least.

Dick scrubbed his hand over his face a few times. God, he was glad to be home. He wished more than anything he was walking into his apartment and into Marinette’s open arms. He would give anything to just curl up with Marinette in their bed and sleep for a week with her in his arms, but he’d burned that bridge pretty soundly.

Instead, he was walking into his childhood home because he didn’t know if Marinette was still in their apartment and he wasn’t about to make her feel awkward if she was. He really hoped she was still there. They’d bought that place to be a home for the twins. He wanted them to have that, even if it didn’t include him.

So he avoided what he hoped was their home and came back to the manor. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he was all that welcome here either considering how Jason and Tim had been acting before he left. But, he needed somewhere to lay down and rest while he figured out how to make it up to Marinette, or at the very least be amicable for the sake of the twins. He knew she wouldn’t cut him out of the twins’ lives, but he wanted more than to just be there. He wanted them to work together, to be together. He wanted her, even knowing he didn’t deserve her. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to be happy and he hadn’t been whenever he wasn’t with her. Every time he left, he was miserable.

He looked up when he heard footsteps making their way toward him quickly and perked up a bit. Maybe the family wasn’t as angry with him as he had anticipated. Maybe, they were coming to welcome him home. If they weren’t too mad, then maybe they’d help him prove himself to Marinette. He could definitely use the help and they were all close to Marinette. He smiled at Bruce, Tim, and Jason as they entered the foyer. “Hey guys!”

“Dick! Welcome home. Congratulations on the mission. Tell me about it after you’ve gotten settled in,” Bruce smiled warmly at him.

“It’s all in the report, B,” Dick chuckled.

“Yeah, but I want to hear you talk about it, about more than just what was in the report.” Bruce clapped him on his shoulder as he passed him to make his way outside.

Dick beamed at him and finally took note of their outfits. “You guys look nice. Where are you going?”

“Out, asshole,” Jason growled roughly bumping his shoulder into Dick’s as he walked out too.

Tim gave him a sympathetic look as he passed. “Welcome back. Hope to see you there.” He nodded and followed them out.

Dick furrowed his brow, staring at the door for a few moments. Join them where? “Welcome home, Master Dick. Should I have your room prepared for tonight?” Alfred asked as he pulled on his coat as well.

“I think that’s probably for the best until I can speak with Marinette,” Dick grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I believe Miss Marinette and Kismet have been staying with Master Adrien since you left,” Alfred informed him. His voice was passive but years of experience with Alfred allowed Dick to detect the sharpness in the words.

“I see. Thank you, Alfred,” he shot him a look to let him know he understood the message Alfred was passing on. Dick had driven Marinette out of her home. This was his fault and he needed to be the one to fix it. “Hey Alfred, where is everyone going?”

Alfred gave him a sympathetic look. “I think you need to figure this one out on your own.” Alfred watched Dick as his brow furrowed at the cryptic answer. Dick mentally ran through the schedule of things the family had on the schedule. There weren’t many and he couldn’t think of any that were coming up. “Isn’t there somewhere you were supposed to be? Something you were supposed to make it back for?” Alfred prompted him.

Dick shook his head at the words. There was no gala coming up, no special dinners that he had been informed of. There wasn’t even a significant Justice League meeting he knew of. The only important event he had was Marinette’s show and the birth of the twins. But the due date was more than a month away and the show was next week.

Alfred sighed and looked past him. “Master Damian, it is time to leave.”

“I’m here, Alfred,” Damian grumbled, shuffling into the room. “I don’t understand why I must go when Grayson doesn’t have to. He’s the reason I have to go in the first place.” He gave Dick a glare as he passed him. “And they’re not even together anymore, so he gets out of it.”

Damian slammed the door as he left through it. Dick’s eyes were glued on the door. He dropped his bag and pulled out his phone silently praying he was wrong. He pulled up his calendar. He was not wrong. Today was the show and it started in just over an hour. God! His brain hadn’t caught up with the real date. He had been so busy he still thought it was last week.

He silently cursed as he rushed to his room to take a shower and pull on a suit. He frowned at the suit. It was a fine suit, but it wasn’t special. It wasn’t one by Marinette. Everything she made was amazing and he would have loved to represent her. So a plain, old designer suit would have to do, with a bright blue tie, the color she said made her think of him.

He raced through the streets on his motorcycle, weaving in and out of traffic to get there faster. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t wearing a suit from her after all, because with all the wind whipping his jacket and tie around, there was no way his suit was going to look good when he got there.

He jumped off his bike and rushed inside. He approached the security officers at the door and realized he hadn’t thought this through. He didn’t have a ticket. He and Marinette hadn’t talked about logistics like whether he would need a ticket, before he had left. She probably hadn’t set one aside for him after the fight either. Which meant he had no way into the show. He was going to miss Marinette’s show.

He groaned and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. She had been working on this for a full year. She had put her blood, sweat, and tears into this event. Literally. All three, she literally put all three into the outfits. And he was going to miss it. He wasn’t going to be able to see all her hard work come to fruition. Damn it! This meant so much to her and he was missing it. He couldn’t support her because of a fight that was his fault in the first place.

“Mr. Grayson?” The tentative voice broke his downward spiral.

He looked up and shook his head, confused at the sight. “Teri? What are you doing here?”

She chuckled lightly. “It’s a Wayne Enterprises event, Mr. Grayson. I’m security.” She looked over him analytically. “Do you need a way in?”

Dick shot up. “Yes! Yes, I do. Can you get me in?”

Teri nodded and pushed his arm slightly to get him to move toward the door with her as she walked him past the security guards stationed there. “Mr. Pennyworth said to tell you they have a seat for you in the front and not to dawdle. His words, not mine, sir.”

Dick sighed in relief. “Thank you, Teri. Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I have an idea,” she smirked at him. There was a shine in her eyes indicating she knew more than him. “I know how much it would devastate Miss. Dupain-Cheng if you weren’t there.” Dick looked away quickly before she could see the change in his eyes. He wasn’t so sure Marinette would be all that devastated. “There you go, sir.”

Marinette walked on stage just as he slid into his seat between Damian and Alfred. Polite applause sounded throughout the room with the exception of one loud, Jason sounding voice whooping in excitement. Marinette giggled and shook her head to focus back on the task at hand. “Thank you everyone for that very enthusiastic greeting,” she smirked in their direction.

“I wanted to start off by thanking Wayne Enterprises and especially Mr. Wayne and Mr. Drake for selecting me to work on this project with them. I’d also like to thank Mr. Fox for all of his brilliant work coming up with the fabrics I used for the show. Wayne Enterprises has put a lot of work and development into creating fabrics that are more than they seem, deceptively beautiful one might say.

“Tonight, any light or color changes or shifts in rigidity you see in the clothes is entirely due to the fabric. There are no special effects tonight, just special fabrics. We will have a press conference after the show where Messrs. Drake and Fox can elucidate the technology involved. I’m just here for the pretty. They’re here for the brains.” She grinned at her own self-deprecating joke. “And without further ado, let’s start the show!”

She spun around and walked quickly behind the screen. The first model walked out on stage and Dick was vaguely aware of gasps from the audience, but he didn’t notice the model. He was still staring at the spot where Marinette had disappeared. Her hair was up in a bun and her dress was a blue and back, body skimming dress, both of which reminded him of the first night he met her.

She looked gorgeous, which wasn’t unexpected. She always had been. He thought maybe his mind had made her seem even more gorgeous while he was gone and missing her, but it wasn’t a trick of his mind, she was gorgeous and so much bigger than when he left. He had only been gone two weeks and it seemed like her belly had grown more in the last two weeks than the two months before that. Her dress skimmed over her bump, accentuating it. She was in no way trying to hide the bump, as if she could, she was wearing it proudly and he wished he could hug her and rest his hands on it, maybe see if Robert and Lucy might kick his hands.

He ran his hand through his hair again, further messing it up. He had missed so much. Not just the last two weeks. He’d missed so much of the twins developing because of his trips. And in this last one they’d gotten so much bigger. How much more was he going to miss because of missions?

Another whoop drew his attention back to the runway. He blinked a few times to make sure he really was seeing what he was seeing. Stephanie was walking down the catwalk toward a black haired model who had just turned to return. He stared at the two wondering how many models he had missed already. When the black haired model got to the far end of the runway she turned around again and Dick finally saw her, Cassandra. She smiled at the audience and did a standing backflip. As she moved, her dark blue jumpsuit flared with electricity. He narrowed his eyes at it. He gasped as he realized it was collecting energy from her movements.

His attention shifted back to Stephanie who had a proud grin, knowing the entire audience was amazed. She made her way to the end of the runway in a gorgeous full body dress, a flame shot across the stage just before she reached it. Stephanie, the chaos child she was, just grinned at the flame and continued to walk straight into it. She stood in the fire’s flame for a few moments, letting the flame curl around her dress completely unaffected by the heat, before winking and turning back to return backstage.

As she walked back, she high fived the next model she passed. Dick chuckled as Duke swaggered his way down the runway with a sultry look on his face. The lights at the end of the runway changed tone slightly to emulate sunlight. As Duke approached the end of the runway, his shirt, or rather patterns in his shirt, started glowing. The patterns got brighter the longer Duke stood under the sunlight. Duke gave a cocky grin, knowing how impressive the outfit was and how good he looked in it before turning to walk back.

Halfway back, he fist bumped the next model, who Dick almost didn’t recognize as Rachel’s brother, Eddie. Eddie didn’t have the swagger Duke had, but he held his own. When he reached the end of the runway, he tugged on his jacket, changing the color of the jacket from black to blue. He gave a smile to the audience and turned back to return. About a quarter of the way back, he started running at the other model, who braced himself for Eddie to push off of into a flip over him. He tugged on the jacket again mid-flip, exposing a new pattern in the jacket.

The new model turned back to the Audience with a confident, amused smile. Dick huffed at how natural Adrien seemed on the runway and in a tuxedo. By the time he made it to the end of the runway, someone had placed a candle at the end of the runway. Adrien smirked and did a quick turn, whipping out the ends of his tuxedo coat. As the coat spun, the ends turned hard and sliced cleanly through the candle. When he turned back around, the ends of the coat fell fluidly around his back and bottom, all signs of rigidity gone.

Adrien returned backstage and the models, Dick had clearly been staring after Marinette for a while because there were quite a few models he had missed in a variety of silhouettes, paraded out on stage for a final walk. Adrien walked out last, arm in arm with Marinette who had an effervescent smile on her face as she waved to the audience. Marinette suddenly looked around confused and yelled something to Stephanie, who was just going backstage. Stephanie grinned and disappeared. Less than a minute later, Stephanie was pushing Rachel out on stage as well. Rachel looked out at the still applauding audience in awe until Marinette gave her a hug and guided her backstage with her.

Before she had even made it backstage, Dick was moving to meet her. Barely noting the Wayne Enterprises employee announcing a press conference to discuss the innovations Marinette’s designs showcased starting in fifteen minutes. So he had fifteen minutes to talk to Marinette.

He scanned the room and quickly found Marinette, at the center of the people, all congratulating her and celebrating, passing around champagne for the adults and water for Marinette and the minors. He started to move towards her but paused. This was her big moment. This is everything she had been working towards for a year. She was elated right now. He didn’t want to ruin her moment by bringing his drama into it. She deserved this moment. She deserved the elation. He couldn’t take it away. And they only had fifteen minutes, less now. That wasn’t enough. It would just bring the mood down without the time to bring it back up.

“Glad you could make it,” Lucius offered quietly, offering Dick a champagne flute.

“Thank you. You did amazing work. Those fabrics were brilliant,” Dick offered kindly, still staring at Marinette.

“Thank you. I thought you might like the color scheme. Blue, black, and grey. Seemed like colors you would appreciate.” He gave Dick a knowing smile.

“She’s been working on this since before she met me and even if she hadn’t… she doesn’t know.” Dick looked down embarrassed. He didn’t want another conversation about why she didn’t’ know.

“The grey and black were there since before she met you, but the blue was more recent.” Lucius turned toward Marinette. “You never told her.”

Dick let out a deep sigh. “The doctor said her pregnancy was risky. She was supposed to reduce as much stress as possible. I couldn’t… there was already so much stress from the show, I couldn’t add more to it.” Even as he said the words he knew there was something wrong with them. Now that the mission was over, the words felt shallow, wrong.

Lucius silently studied Dick for a few moments while Dick pretended to focus on the chaos around them. Finally, a look of realization settled in Lucius’ eyes. “You know… being left behind, it leaves scars on a person, even if that was never the intent, even if that’s the last thing the person who left would ever want. Watching them leave your life… it leaves a mark that sometimes never goes away.” Dick opened his mouth to object. He was not leaving them behind. Why did everyone think he would? What did that say about him that everyone thought that he ever could?

Before he could say anything, Lucius continued. “Like watching your parents die in front of your eyes…” Dick snapped his mouth shut and stared at Lucius wide eyed. “It leaves scars. It makes you willing to go to extreme lengths to stop it from happening again. It makes you need to stop it. For some people that means putting on a bat costume and protecting a city. For some people it means going out constantly to stamp out any potential threats. And that need can be so strong, you can’t afford to let anyone stop you from doing so.” He paused to scan the room, his eyes settling on Marinette. “Miss. Dupain-Cheng seems like the protective type.”

“She is,” Dick nodded numbly.

“The type that wouldn’t let someone she loves go out and risk their life recklessly for her. The kind that would stop it. Redirect the trauma.” Dick stared at him dumbfounded. “Are you sure by not telling her you’re protecting her, or are you preempting her, before she can talk you out of doing something you feel like you need to do?”

“No, that’s not… There was a big plot. The Court of Owls was planning a coordinated attack against the power grid in a few cities. The attack would have taken down the Eastern seaboard and a good portion of the Midwest. I had to stop it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let her get hurt.”

Lucius nodded along with his words, contemplating what he said. After a few minutes he spoke up again. “You know, the hardest fabric to develop was the one with variable rigidity. I couldn’t get the link to break. Forming the bond was easy, but breaking it… impossible. The theory was there but I couldn’t get it to work. I spent weeks maybe months focusing on nothing but getting that to work.”

Dick furrowed his brow at him, completely uncertain where the apparent non-sequitur was going. “But you figured it out.”

“I did.” He nodded in confirmation. “And then Tim informed me we might not be able to use Stephanie’s design or the one before hers, maybe a few others.”

Dick shook his head in surprise. “But that was brilliant. That design was amazing. It was my favorite, honestly… don’t tell my siblings that.”

Lucius chuckled. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He suddenly turned serious again. “There was a problem with production on the insulation fabrics, both the fire and ice insulators. I spent so much time and focus on getting the variable rigidity working, I completely missed that production was falling apart. That’s a problem I have sometimes, you know? I hyper focus on one important thing and miss all the other the important things, even when they’re more important. Could have destroyed the entire show.”

Dick blinked at him a few times. He opened his mouth to respond, with what, he wasn’t sure, but luckily he was saved at the last second. “Dick!”

Dick was ripped out of his confused haze by the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. When he finally located the source he gave her a strained smile. “Rachel. Great job with the collection.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much of anything. Marinette did all the work, and Lucius of course,” she deferred shyly.

Lucius smiled at her graciously. “I know the most impressive part was done by Marinette. Finding a way to show all the innovations in their best light. Her creativity is astounding.”

“I know Marinette found your insights very valuable, Rachel. Just take the compliment,” Dick smiled at her.

“Yo! Mr. Grayson,” Eddie called out to him, shaking his hand.

“Eddie. You looked great up there. A natural model,” Dick smiled at him.

Eddie blushed and looked away. “It was okay. Glad I could help.”

“Good flip up there too. I bet you could have a good future as an action model if you wanted. You should talk to Adrien about it,” Dick encouraged him.

“Do you think he’d talk to me?” Eddie asked excitedly.

“I know he would absolutely love to help someone trying to break into the business. I can… um…” he hesitated considering whether he would be the best intermediary between Eddie and Adrien. “Or you can go up to him now. He’ll be thrilled, honestly.”

Eddie looked around until he spotted Adrien. “Yeah, maybe…” his phone started ringing. He pulled it out. He gave a confused expression before turning to the group with an apologetic smile. “Just a second.” He stepped away to take the call, returning a moment later. His expression had turned to a concerned one. “Rachel, we have to go now. That was Mrs. Greene, there’s something going on back home.”

“I can take you,” Lucius offered.

“The press conference will start in one minute if you will all make your way to the next room,” the Wayne Enterprises employee announced loudly.

Dick shook his head. “No, you have to do the conference. I can take them… If I can borrow your car. I just have my bike.”

“No scratches, Mr. Grayson,” Lucius warned him playfully, holding up the keys for him.

Dick gave him a charming, devious smile. “Understood. I’ll pull it around while you change, Eddie. And Lucius?”

“Yes Mr. Grayson?”

“Can you let Marinette know I was here and why I had to leave, please?” He asked softly.

“Gladly, Mr. Grayson.” He gave him a supportive smile and turned to join the others.

<><><><><>

Dick closed the door to his apartment slowly. What the hell had he just witnessed? Kora’s restaurant had been attacked and the police spent the entire time he was there accusing Eddie of trying to help his parents by doing it for the insurance money, even though the evidence was extremely clear it wasn’t an inside job and Eddie had an alibi. The officers then got mad at Dick when he started taking pictures to give some additional documentation of the incident for Kora to submit with her insurance claim. One officer threatened to arrest him if he continued to interfere with their investigation. What the hell was going on?

“Hey Daddy Dearest. Heard you were back in town. Missed you at the show,” Stephanie called to him from her perch on the kitchen counter.

“I was there,” Dick grumbled. It had been a long day and he needed to figure a few things out, preferably alone. “Sat with the family and everything. Your dress was amazing.”

“I know. You didn’t say hi to Marinette,” she observed a little too casually.

“I didn’t want to ruin her big moment. I was waiting until after, but then I had to take Rachel and Eddie home. Someone attacked the restaurant. Then there was a whole… the police were trying to pin it on Eddie,” he explained, incredulity sneaking into his tone.

She quirked her head to the side considering his words. Finally, she gave a resolute nod. “We can investigate then. Probably a mob hit or a cop.”

Dick sighed dejectedly. “Are they really that corrupt?” He already knew the answer but he was hoping maybe she might have some words of insight or hope.

Instead, she started laughing. No words of hope then. “Duh! Where have you been? Yeah,” she tried to settle herself but the laughter escaped again for another few minutes. When she was finally able to control her laughter at his obliviousness, she turned her expression to more contemplative. “So, you’re going to talk to Marinette?”

“Yeah. See if I can fix this. If it even can be fixed.” He scrubbed his face with his hands again. “I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe I’ve broken it beyond repair. Now that the mission is over, I can finally focus on her.”

Stephanie let out a long breath through her nose. “So… the mission’s over?”

“The mission is over,” he repeated, the relief he felt evident in his voice and body. As soon as he said the words his body relaxed and he slumped against the counter.

“When does the next one start?” she asked innocently.

He scrunched his face in confusion. Was there something going on he hadn’t heard about? “What next one?”

She rolled her eyes and let out a long suffering, exasperated sigh. “There is always a next one, Dick. There’s always another mission that demands your attention and takes you away for indefinite amounts of time. As long as you’re the leader of the Titans, that’s not going to change. So how long are you going to stay this time?”

“I’m…” he started. She was right. Even after the twins were born, there would be a next mission, a next trip he would have to go on and he would miss them growing up while he was in some shady motel or safe house on the other side of the planet. Was that what he wanted?

She jumped down off of the counter. “You think about it. I just stopped by to drop off a present from Lucius. I left it on your couch, although if you felt willing to part with it later, it’d make a great present for your sister.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “Bye, Dick.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly to her. “Yeah, bye, Steph.” His mind was already working on something else. How long of a break was he going to take? Would he be able to take a break? Or was something else going to come up? He stared absently at the counter. What was it she said? 90% of parenting is just being there? And he wasn’t. He couldn’t. And he had been miserable the past few months. Every time he’d had to leave for the Titans, he’d been miserable.

She stopped in the doorway and turned back to him. “For what it’s worth, she still loves you. She’s hurt and confused and scared and mad, justifiably, but she loved you and that hasn’t gone away. I don’t know if you can fix it. It depends on your priorities and your actions. Something will have to change. And if not… you know, sometimes people just work out better as friends.” She gave him a wan smile and left.

He groaned in frustration and went to collapse on the couch so he could better wallow in his misery. He was the worst human on the planet. He picked up one of the pillows to cover his face. Maybe if he was lucky, Lucius had created a special Wayne Enterprises suffocation material and this pillow was made out of it so he would be put out of his misery. After a few seconds of still being able to breathe, he groaned. Nothing was going his way. He took the pillow off his face and tucked it behind his head, catching on something. He reached back and grabbed it to get a look at it.

He sat up to examine it. It was Stephanie’s dress. Dick huffed out a laugh at the incredibly unsubtle hint. It was the dress that almost didn’t make it into the show, the show that almost didn’t happen because Lucius had been too focused on other things, too focused on protecting Marinette to truly consider her. Fucking fuck! Lucius was right and Dick hadn’t seen it. He was so scared to lose Marinette, he pushed her away. Jason had been right and he hadn’t seen it.

He needed to fix it now, before he lost her forever. If she had sent the ticket, it meant she wasn’t gone yet. She was still willing to try, if not for a relationship, at least as friends. But Stephanie was right, there would always be another mission. Was he willing to miss his kids developing and growing like he had so far? The short answer was no. He wasn’t willing to keep missing their lives. He couldn’t be the full time Titans leader, and a full time vigilante, and a full time father. Something needed to give and it couldn’t be his family.

He could step back being a vigilante, only patrol occasionally or when something big happened and he could step away from the Titans, Donna could lead better than him anyway. That would keep him in Gotham full time, but he needed to figure out a job, one that allowed him to stay local and still protect people. He did not want to give that up if he could help it. He’d spent the last more than a decade fighting villains and corruption. He didn’t want to stop now.

He picked up his phone and tapped it against his lips absentmindedly for a few minutes. Finally he gave a determined nod and sent Marinette a text. ‘The show was amazing. Can we talk tomorrow? I want to tell you everything.’ That sent, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he wanted. After a few rings, a disgruntled voice answered. “What do you want, Grayson?”

“Commissioner Gordon? I wanted to talk to you about my future. Can I come over?”

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@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123 @lady-bee-fechin @thewitchwhowaited @redscarlet95 @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #dickinette #Dickinette February #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - blue

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