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astonmartinii · 3 years ago

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lemonade and star-crossed lovers, p1 (JJ Maybank)

Warnings: none yet, swearing? all core characters are aged up to 18, Rafe is 21.

JJ Maybank x kook!reader (super super slow burn) (this will hopefully be a series)

WC: 4.0k

Growing up, Y/N always heard jokes about how the eldest daughter was just the mum in a different font. She never used to believe it, but that was when she had present and dedicated parents. Now, it just seemed that with every addition to the Miller family, the less interested Kevin and Julie Miller became.

So here Y/N was, practically a mother to her three younger siblings.

Dylan is only a year younger than Y/N but is no less of a hassle, especially when his useless friends decide to crash at their place. But considering they had the most hectic house of Dylan’s friendship group, the Miller household was usually the last option.

Then there’s Anderson, he’s in his rebellious phase currently, getting to that point where he’s figured out that acting out could maybe get the attention of his parents. Though Y/N wasn’t sure how well his plans were working out.

Peach is the youngest and practically attached to Y/N’s hip. To an untrained eye, Y/N often looked like a teen mum as she took Peach with her to the grocery shopping. In fact, Y/N was sure that if the kooks in Figure Eight didn’t know her family, they’d sneer at her with the same ignorance that clouded their entire lives.

Y/N woke up glad - it’s the last day of school. Summer break looms. The idea of boneyard keggers and hot (but equally clueless) tourons, excited the girl. But she knew her summer reality would be looking after Peach, bailing Anderson out of jail and swatting away the affections of Dylan’s stupid friends.

—————————————

Dylan is already awake when Y/N comes knocking, taking extra close care to his hair.

“Oh, you’re up,” Y/N said, moving to ruffle his hair and grab the empty plate on his bedside cabinet.

“Jesus, fuck Y/N, was that really necessary?”

“Hey maybe if you spent more time on assignments than your hair you wouldn’t have to take so many summer classes - oh yeah, mum might not remember, but I do, and you will be going.”

“But it’s summer, surely it’s a violation to my human rights to go to school.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive, and maybe when you finally pass this year, you’ll thank me. Breakfast in 10.”

Dylan just flips his sister off, going back to admiring himself in the mirror.

Y/N next goes to Peach’s room to find her awake and rummaging through her draws.

“Hey, princess, what are you thinking for the last day? Third grade finished already, you’ll be my age soon, wheeling me into the retirement home.”

Peach erupts into giggles, pulling out a little pink summer dress and grabbing her pink sandals to complete the ensemble.

“All pink, we love. Breakfast in 10, alright, don’t want you to be late for the last day.”

Anderson’s room is last, Y/N doesn’t bother knocking on her parent’s door. Kevin is probably already down on Judy - his beloved boat. The room is typical of a 14 year old boy, it stunk, his weed paraphernalia was badly hidden and there was a lump of pillows under the cover instead of a boy.

Shrugging, Y/N picked up the dirty mugs in his room and moved downstairs. She’d been awake nearly an hour now but was still unsure of what to make for breakfast. Opening the fridge gave her the only possible answer, leftover pizza from the previous night and maybe a porridge pot, though considering there were only two siblings to account for, it would do.

Dylan and Peach joined her in the kitchen shortly after, each taking a slice or two of pizza.

“No Anderson and pizza for breakfast? Watch out, we'll be calling CPS as soon as we’re outside.“

“You don’t know where the bug is? Why does that boy insist on giving me early onset cardiac issues?”

“Don’t take it too to heart, I’m sure he’ll turn up by the second period.”

“Okay, go to school now. Dylan, are you okay to drop Peach off, I’ll pick her up.”

Dylan nods and ushers the youngest out of the door and to his car. Y/N lets out a sigh when she sees them leave the driveway and makes her way to the back door. Through the sliding door she can see her dad, Kevin on Judy instructing John B, the kid who worked on the boat, what to do. Y/N puts two slices of pizza on a plate and grabs an apple and ventures out to the dock.

“Morning Y/N.”

“Morning, John B, can I interest you in an apple? It’s all we have I’m afraid.”

“No worries, any breakfast is breakfast when you’re a pogue.”

“Oh John B, you know I don’t believe in all that sub-par class warfare bullshit.”

“Of course you don’t, but that’s very easy to say when you’re on the other side.”

“Touche.”

Y/N doesn’t say anymore, but moves to give her dad his breakfast. She liked John B and hoped he didn’t see her like the other kooks. Sure Rafe Cameron frequented her house, but she’s nothing like him.

“Thanks, squirt.”

Despite the nickname, Kevin was absent as ever, not moving to look at her.

“You’re children are off to school, don’t worry.”

Silence.

“Oh thank you Y/N, I really don’t know what we’d do without you! You’re such a gem, you’re really unappreciated and we don’t deserve you! Thanks dad, I really needed to hear that. Are you coming later?”

“Where?” Kevin grunted, with pizza in his mouth.

“My graduation? Did you forget that was today?”

The awkward silence was enough of an answer for Y/N.

“Sorry squirt, I promised to go to the mainland to pick something up for your mother.”

With that, Y/N stormed off Judy, towards the house and into her room. When she sat down on her bed she could think about what just happened. She knew her parents didn’t care about her, but missing their first child’s graduation for a small errand to the mainland?

Now that the house was quiet again, she could get ready - she was graduating today and as valedictorian she wants to look her best. Julie, her mum, is in Washington on some mysterious job venture, Y/N wasn’t told until she came down in the morning a few days ago and saw Julie with her suitcases. She guessed that one positive of her parents’ absenteeism is her ability to steal Julie’s expensive jewelry to wear.

Y/N looked in the mirror, she did clean up nice when she wanted to. Her lengthy hair is in a half-up, half-down style, with minimal makeup and a red knee-length dress. The dress hugged her figure and complemented her graduation gown perfectly. Too bad none of her family would be there to see it. She knew deep down that Peach and Dylan would’ve attended if possible, and Anderson would maybe even make an appearance, especially if there was food involved.

Y/N put her matching red heels on and grabbed her cap from her closet. After one final look in the mirror and putting her printed speech into her bag, the young girl made her way down the stairs.

To her surprise, none other than John B sat in her kitchen drinking a glass of water.

“You clean up nice kook,” said John B, a smug smirk on his face.

“Thank you, John. Don’t you have graduation today?”

“Eh, yeah. I’m just going for the food though, school isn’t really my thing…” John B looked closer at her cap. “I’m practically the opposite to you Miss Valedictorian”.

“Hmm, well at least someone in this house noticed, thank you John B. I’m going now, I didn’t notice your van out front, you need a lift to yours?”

“Is that really on your way, wouldn’t want Miss Valedictorian to be late to her own event, you got a speech ready?”

“I do as a matter of fact, but I want to be just on time, minimise the time people have to ask about the whereabouts of my parents. So, do you want a lift or not?”

“Sure thing, Miss Valedictorian.”

Y/N doesn’t acknowledge the nickname, but secretly loved it, it was a joke, but at least someone was appreciating her achievements. Peach would, she knows, but she’s not really at the point of understanding what it means and the others really are wildcards.

She led John B out to her small car, a baby blue Beetle. The boy smiled at her choice in car,

“I’m sure that a kook like you could afford better than this.”

“Don’t insult Shelby in her presence, weren’t you ever taught manners? Now get it and give me directions.”

The drive was fun, not that John B would tell Y/N that. He enjoyed her music choice, Mac Miller blasting from her speakers and the windows were fully rolled down, damned be her hair.

Y/N neared the chateau and came to a stop. There were a few people sitting on the porch, looking over in confusion.

“Yo, what’s with the kook-mobile, John B?” The blonde yelled from his seat on the beaten-up couch.

When John B only turned to Y/N to say thank you, the interest peaked on the porch. The little gang of pogues moved towards the car.

“John B, I didn’t realise your job came with a taxi service, why did I have to drop you off this morning?” The blonde, once again.

“Lay off JJ, this is Y/N Miller, she’s the daughter of Kevin, the guy whose boat I work on. She’s on her way to her graduation and offered me a lift.”

“Since when are kook graduations on the Cut?” The other boy interjected.

Y/N decided to speak up, “if I knew an act of kindness would cause so much strife, I’ll just let you walk home next time. Now, I do have somewhere to be, so it was nice to see you, John B. I'm sure I’ll see you again this week.”

“Bye Miss Valedictorian, good luck with your speech,” John B said, getting out of Shelby.

“You’re the valedictorian?” Kiara finally spoke, face shocked.

“Yeah, surprising what happens when you show up for school right?” Y/N snapped, angrier than she intended.

“Oh yeah, sorry. I guess I thought that maybe Sarah would get it, especially if Ward has anything to do with it.” Kiara grimaced, she didn’t mean to offend the Miller girl.

“You can’t buy the valedictorian title, well I’m sure you could, but not to flex, but my grades were miles better. If we’re being really ironic though, Ward technically does pay for the valedictorian,” Y/N said with a smile, not meaning to brandish her academic success in their faces.

A chorus of “huhs?” from the pogues surrounding her car told Y/N that they weren’t catching her drift.

“I’m Ward Cameron’s assistant. Sorry, I didn’t make that very clear.”

“You have a job, but you’re a kook?” the blonde, JJ, said.

“Yes, blondie, some of us do have to look out for ourselves, didn’t your parents tell you not to judge a book by its cover. I’ll see you around. Bye John B.”

Y/N backed out of the road, heading back to Figure Eight, with her graduation starting in 10 minutes, she had massively overstayed her welcome at John B’s. If she weren’t so busy, Y/N always thought she’d like to be friends with John B and his crew, they had an unmistakable family bond that Y/N craved. She loves her siblings but they are still grappling with the idea of give and take, mainly fixating on the taking aspect.

Y/N pulled up to school, and took out her phone, dropping a text to Anderson pleading with him to at least make it to two classes today. Even with her phone safely away in her bag, Y/N couldn’t quite bring herself to get out of the car. Happy families surrounded her everywhere she looked, she couldn’t handle the stares when she walks in alone. Well, it’s now or never she says to herself.

Walking isn’t as bad as she suspects, Mr Morgan, her English teacher, meets her at the door and takes her to her seat, explaining the mechanisms of the ceremony and when she’ll make her speech.

The hall, however, is the reminder that Y/N was dreading. The two seats she had booked for her parents sat empty, standing out like a sore thumb in the packed hall. She made her way to the student section with her head down. However, before Y/N could sit she was apprehended by an excitable Sarah Cameron.

“Y/N! Hi! I heard you’re valedictorian, well done! I don’t know how you managed, with all the work and your siblings, you really are amazing.”

“Thanks, Sarah.”

The words sting, despite their pure intentions. She’s a kook, she shouldn’t have to work, and she should have parents who care for her and her siblings, but some things just aren’t meant to be, clearly. Y/N sat in her assigned seat and willed the ceremony to go fast, though she wasn’t looking too forward to her speech. The diversion to the chateau meant that Y/N had no time to look over it again.

The ceremony started and the hall quietened down. Principal Stoney started her opening speech, basking in the spotlight when the hall door bursts open and interrupts. In the doorway stands Anderson. His hair is disheveled and the clothes are torn, probably from the nightly activities with the skateboard he held in his hand. The boy scanned the hall, eyes falling on the empty seats with the name Miller and then Y/N herself. He gives her a small wave and pushes past the Figure Eights families to the seats.

Principal Stoney just restarts, a slight bewildered look on her face.

When it was time for her speech, Y/N didn’t even feel real, like she floated to the stage and was possessed. Her speech went well from what she could gather, Mr Morgan gave her a thumbs up and Anderson hollered, much to the dismay of the families around him. But he was even worse when she received her diploma.

As families spilled onto the field for fancy food and photo opportunities, Y/N wrangled Anderson to the side before he could raid the food stalls.

“Anderson, what the fuck? First you didn't come home last night and then crash my graduation?”

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night, me and the boys got carried away skating and I crashed on Oscar’s couch. I’m sorry, I should’ve called. And as for now, you think I’m going to let my smart-ass VALEDICTORIAN sister graduate without anyone being here to holler? You’re dead wrong.”

The sentiment fills Y/N’s heart with joy and tears threaten to spill. Anderson’s never been good with feelings, it was nice to know that he did care.

“Mum and dad can go fuck themselves, if they don’t see how great you are then they’re blind.”

“Thanks, bug. It means a lot. Now don’t eat too much, people are probably already annoyed that you’re here.”

Anderson shrugs, he couldn’t care less what they thought, he was here to eat and show off his sister.

“Congratulations Y/N!”

The voice of Y/N’s boss, Ward Cameron, was easily identifiable. Y/N puts on her confident face and turns to see the whole Cameron brigade, minus Wheezie.

“Thank you, Mr Cameron.”

“You know, I just don’t know how you get it done, working for us and dealing with your siblings…” Rose says, the last part fading out as she watches Anderson walk back to his sister with his arms piled high with fancy horderves.

“It’s tough, yeah, but what wouldn’t you do for your family?”

“Of course, of course, sorry for any implications, where is the old man, I know Julie is off on business, but Kevin has to be proud, I didn’t see him in the hall?” Ward’s voice feigned sincerity, but the Miller siblings saw right through it. Before Anderson could respond, Y/N replied.

“Dad is also doing business on the mainland, at the last minute. He’s devastated, really,” it's not convincing, even to her. Y/N can tell she hasn’t convinced the Camerons either. Sarah gives her a sad look, Rose attempts to mirror her step-daughter but fails, Ward looks slightly smug, like he’s trying to hide it but Rafe doesn’t even try to hide it like his dad, a massive smirk on his face.

“What are your plans for the summer Miller?” Y/N is surprised when it’s Rafe who asks the question.

“Well, I’ll be working for your dad, if he’ll have me, I still have my volleyball coaching in the tourist season and there’s never a dull moment with these around,” Y/N puts her arm around Anderson.

Looking for a quick exit, she looks at her watch.

“Oh, if we go now, you can still catch your last two periods. Kids, am I right?” She gestures at Rose and Ward, “we’ll be off now, I’ll see you next week?”

The Camerons nod as Y/N pulls Anderson away and towards the car park. But before they can fully escape, they’re stopped by Mr Morgan.

“You think you can leave without a photo and a proper goodbye, I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, Miller.”

“Of course not, Mr Morgan, here,” she hands Anderson her phone, “take a picture please.”

Anderson does so, taking about 50 at once.

“Okay, okay, let's get one of you two, you can’t not have a proper graduation picture, especially not when you’re valedictorian.”

Mr Morgan takes the phone and smiles at the siblings. When the impromptu photoshoot ends, Y/N is glad, despite it pushing back her escape.

“Y/N, on a serious note, you are always welcome in my classroom, you’ve been a pleasure, and don’t tell anyone, but you were my favourite. And you, I hope you’ll be just as good next year sir,” he says turning to Anderson, “although considering you’re here and not in class doesn’t bode well.”

“Thank you, sir, really. But you are completely right, and that’s why we’re bouncing now, so he can get two at least two periods.”

Mr Morgan smiles at the two when they start to run to the car. He’s always felt sad for the eldest Miller, and her parents absence did not go unnoticed.

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

“I’ll see you later, I know you guys will probably crash a kegger, but at least come home before you go?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, who knows maybe I’ll see you there?”

Anderson laughs and gets out of the car, he knows his sister won’t especially when Peach will be home. Y/N watches him go into the building and stays a couple minutes to make sure he doesn’t sneak back out when he thinks she’s gone.

But Y/N barely gets time to breathe, as she’s down to the elementary school to pick up Peach. The girl in all pink is waiting with a gaggle of friends and shrieks when she sees the blue car.

“Y/N! Y/N! I got the “most improved” in drama!”

Y/N opens the door and picks up Peach, spinning her round and congratulating her.

“Well done, bubs. This calls for a celebration, it’s the first day of summer and the boys won’t be out for another couple of hours - what do you want to do?”

Peach doesn’t even need a second to think.

“Lemonade stand!”

Huh? Y/N was prepared for an answer closer to maybe a princess party or surfing lessons, but a lemonade stand?

“Are you sure?”

“You said we could do whatever I want!”

“Okay, okay, let’s go then we’ve got a lot to do.”

Satisfied with getting her way, Peach got in the car and demanded that the next stop was the craft store.

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

The next 90 minutes were gruelling. Peach spared no expense, Y/N was lucky that she still had the credit card Julie gave her. But she knew it would all be worth it. And it was.

Peach chose a spot right in the middle of the beach and the stall was already making a profit. Y/N knew kooks just couldn’t resist the temptation to look good and what was better than giving a generous tip to a child’s lemonade stand?

But with a successful kook-trap came the kook assholes. Namely Rafe, Topper and Kelce.

“Three lemonades please. Apricot, right?” Rafe said with a smirk.

“You know it’s Peach asshole.”

“That’s a bad word, Y/N,” Peach mumbled, clearly upset about being called apricot of all things.

“Yeah that’s a bad word, Miller, you should listen to Apricot a little more.”

“Maybe, you should listen to your college professors, oh wait, you dropped out, my bad, must be a bit of an open wound judging by the look on your face. I bet daddy wasn’t impressed.”

“Excuse me, you bitch, how dare you talk to me like that.”

“Run along, lap dog, we don’t need your money.”

Rafe goes to say something but Topper and Kelce hold him back.

“Bro, don’t get it shit with your pops over a fucking lemonade,” Topper warned.

With a final “fuck off”, Rafe Cameron stalked away to his car, his gang of cowards following, but not without Topper placing a crisp $20 bill in the tip jar. Peach mumbled and thank you and Y/N just nodded to Topper, too tired to say anything more.

And if her afternoon couldn’t get any worse, the prickly blonde from this morning strolled over to the stand.

“I’ll have four lemonades please.”

Peach gasped and accepted his money right away, getting to work on the drinks.

“I’ve seen many a kook-trap in my time, Miller, but not many operated by Kooks themselves. Impressive ingenuity.”

“Thanks - JJ, was it? Peach here won “most improved” in her drama class and this is what she wanted to do in celebration”

“Cute, Miller, didn’t take you as a softy earlier.”

Peach announces that she’s finished with the pogue’s drinks, he puts another $5 in the tip jar and grabs the drinks.

“Miller, there’s a kegger at the boneyard tonight, wanna come? I’m sure at least one of your brothers will crash.”

“Sorry JJ, someone’s gotta look after the little one, maybe another time, if you can stand being around a kook for that long.”

“I think I can make an exception, especially if they look like you Miller,” he winks, “boneyard tonight, if you change your mind.”

Y/N blushed, but she knew she couldn’t, she couldn’t leave a nine year old at home, even if Kevin was there, there was no guarantee that Peach would be fed and given adequate attention.

“He’s pretty, you should go.”

“Peach, honey, you know I can’t, I can’t leave you at home.”

“But I could go to Jenny’s, she’s having a sleepover tonight, I forgot to ask earlier, I got too excited about the lemonade stand.”

“Okay, you can go to Jenny’s, but promise not too much candy?”

“Only if you promise to go with him tonight.”

Peach was proving to be just as mischievous as her brothers.

“Okay fine.”

“Go tell him then.”

“Huh?”

“I won’t believe you unless you go tell him now that you'll be there!”

Y/N groans, but gets up to follow the blonde. As she nears, she shouts,

“Hey JJ! I’ll be there tonight, at the boneyard, I’ll be there.”

“Didn’t take too long for you to change your mind then, am I just that irresistible?”

“No? What? Of course not! It’s just Peach - she’s a master manipulator, and she’s only nine!”

“Sure, Miller, if that’s what you want me to believe, I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

Y/N turned, she should cringe, but she finds herself blushing as she walks back to Peach.

“Don’t say anything, missy, you’ve done enough, let’s pack up and get you ready for Jenny’s. You young ones are such troublemakers, damn.”

A/N: I am not American, so I hope that the graduation stuff makes sense, from someone who has no real clue what happens there lol

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #obx imagine #outerbanks imagine #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #rafe cameron #sarah cameron #ward cameron #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank x reader

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otakusheep15 · 3 years ago

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SFW Alphabet - Simeon

This man seriously owns my entire heart. Like, I would trade all of the brothers just to be with him, no questions asked lmao

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Surprisingly, he’s not that affectionate. Well, at least not physically. He enjoys spending time with you and being in the same room, but he hardly ever craves psychical affection like the brothers do. The farthest he usually goes is hand-holding and maybe a little hand kiss too, but he rarely goes beyond that unless he’s feeling especially clingy that day. Just being near you is enough for him really.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Friendship with him can go one of two ways. He’d either baby you like he does with Luke, or lowkey bully you like he does with Lucifer, no in between. It really depends on how you are as a person and how he sees you. If he sees you as someone who needs protecting and is a bot more on the childish side, you’ll totally be another Luke to him. And if you’re someone whose more on the opposite end of that spectrum, calm, composed, serious, he’ll treat you more like he does Lucifer. But he loves you all the same.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddling is probably the one exception to the lack of physical affection. He loves nothing more than to curl up next to you in bed after a long day of dealing with RAD, Luke, and Solomon’s “cooking”. He especially loves laying his head on your chest so that he can listen to your heartbeat. It just calms him down and reminds him that you’re really here with him.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Man is the definition of malewife (besides Barb), so of course he’s amazing at any kind of chore. He’s also gotten quite good at household chores after having to take care of Luke for so long. And, trust me, he would love to settle down with you. Maybe Luke could come along too? That would be ideal.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d be super gentle about it. The last thing he wants is to make the situation any worse than it’s gonna get, so he breaks the news as calmly as possible. If the situation did somehow escalate, he would try is best to get everything under control lest someone get hurt (physically or emotionally).

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As much as he’d love to get married, he also wants to take it slow. He understands that relationships need time to develop, so he wants to wait until both of you are absolutely sure before going any further. After all, marriage is a big commitment to an angel, so it’s important that everything is perfect.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is so gentle. Like, he’s the best when it comes to care. Maybe it’s just his instincts as an angel, but he feels the need to protect you from any harm whatsoever. He always makes sure he has permission before touching you anywhere, and he’s constantly checking up on you and making sure you’re feeling well. really, he just wants you to feel as comfortable as possible with him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He likes hugs, but he doesn’t give them out too often. It’s almost always you who goes to him for hugs first unless he’s in a really good mood. But he’ll never deny anyone who does want a hug, especially you (and Luke).

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Honestly, he probably waits a while before saying it. In fact, you might end up being the one to say it first. He wants to take things slow, and the last thing he wants is to make you feel rushed by saying it too quickly. He loves you very much, and you’re both highly aware of that, but actually saying the words takes time for him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Surprisingly, he gets really jealous really easily. Not so surprisingly, he’s very good at hiding it. He just hates how much time you spend with the brothers, and he’ll use anything to get you to come over. His most common excuses usually involve either Luke or Solomon needing supervision and him needing help with that. He never means to guilt trip or gaslight, but he lowkey might if it means getting you to him quicker.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He is a sucker for for hand kisses, both giving and receiving. They’re just so romantic to him, and they don’t take much effort either. His kisses, regardless of where they are, are super loving and romantic. All he wants to do is sweep you off your feet and make you feel loved.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

*cough*Luke*cough* All jokes aside, he does really love children. He just loves how innocent and joyful they can be, and he loves how they speak their minds since most don’t have a filter. The chaos they can get into is also an added bonus, even if it can be a hassle to clean up afterwards.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings can go one of two ways. The preferred way is you two waking up around the same time and just staying in bed for a couple hours enjoying each other’s company. These mornings are usually filled with sweet words and soft touches. The other, less preferred way, is absolute chaos. It doesn’t matter if you stay at the HoL or PH, there will be chaos. And one (or both) of you is going to have to fix it.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He tends to stay up late working, so you can either go to bed and he’ll join later, or you can stay up with him. Either way, he’ll try and finish up as quickly as possible so that he can curl up with you in bed. If his day was especially stressful, he’ll hold you close to him and rant about all of his worries. Side note: please pet his hair, he deserves it.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s actually pretty open with you, which is kinda surprising. I mean, he does have his secrets he’d much rather keep, but who doesn’t. However, he also knows the value of trust in a relationship, so he tries his hardest to be open and honest with you as possible. He hopes that you’ll do the same as well.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

The freakin definition of patience. He’s dealt with so much throughout his life, so he’s grown to have an amazing temperament. Of course he can get annoyed (*cough*the play*cough*) but he does so well at controlling it most of the time. This patience is specifically applied to you and Luke. You could literally murder someone and he probably still wouldn’t be mad.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’d remember most of what you say, but he’d hardly ever utilize it like some of the brothers do. He’ll use the information in more subtle ways. You mention. a certain flavor of cake you like? He makes sure Luke makes some during hsi next baking session. Any shows you enjoy? He may not watch them depending on the length, but he’ll do some research on them so that he can talk to you about it.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite memory is this one time you came over to bake with Luke. Luke, precious thing, was trying out this new recipe, and he was super excited about it. But, of course, Solomon had to come in and mess everything up and now the kitchen and half the house is a mess. Luke is super upset, Solomon is lowkey enjoying it, and Simeon is there watching the world burn around him. And through it all, you stayed there and helped them clean up even when you didn’t have to. He just found it so sweet that you took the time to help Luke and also the rest of the Hall as well. It ended up being a fun day even if he did scold Solomon for hours afterwards.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He’s decently protective, but that’s mostly is angelic instincts. Angels have that natural instinct to protect humans, so he had that urge even before you two became a thing. And that urge only became stronger as you two got closer. However, his protection comes in more subtle ways, like most of his gestures. Someone getting a bit too close to you? He’ll put his arm about you and slowly back you away. The brothers are fighting again? He’ll step in front of you to make sure you’re not caught in the cross-fire.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Like pretty much everything else, he’s much more subtle with his dates. He prefers more lowkey options, like a picnic or just hanging out in either his room or yours. You guys never do anything over-the-top, and he likes it that way.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He tends to prioritize others over himself a lot, and he’s been trying to work on it for a while. And, obviously, he’s terrible with tech. I honestly have no clue how he’s survived this long not knowing how a D.D.D. works past the basics.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s naturally pretty, so he doesn’t need to care. Jokes aside, he isn’t one to particularly care for his looks. He does want to look nice and presentable, but it isn’t usually a top priority compared to someone like Asmo or Mammon.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

WIthout a doubt. He tends to get attached to people very easily, and you’re no exception. Once you two being getting close, it’s over for him. From then on, he’s attached to you. If something were to happen to you, he would simply cease to exist.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He and Michael totally had something going on at one point. Maybe they still have something going on. Hell, maybe even Luci was involved at one point. I have no clue where this idea came from, but it’s in my head and so now all of you are being subjected to it as well.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

People who dislike Luke are a big no for him. Sorry, they’re a package deal. You want him? Well, now you have a child too.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He tends to make noises in his sleep. It’s not really cohearent words or anything, more just like light snores and stuff. Kinda like a dog when it really gets into a dream, ya know?

#OBEY ME #shall we date obey me #shall we date simeon #scenarios #sfw alphabet #Headcanon

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sirensmojo · 4 years ago

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"KINDRED",3 - Tommy Shelby x Reader.

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, drugs, romance, drama & cheating.

Word Count: 5K

❰ Previous Chapter

*Shelby Brother Company Limited, Birmingham*

“Michael’s a pain in the ass.”

You and Tommy were seated one in front of the other in Tommy’s office, it was almost midnight.

You both stared at each other after your affirmation, the need to formulate words obsolete, when all of a sudden, a hiccup hit your throat.

“Wow.” Your brows raised, along with your free hand, patting over your chest.

Only the booze could bring them to talk, but they would forget everything the next morning, or that, they pretended so. Everything the other would say was rooted in the other’s heart, as a prize.

“I could maybe try something.” You calmly spoke, as if a flash of thunder lightning struck some idea into you.

You two had dirty hands and were capable of taking care of yourselves, but those past three, you got each other’s back.

Without knowing it, you were keeping a close eye on the business of the other just in case.

If the Peaky Blinder found something wrong concerning your business, he would take care of it, in the shadows of course.

No need to tell you he quite cared when he wasn't sure himself.

It was also working the other way, you had ears at each side of the continent, you what had happened to the Shelby politician without him telling you, and straightened back up every shaky thing.

“ ‘Bout what?” Tommy asked, pouring some more whiskey in the cup resting in your other hand.

‘The two partners trying to get rid of Mosley’ had become an excuse. The silence each brought to the other was addictive, and the days between each meeting only amplified that obsession.

“Speak sense to his wife. Given the situation, I think both the weak and tuff points of Michael’s scheme are her.”

Tommy frowned, thinking deeper about what you told. You weren’t entirely wrong, he doubted Michael would’ve betrayed him without the support of somebody.

“He was pushed to one side, a little push to the other one will make him think right.” Y/L/N got further.

An evening meeting was programmed weekly.

You started meeting at the library during the first week. Then, the Shelby Brother Company Limited’s office, catching the attention of another member of the Shelby family.

“You think it’ll be this easy?” The peaky blinder asked, sprinkling ash onto the ashtray that was on the table that separated you two.

“It’ll have to.” You responded.

Polly was the first one to confront Tommy directly about the presence of a very well dressed woman far too often in the offices.

“Her hair is nice.” She added, smoking on her cig looking intently at Tommy's gleaming eyes at the mention of the so-called “librarian”.

Because that was how he presented Y/N. A girl from an aristocratic family searching for exoticism and bought a library.

He and you were to work together solely due to his status at the House of Commons, none more none less.

But the Gray woman knew better, even if she refused to push the matter further.

“May God keep Arthur away from her, he’ll eat her for his lunch.” Pol’ tease before she shook her head at her own statement as Tommy coughed away this whole discussion.

(...)

Three knocks could be heard on the Gray’s room door in the Midland hotel.

The entrance opens, “Told you I’ll join you in a minute, Gin--” Michael’s voice stopped as soon as his wife abruptly pushed her shoulders to his to enter the room.

“What are you doing?” One of his hands was in his suit pocket, the other one grabbing the door handle.

She hassled to the phone, dialling a number without even glancing at the Gray.

“Gina?” Asked the man, looking intently at the movements of the woman, blinking slowly.

She refused to address him, waiting patiently until the person she was calling responded.

“What is going on? What do you mean our contacts were offered another deal?”

Michael went closer, and as he was sitting on the desk chair, leaning backwards on it, he started to understand what was going on.

“Anyway, we can still offer them to prosper durably, that man can’t say the same, right?”

She rolled her eyes at herself after remaining silent for some minutes, she was listening to the individual at the end of the line.

It was more than clear she was done with everything.

She wasn’t even slightly “happy” to be in the shit hole that was Birmingham as she, herself, qualified multiple times. The only reason she was here was that Michael didn’t want to properly betray his cousin.

He convinced her to come here and resonate with Tommy about a “normal succession”, but she knew damn well it wouldn’t work. Why would he give everything he spent so much time to gather under the pretext of succession?

Tommy wasn’t the type to give up things, for any reason.

And now that they were away from New York, their allies already started to forget about their promises…

Why did she even agree to let Tommy a chance?

“He didn’t fall for Michael’s plan. We will have to do it our way.” She seemed happy at least, to finally be able to handle the matter how she wanted to, which was the only good news about this call.

When the receptionist asked for her at the restaurant, she’d expected to be told all was ready there and that Michael would only have to give the order for the plan to begin. But no.

Gina hung up the phone before she lifted her eyes to her husband that was staring at her, patiently waiting.

“It was my uncle, some man going by the name of Haynes met with all of our contacts, offering them a greater alliance directly with the Chinese, without needing us as intermediaries.” She finally spoke.

The younger Gray looked away, clenching his jaw as a hand came over his face. He let out a long sigh, his body voicing his displeasure. But his wife’s hand came on his shoulder as she leaned on his back, and murmured near his ear:

“But. He says it’s looking like the perfect time to launch plan B, baby.” She grabbed his chin as she turned around to stand in front of him.

“He says it’ll show them we can also ‘bang’ if it��s needed. It’ll be like showing our hand, and in this case, this is the thing to do.”

One of her hands was on Michael’s thigh as the other was still holding his face so he was looking at her. It was a way to say “focus on me” without actually saying it.

As the man was diving into her brown eyes, it seemed she succeeded at keeping him from thinking too much. She gave answers before he could even formulate questions.

By his silence, Gina surmised Michael still wasn’t sure about the plan.

“We did it your way Michael, coming all the way up here to your cousin’s chaotic decisions. Things need to get in order, baby. And it seems like you’re the one that cares enough to do so.” The words left her mouth so lightly as she straightened up and turned her back to her husband.

“We need to go back to America as soon as possible. You promised our child will be born there.” She added, glancing at him above her shoulder.

(...)

Arthur and the boys had convinced Tommy to relax at the Garrison after a long day. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he slammed the doors open to a packed place.

Ahead of them were approximately twenty women, all dolled up as if coming from the Eden club in London. Very short hair with the golden headband with feathers, embroidered pearls on their cotton dresses made it known they were from high society.

Some of them were dancing in the middle of the room, while others were singing on the counter zigzagging between glasses and bottles.

It was the first time Tommy had seen most of those people.

He was actively searching their faces trying to locate the reason for their presence when his eyes confirmed his thought. You were dancing, turning on yourself holding the hand of a taller woman.

You had on a black & red dress going down to your knees with a black and gold headband that flattened your hair, forcing your finger waves to frame your face. Your slow and haunting movements were wrinkling the fabrics, complementing your silhouette.

As you were spinning around, the fringes of your dress were flying in the air as well as your hair, adding to your alluring dance.

Your cheeks, certainly reddened by the alcohol and your half-opened eyes due to you boozing with the huge grin that illuminated your face, made Tommy’s eyes twinkle. As if it was a beautiful night sky full with stars he was looking at.

“Who’s that Tommy?” Arthur questioned entering right after the Shelbys head.

“Get in the room, I’ll bring the bottles.” Tom’s low voice ordered as he motioned to the little room near the counter.

Finn and Isaiah hassled to the room without wasting any more minutes, too appealed by the idea of getting drunk while Arthur leaned to his brother’s ear.

“Look at that butterfly Tommy, isn’t she lovely?” He asked after he caught the reason for Tommy's order.

The latter dismissed the discomfort with a rough cough, turning to his brother.

“What about you fetch the bottles, eh?” He simply put, and that was enough for Arthur to leave it there.

“Whiskey for the peaky boys!” He exclaimed as he patted Tommy’s shoulder. He managed his way behind the counter, after which, he took what he was searching for and disappeared behind the large doors of the little room he closed behind himself.

Tom stayed there, looking at you for some time trying to understand which one of the facades he had seen was the real you.

You were now sitting on your friend's lap, legs crossed, your lips were alternating between a long cigarette holder and a glass of what Tommy surmised to be whiskey knowing the character.

Giving up on searching for an answer, he turned his heels and joined his brothers as if nothing had happened.

(...)

Coming out of the car, you looked both ways before crossing the street and joining the large wooden door, a hand in your suit’s pocket, the other leading a cigarette to your lips.

You pushed in the door and were met by two pairs of eyes. A tall young white man, with a dark-skinned one, wearing berets.

Without second glancing at them, you confidently walked to the stairs at the end of the large room, making this place your own.

Your heels resonated on the cold hard ground, and as they did, each man in the building turned to you, staring in both awe and confusion.

Coming down the stairs, you passed by the three little training rings before you sat down at a little table in front of one of them. It was two men fighting, one who had a luxuriant moustache hiding his upper lips, freckles sprinkling his face.

He was screaming at the other one with a thick Birmingham accent, “Come ‘ere, boy.”

“Hit me! Hit me!” His tone was louder each time.

The poor man ahead of him didn’t dare to punch, which he certainly regretted after he received a strong right fist in the jaw.

Only a couple punches later the loud man succeeded at putting down the other that was wincing in pain.

“Yeaa” The moustache man exclaimed before being interrupted by one of the two boys you saw earlier.

“Arthur! There’s a--” He stopped dead at the sight of you, and you put your cig in between your lips as you got up, beginning to applause.

The sound resonated against the walls as no one was making any noise. You grabbed back the cigarette with your fingers and moved closer.

“Do you fight? I know great opponents,” you paused, feigning to think. “not so sure they will stand even for a round with you.” You clicked your tongue, tilting your head.

They both looked at you up and down for a whole minute before the named Arthur opened his mouth, even if still struggling to properly breathe, he smacked his lips as his hands went flattening his hair.

“Searching for exotism, love?” He grabbed the towel he was handed by a small chubby man with a hat. “Bet you liked what ya see.” Arthur decided to make it normal for a woman to come to sit and watch men fight.

“Indeed.” You let out, a curious gleam in your eyes.

He turned to the man on his side that leaned in his ear, murmuring something.

Arthur let out a deep “Hmm” before he got out of the ring.

He glanced at you and decided to keep up the talk.

“I don’t fight like this, it’s just for---”

“Fun?” You interrupted him, your eyes still fixed on his figure. His stare encountered yours before he put on a shirt. He grabbed the filled cup off the table.

“Curly, Tommy needs you in Charlie’s yard. Finn, you go with them.” He was pointing at the men and to the door up the stairs as if dismissing them.

So the man handed him things was going by “Curly” and the boy, Finn.

“What you doing here? It’s not some place for you.” He buttoned up his pants.

You scoffed at his affirmation, leading him to look up at you.

“I like some good fights, is that forbidden, Mr Shelby?” You came nearer, throwing the rest of your cig in his cup.

You were standing right in front of him, taking the bow tie hanging on the half wall of the ring and slowly led it to his neck. He took a step back, but you stepped forward, blocking him against the ring sides.

“You know Tommy?” Arthur felt the need to say something, the situation being extremely odd to him.

You gently put in place the bow and looked up to Arthur’s face, from his pale skin to his eyes. You stayed there a whole minute, analyzing his soul throughout the blue spring sky of his glassy eyes.

“I’d like to see you fight more. In real rings, Arthur. Why don’t you use the boxing place, it’s not far from here.” You turned your heels, walking back to the chair.

He looked at your figure, his eyes blankly fluttering for a moment. Needless to say, the minute you stared at him was displeasing, he was feeling as if he was robbed of something.

He ignored the warning and grabbed his boots, before he installed himself on the other chair around the little table, wanting to hear more about your offer.

“You fight good, but with some real training you could be something else.” You offered him a cigarette that he refused.

You were testing him from the very moment you put your feet in this cave, from checking how to open his mind was to his relation with poison such as cigarettes.

And now that you know everything you need to know, you could offer something.

“You’re some sort of agent?” He asked, intrigued.

You shook your head “Did you ever imagine women fighting? Just like you did, perhaps slightly better” You questioned, teasing him on the end.

His only response was to look at you in disbelief, and you bet he didn’t even understand what you told him.

“There is a world that exists, right here in Birmingham. Wanna go out and see?” You motioned your head toward the door, inviting him to agree with you.

It wasn’t that hard to convince the elder Shelby brother, he was always open to seeing more of life. Even if that meant to beat the shit outta people, get drunk, fuck the whole city or drowning in drugs.

The thing with Arthur was that he wasn’t careful enough, what told him it wasn’t a trap and that he will not get kidnapped or even killed if he followed you? Nothing. Nothing was ever sure with him, but leaving on the edges was something like his daily prayer, so of course he said yes.

Why in the hell would he say no? Tommy could do without him today.

(...)

Tommy had an unexpected visit from Churchill himself. It seemed like the latter had taken a liking to the head of the Shelbys.

“Do what you have to do, Mr Shelby.” Were Churchill’s words toward the reason for his visit, Mosley.

Indeed, he had thought out a concrete plan. And surprisingly, it was thanks to the books you sent him over the weeks, it was almost worth getting harassed by her over the primar book.

The plan was simple, Mosley will make a speech a week and a half from now, the 6th, in Bingley hall. Taking advantage of an anti-fascist demonstration during the rally, an old war comrade named Barney will shoot, and to be cleared of any suspicion, Thomas will be standing right next to Mosley at the time of his death, making sure he’ll take the head of the fascist union.

Today’s meeting was to explain details of the plan and what needed to be done before the d-day, but Tom didn’t see his brother during the entire day and when he’d asked the boys he was responded that Arthur stayed training some more.

It was hard at times, even for him to understand his older brother.

Not that he wanted to, but normally Arthur would never miss a meeting. The only times he didn’t show up were when he was overwhelmed with dark thoughts, and it wasn’t the right time for something like that to occur.

He decided to come to the pub, hoping to see his brother there, drunk, but not in a random cave trying to end his life.

Tom opened the Garrison’s doors, coughing at the amount of smoke coming in his face. He squinted his eyes, at first searching for a fire, but the more smoke entered his nostrils, the more he recognized the smell of apples and red fruits.

“Arthur, what the hell?” he called.

The place was crowded but Tommy’s eyes were focused on his brother, installed at the table near the windows.

He walked to the table and motioned to the windows. “Open one of these.” He ordered, but his brother didn’t see nor hear him. He was too occupied smoking on what seemed like a pipe with a long tube from where came the smoke.

“Oi!” Tommy yelled.

As everyone around the table turned to him, his eyes met with someone he would’ve never expected to be here.

Y/N was previously actively discussing with some girls when someone shouted into her ear.

You stared at Tommy for what seemed an eternity, he doing the same, both asking themselves what the other was doing here.

“Tommy!” His brother exclaimed, louder than he needed to. But this one was too occupied looking at you to even glance toward his brother, that well noticed the stare between you two.

Arthur managed to get up and pat his brother’s shoulder, welcoming him properly.

That’s when he turned to him, incredulous. His icy blue eyes were piercing his brothers, relentlessly.

“Welcome to the new Birmingham, brother!” Arthur seemed ecstatic. “Did you fucking know there were women fighting too, Tommy?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Arthur.” His brother shook his head, still looking at him.

“Boxing, he saw women boxing for the first time.” You entered the conversation to Tommy's displeasure. He looked over you blankly.

“What the fuck is this?” He pointed to the thing Arthur was smoking from previously.

“It’s called a hookah. Or a shisha in percian.” You responded even though he decided to ignore you for who knows what reason.

“Come on, brother, it’s the good life, isn’t it?” Arthur asked, seeing the face of Tommy next to him.

He ultimately pointed back to the windows, “Open those.” Was all he said before turning back and leaving the pub.

“Sergent Major!” You authoritatively called, the heavy Garrison’s doors making a thud as they closed behind you.

The stars were twinkling dimly in the bright sky, cleared of any cloud. It added phlegm to the frenzied atmosphere between the two individuals.

He was already walking in the opposite direction but immediately stopped at the mention of his Small Heath Rifles’ rank.

Thomas turned back. “What did you say?”

You decide to ignore him and start walking to him.

Each of your steps snapped with the fortitude of an army. And the fineness with which you balance your weight from one foot to the other could bewilder the fiercest individuals, that, he knew.

Not a single ounce of hesitation nor apprehension in your movements.

But the most unsettling thing Tommy found about you was your facial expression. It wasn’t closed off or concentrated, quite the reverse, the spark settling behind your iris could light up any type of darkness and you were undoubtedly giving slices of life to each person you would smile to.

The addition of your features creating a delicate dimension where it was possible to believe the best things could happen.

At that moment, Tom wished he hadn’t seen you at that library. You were something he couldn’t overfly even if he dared to. But for some reasons he wasn’t able to move on, swayings seizing his entire being, physically as well as mentally.

There was just something about this, him and you.

“What the hell did you think, you that act like the most intelligent of all fucking Birmingham and beyond. My fucking brother doesn’t need none of that!” Tommy wasn’t screaming, but you could hear in his deep tone the anger rooted in his throat.

“He doesn’t need it or you don’t want him to have it, Thomas?” You calmly stated, which made him turn his back at you, passing a hand over his face.

You were pushing him to the edge and that made you laugh, which you didn’t even try to muffle.

He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“You wanted this.” He pointed you with his index.

He was accusing you of wittingly driving him crazy and you couldn’t even deny it.

You grabbed his finger with your own hand and pushed it down without releasing it.

“No, I counted on it.” You started, your lips curling into a smile that didn’t escape Tommy’s gaze.

“Life’s a succession of wars, Tom. But soldiers too need to relax.”

No one had ever put a finger on that nerve, but here he was, gazing longingly into your orbs, your words resonating within him.

You wasn’t only talking about Arthur and the fact he needed to be distracted to stay away from dark thoughts. You were also talking about him, that didn’t have to take care of everything as you were there now to handle some of it.

“I promise you I know what I’m doing.”

He leaned backwards, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

Why were you promising things now? The last time you two were that close, it was you that ran away, and now you were the one initiating things to drift from professional to personal.

You sighed and looked down. That’s when you realized both your hands were locked together.

You frowned, remaining silent. You were shocked, but not as much as you should. You weren’t totally stupid, the feelings settling in you were pretty clear once you stopped pushing them aside.

Soon enough he followed your stare, noticing the thing as well.

Both of you released at the same time, looking at everything but the other.

Tommy coughed, fighting the will to be the one saying something in this situation. But he didn’t want you to escape him again this time.

“I’m dealing with Arthur, you don’t have to put your nose in my affairs. It’s not part of the deal.”

You’d preferred he hadn’t spoken. You rolled your eyes at yourself before throwing him the “really?” look.

“You can’t even deal with Michael and you’re telling me you’re dealing with Arthur.” You scoffed, putting a hand on your lips to muffle the sound of your laugh.

His body relaxes at your gigglings.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re foolin’?” You couldn’t hold the laugh back any more.

He didn’t respond, nor act on what you just said. He just stares at you, filled with joy at the simple sight of you being vulnerable.

A smile drew at the corner of your lips when you stopped mocking him.

Your eyes fluttered of wellness, as he was just standing close, doing nothing else than breathing.

Tommy grabbed a cig and put it in between his lips, but you hassled to steal it and lock it between yours.

He glanced at you, raising his brows. He was done with you that was for sure. But not in a bad way. You were playing a game and you won the match.

He came lightening up your cig as watching you take a deep and slow puff on it.

You started to walk, going deeper into the street and he started to do the same.

(...)

Michael and Gina were coming back from the restaurant. It was the first time the husband took his wife out to eat in Birmingham as she, obviously, wasn’t a fan of the city.

They didn’t see the time’s flying and it was already ten when they reached the wide glass doors of the hotel.

As they entered it, they noticed it was almost pinched black inside, the only source of brightness emanating from little orangish lights hanging on the walls behind the counter.

Michael glanced left to right at the place, no one to be seen, or so he thought. It was only when Gina stepped foot in, that he glimpsed figures coming out of the dark spots.

They were moving fast, getting nearer the American woman before his husband could do anything to protect her.

“Gina!” Was all he said before she disappeared outside the front doors of the hotel along with the individuals.

(...)

Tommy stops the engine looking straight ahead.

You were looking outside the window, to your large mansion. You managed to glance at the man before opening the door. You were gauging his reaction, almost testing the water all while maintaining the silence.

As the tension couldn’t get higher, you stepped out. You began to move away from the car when you heard its door open, followed by the clearing of a throat you knew too well.

Tommy’s steps on the gravel came nearer and nearer. When you turned the keys in the lock they were right behind. You opened the heavy wooden entry and got in, letting the door open.

The man entered behind your and turned his back at you, closing the door. When he turned back at the entrance, Y/N had disappeared.

He stepped deeper in the house, and joined the living room, where he glimpsed at your figure, your air resting at your back, your fingers over a note on the table.

Tom got closer to you, grabbing your elbow with the tip of his fingers, looking at the paper you seemed focused on.

Done.

You quickly glanced around, as if making sure you were alone. You then turned to him, raising your palm to his cheek, a gentle touch that he didn’t expect, making his lids slowly fluttering.

You took a step forward, leaned towards him and fondled his nose with the end of your own before leading your fingers to his lips.

You closed your eyes, rooting yourself at this moment and forgetting about the library, high society, Mosley, Michael and everything that stood between you.

He was the one to initiate the kiss, the call for you being louder than any other things at the moment. One of his hands slid to the hollow of your back as the other was grabbed by hers.

Fingers intertwined together, breath mixed, lips pressed against one another, heartbeats speeding and a thousand seconds later, you pulled away, slowly raising your gaze to Tommy’s.

The weight this kiss meant dropped on Tom’s shoulder as he, without hesitation, came to taste again the sweet flavour of your lips. You gasped at the connection, the eagerness of the feeling inside your stomach being fed.

You were breathing loudly in his mouth, your hands now grabbing Tommy’s clothes shamelessly.

They both knew there was no turning back and that things got more complicated than they needed to be, but none of them pulled away nor hesitated for even a slight second.

Following Chapter ❱

#peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader

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spvce-cowboy · 4 years ago

Text

reunion

ch. 3 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 2: “gentle things”

next-ch. 4: “songbird”

rating: mature

8k words

warnings: alcohol, drug use mentioned, jealous/protective mando, animal cruelty, descriptions of gore

summary: the luxurious rot of Canto Bight is enough to put anyone on edge. Mando is forced to ask for your help in finding a high profile quarry.

Mando leaves the fighting ring before the caterwauling nexu is able to deal the killing blow.

He can still hear the sound of the gore spraying against the floor as he climbs the stairs towards the exit, the roaring jeer of the crowd obliterating the speakers inside his helmet. The inevitable outcome of the fight was clear from its onset given the state of the nexu’s opponent, some kind of sand-bear, who was already injured upon entering the cage-like structure.

This wasn’t the Outer-Rim fighting rings he was used to. This place has carpets and a fucking chandelier suspended right above the blood clotted, dirt floor of the pit. It has pipe smoke and dark liquor, the low rumble of voices that only rise in tandem with the progression of the fight. There’s a strange reserve among this crowd that Mando has never seen before, not in this context at least.

The patrons still had that starved look in their eyes though—bloodlust, pure and simple. Somehow, all the tuxedos and hair gel makes it far more sinister than it normally would be.

Karga sent him here to gather information about the quarry, but after an entire day spent searching along with the past hour he’d spent floating around the fight hall where the informant was rumored to be, he knew to give it up before he wasted any more time.

Mando exits the underground arena, stepping into the late afternoon heat just as it begins its gradual descent towards an oncoming chill. Upon arriving at Canto Bight, he had learned very quickly to avoid the main streets. There were too many eyes and whispers for a bounty as high profile as this one for him to be spotted on his own like this, obviously searching for something.

There’s something about this city that makes him absolutely revolted. It’s not the strongest testament to his resolve or his character, but, at the same time, it’s not something he can necessarily help.

Mando still has absolutely no clue what Karga was thinking, but here he is, regardless if it made any sense or not.

He returns to the Crest, deflated after a second unsuccessful day of trying to gather information about the quarry’s whereabouts. He is desperate for a lead, two of three informants proving to be completely useless and his patience growing thinner every second he has to stay on this forsaken planet.

Closing the ramp behind him, Mando heads straight for the cockpit, needing a moment to regather his thoughts. To brainstorm a better plan of action before it becomes too late to rendezvous with Karga’s third, and last, possible informant.

The problem was that there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to get into the racetracks on his own. Getting into the fighting pit—which was considered “seedy” by Canto standards--was already a total hassle, costing him far too many credits and straining what limited negotiation skills he had.

The second problem was that he’d rather take a blaster to the leg than involve you in one of his missions. But now that was kind of his only option.

Mando rubs a hand over the forehead of his helm as he paces. When that doesn’t work, he settles himself in his pilot’s seat, hunching over slightly against the weight of the beskar against his bones. Maker, he is fucking tired.

Swiveling his head to the side, he notices a pile of something on the console that he can’t exactly make out until he leans over it.

Resting on the command board is a leather string, a few palm-sized pieces of stained glass already fashioned to hang from it by smaller loops of the same material in varied lengths. It looks like you were in the middle of working on it when something else distracted you, several more discs of glass piled onto one another to the right of the unfinished project, and a few loose scraps of leather in a pile on the copilot’s chair.

Mando allows himself to admire it for a moment, rubbing his gloved thumb over the glass’s surface. By the time he glances up through the windows of the cockpit, looking at all the people milling about outside, his breathing has somewhat evened. It’s easier to think straight, at least.

He stands and climbs back into the hull, rounding the corner to peer into the space you’ve made for yourself.

It takes him a moment to see you over the pile of blankets you’ve kicked off your mattress. You’re asleep. Under the table. The kid taking a nap with you. Of course that’s where he expected you to be if you weren’t in the cockpit but—but.

You’re on your belly, head buried in your folded arms. You have one, bare leg hitched up over pillow. The length of your calf spills over onto the floor, socked foot delicately pointed. That’s not really what stops him in his tracks. Well, it is in part.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts.

It must have just been a mistake, he knows that. He’s seen you in one of your own that’s the same general color and cut, but he knows this one is his because of the hole in the elbow where it had caught on an exposed screw and torn a few days previous. He’d been too busy to mend it.

Mando tries to wake you before his thoughts could go anywhere else. He says your name quietly, then a little louder. It wakes the kid, who yawns and blinks up at Mando, making happy sounds up at him from where he’s snuggled into your side.

When that doesn’t work, Mando nudges your calf with the tip of his boot. You startle awake, a protective hand shooting out to automatically bring the child against your chest, blinking rapidly up at him.

“Oh,” you wince slightly at the light coming into the cabin but otherwise doesn’t visibly react when you realize it’s him. Your arm loosens from where it had wrapped around the kid. “You’re back. I thought you’d be gone a while longer.”

“I need your help with something,” Mando crosses his arms in front of his chest. It gives him something to do with his hands and how awkward they feel just hanging at his sides as you prop yourself up into a sitting position to listen to him, the loose material of his shirt pulling up to reveal little glimpses of your lower back and belly as you do. “I have to have a companion with me, to go into the racetrack. They won’t let me in if they think I’m looking for a quarry.”

You nod, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm, voice croaking and still hazy with sleep. “Yeah, yeah sure. I wanted to check it out anyway. Just lemme get changed and we can head out.”

You pick the kid up and place him back on the floor of the hull. He toddles over to Mando, nearly falling—your hands automatically reach out to hover over his sides--but he manages to catch himself on Mando’s pantleg, tugging the fabric in a determined up, now.

Your brow furrows. “What’re we gonna—”

“There’s a nursery. Karga cleared it,” Mando reaches down and scoops up the kid.

“Gotcha,” your voice already sounds clearer. You reach out a hand for Mando to pull you up, he obliges. The blankets fall from where they’ve pooled around your lap as you do.

You pad down the length of the hull towards the fresher, your hips sway with the movement as you lift an arm to continue rubbing the sleep from your face. The shorts you’re wearing are a few sizes too big, you have them rolled twice at the waistband to keep them up. Mando looks away sharply once he notices.

“Alright womp rat, how does some dinner sound?” Mando smiles to himself when the kid gives an impatient squeak. “Yeah, yeah okay alright. I’m the worst caregiver in the galaxy, I know.” The child keeps giggling as Mando makes his way into the cockpit.

Mando is running through some of the Crest’s vitals on the command board when he hears you climbing up the ladder.

“Do you think this would be okay, for the racetrack?” There’s a certain timid quality to your voice he doesn’t think he’s heard before. You have also literally never asked him for approval on something, so he’s already a bit surprised before he turns to look at you.

The clothes you chose were simple, a fitted long sleeve and a pair of loose-fitting pants long enough to at least partially conceal your work boots. It shouldn’t have felt like much of a departure from your usual roster of outfits because it really wasn’t, but for some reason there’s something different about it that he can’t put his finger on.

You have your hair piled on top of your head in a bun. With it pulled back like that, all attention is drawn to the canvas of your neck, your delicate throat that gently eases into the soft planes of your face. There’s a nonchalant beauty to you that sucks all previous thoughts straight from his head.

“You might want to bring something warmer, a jacket or something.” He turns back to the command board, desperate to look busy and hide how long he looked for. “Temperatures drop on Cantonica as soon as the sun starts setting.”

“Oops—yep. Desert planet. I forgot,” you sigh. He hears the sound of your boots scaling the ladder back down.

He purposefully doesn’t look up when you enter the cockpit again, when you announce you’re ready he nods curtly, making brief but direct eye contact with you before setting a quick pace out of the Crest and into the streets of Canto Bight.

The nursery is tucked away, out of reach and notice, protection guaranteed. He leads you through a series back-street passages to get there, too nervous about the attention the three of you would get with the kid and the main roads. You carry him against your hip most of the way, occasionally adjusting the little hood you’ve fashioned to cover his most distinguishable features with every person you pass.

The door is nondescript, positioned in the alleyway behind a semi-busy restaurant. Mando can sense your apprehension the second he steps up to press the buzzer. Within seconds, there’s the sound of a series of bolts unlocking.

A warm faced woman opened the door, wearing the clean white uniform of a nurse. “When Karga called in I hardly believed it,” her voice is light, but there’s a grating, nervous squeak to it that makes Mando scowl. Maybe it was just the day he was having, but just about anything was able to set him off.

Mando and the nurse exchange a few blunt words about pricing and care. He winces, slightly, at the cost, but it’s not anything either of you could notice. Right as Mando is about to turn to take the kid from your arms, you speak up.

“Is this… safe?” You ask again, holding the kid a little tighter to your chest. He realizes that it’s the first time since you’ve joined them that you’re separating from the kid, Mando thinks his anxiety is partially feeding off of yours.

“Karga gave me his word. It’ll only be for a few hours.” Mando glances at the nurse, who was giving the two of you her very best customer service smile. “C’mon pal,” Mando nods towards the nurse. The child’s big eyes stare apprehensively up at you, then at Mando. One of his small hands unfixes itself from your shirt to reach out towards the bounty hunter. The nurse clucks her tongue, her hands on her hips.

“Someone seems like he’s already gonna miss his daddy.”

His stomach drops without warning. “I’m not his father.” The correction is biting in a way he doesn’t intend it to be. He’s vividly aware of your sharp inhale at his words. The nurse looks startled for a half second before blinking her eyes and retaining composure.

“Yes, yes of course,” she stretches out a hand as an offering of assurance towards the child, who has resumed clinging to the fabric of your shirt. “Hey little guy, c’mon. I’ve got a lot of friends for you to play with, and some snacks. You like the sound of that?”

Mando catches your smile at the child’s ears flicking with interest, despite the fact that his hands are still firmly attached to you. Mando mutters something under his breath before taking the child from you, handing him off to the nurse and trying to push down the terrible feeling it gives him hearing the kid give a small whimper as the two of you walk away.

The racetrack is down a major boulevard, towering sandstone buildings line either side, their circular doors illuminated by bands of glowing yellow neon. The streets are a different kind of polished stone that makes Mando’s skin absolutely crawl for not discernible reason.

He thinks you’ve caught on to his worsening mood because you try to keep the conversation warm and light in a way he’s never seen you do before. Your eyes are fixed to a constant arcing movement, taking in as much of it as you can, but your mouth keeps moving about anything but Canto Bight. You avoidance just draws more focus towards the situation at hand, but he appreciates the effort.

When the two of you reach the racetrack, you stop talking completely as you scale the stands. You and Mando settle on two chairs pulled up to a tiny table, overlooking the standing room crowd below. Mando faces the crowds more than the track itself, however you angle your chair so that you can look at the racing fathiers with ease. Eventually you turn away, grimacing.

“What is it?” He asks, out of curiosity as well as a desire to fill the silence.

“They’re so beautiful,” you cast one more glance over the track as the group rumbles past to the sharp roar of the crowd. “But they look so sad.” You keep looking at the beasts for a beat longer before fixing your gaze to your hands clasped in your lap.

Mando finds his words slowly. “This planet… this amount of abundance. There is always a cost. They always make someone else pay.”

You wince, shifting your body so you’re only facing Mando and the expanse of the crowd that’s over his shoulder. You don’t look at the track for a while after that, purposefully keeping your body turned to keep your gaze away.

Mando finds fleeting solace in the fact that he was at least able to keep you away from the fighting ring, which is quickly replaced by guilt in exposing you to a similar cruelty in a less bloody form. He does his best to remind himself that you mentioned wanting to see the races previously, that the indecipherable emotion on your face was not entirely his fault.

The wait spans an hour. The tension in Mando’s shoulders grows with each passing minute.

“He isn’t coming,” Mando eventually grits out. “It’s… Maker I—”

Jobs have started off way worse than this, he’s not sure why he’s allowing all of it to get under his skin. It’s this damn city, something about it makes him feel like there is a knifepoint digging between his ribs.

You tap his hand lightly. Twice, with your index and middle fingers. It happens so quickly he’s almost able to believe he’s imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that you were still adjusting your hands in your lap after your hand had retreated. As if you didn’t know what possessed you to do that, either.

“Hey. It’s fine. It’ll work itself out, yeah?” You maneuver your head to stare directly into his visor. For some reason that alone is infinitely more intimate than your brief touch. “We can just stay here for a bit longer in case the informant shows up, then pick up the kid, grab something to eat and hunker down in the Crest. Tomorrow’s a new day, or whatever.”

Mando looks you over, then nods.

The sun is setting on the horizon, the tracks illuminated by the last vestiges of its light. This is the beginning of most everyone’s day, yet the drinks are already flowing, and have been for quite some time.

There are far too many extravagant outfits, ridiculous little hats barely teetering on large skulls. The roar of the crowd grows with their drunkenness, the races becoming crueler the more the stands fill. Mando will never understand the value in any of this and he’s genuinely not sure what’s worse—the icy coolness of the fighting rink or whatever all this is.

“Who’s the quarry?” You blink up at him. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Tyreus Cavill. Some filthy rich kid who doesn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut. He’s taunting the Gild to the point of insult,” Mando rubs his hand over the brow of his helm. “It’s been confirmed that he’s supposed to be at some kind of party tonight. That was just about the only information I could get.”

“Was that why Karga mentioned deep cover?”

Mando nods. “He said it would be my most viable option, which doesn’t make any kind of sense. Especially with no pre-existing contacts that could get me any intel on where he’s hiding.”

You speak up after a while. Mando isn’t sure how long, too comfortable in the silence as is.

“You know my mother worked for the Alderaanian court?” You say it softly, quickly looking at the racetrack to avoid drawing attention to your words. You’re kneading the hem of your sweater, a nervous tick of yours he couldn’t help but notice. “I still remember all the things she had to teach me when we went to dinners at the homes of the survivors, the etiquette and everything. I’m positive it’s much of the same, here. All this,” you twirl your index finger in the air, gesturing to the whole of the track and presumably what lay beyond. “Seems very familiar. I could help, if you need it.”

“Your mother?”

“She was the court singer--or, well, one of them,” your voice is tense. “My father was a professor. I don’t remember a lot, just that they loved me very much.” Your eyes are searching the crowd in some desperate search for something, he’s not sure what. Probably for any kind of distraction, or any reason to keep your eyes away from his. He waits in silence, patiently. “They moved to a different planet to have me, a few years before the annihilation, there were a few other survivors who were off planet when it happened. I remember my parents hosting them, and they us, on a few occasions. It was always a multi-day affair of trying to remind me what proper manners were.” You wrinkle your nose. “It’s all very stupid, if you ask me. But,” you turn your head finally and look at him evenly. “I can—”

Mando watches as your gaze floats to a space just above his left shoulder. Your entire body visibly tenses, lips parted in what he can only think is total shock. Your hands drop the edge of your shirt and hover in your lap, as if you don’t know what to do with them.

Before Mando can ask what is wrong, you’re getting up from the table and pushing through the crowd. It takes him a beat to register what has just happened before he is up and following after you, making considerably better time in catching up given the fact that the crowd seems to naturally part for him. He almost reaches out to touch you, but instead settles for aiding your pursuit by keeping pace and staying at your side, clearing a path for you with his body and an outstretched arm to motion people to the side.

“What is it?” He tries to keep his voice low enough to not be overheard, his head in a constant survey of the crowds before you. You shake your head and keep pushing forward, higher into the stands, swerving around servers with platters stacked high with strange looking drinks. “Hey—if we go any further we’d need clearance—" the higher in the stands, the richer the patrons get. They wouldn’t let either of you in without identification after the eighth flight, which you’d just swiftly pushed past. Mando checks over his shoulder and, sure enough, a server is murmuring something to a guard droid, pointing up at you.

You’re so far up by that time that you have at least a minute until the droid catches up with the two of you. You climb onto one of the raised platforms dotted with various aristocratic parties, dining over bright white table cloths, centerpieces of bizarre orange flowers bursting through the tables. You make a beeline for the centermost table, where a Twi’lek woman is dining with an Abednedo and a human male.

You approach the Twi’lek in three swift strides, grabbing her shoulder. “Febhana.”

When the woman turns, standing, there’s a kind of wide-eyed shock of absolute wonder that immediately turns into pure joy. The two of you leap into one another’s arms in a cacophony of ecstatic, indistinguishable sounds. One of some long awaited reunion.

The Twi’lek woman, Febhana, holds your face in her hands, yours slide over hers. There are tears in her eyes as the two of your chatter over one another in breathless delight.

“I thought you—”

“I had no idea that—”

“I’ve tried to find—”

You both cut each other off, staring into one another’s eyes before laughing again and embracing tightly.

From over your shoulder, Febhana gives Mando one of the quickest, scathing once-overs he’s ever received. He can’t help but automatically have a little bit of respect for it, especially compared to the terrified, diverted eyes of her companions.

“Who is this?” She asks, pulling away from your embrace slightly. You open your mouth to respond but she’s already babbling over your warmly. “Oh! No. Don’t tell me. Not yet. Let’s do this over drinks at mine—please. Please indulge me. Maker, look at you.”

You let loose a laugh Mando doesn’t think he’s heard before. A certain tonal quality of complete release, familiarity. You nod as Febhana clasps your face between her hands again, in marvel. Mando doesn’t blame her, with that look of utter joy on your face he’d—

Well.

“Do excuse us,” Febhana swiftly addresses her dinner mates, they nod and mutter forgiveness, eyes still fixed to the ground. Mando knows for a fact that at least one of them has a fob on them by the tight anxiety exchanged in their brief glances towards one another. He ignores it for the sake of maintaining the moment between you and your friend.

Mando trails behind the two of you by a few paces. As Febhana guides you through the crowds, she waves off the guard droid with an elegantly manicured hand.

Febhana’s apartment could be considered a house twice over by Mando’s book. She leads you and him through so many tall-ceilinged hallways and rooms to get to the… lounge, he guesses would be a proper term for it… that he genuinely can’t remember where the entrance is.

The room contains a bar stocked better than any cantina on Nevarro, a few odd pieces of furniture, and a large fireplace. Heavy, dark blue curtains hang from windows so tall he has to crane his head upwards to see the top. He guesses the luxury is communicated through the refusal to occupy the space with much else, despite the fact that it could be considered a small banquet hall.

Febhana makes you and her drinks while you settle on one of the sloping, white couches, scanning the room in the same way Mando has been, with a little more plain wonder in your eyes.

Mando hovers on the periphery, unsure of where to place himself until you motion him over to sit on one of the opposing chairs, equally abstract as the rest of the furniture. Febhana settles across from you on the couch, handing you your drink before leaning back and kicking off her heels.

The two of you are in a constant chatter that has so many names and dates and overlapping speech that Mando has a difficult time keeping up. What he does catch is limited and mostly inferred: the two of you escaped from the same warlord at different times, Febhana was able to scale the social ranks of Canto Bight with ease and an inherited wallet--most importantly, the two of your missed each other very much.

It’s been at least an hour since the three of you sat down when Febhana directly addresses Mando for the first time.

“And what are you doing here, Mandalorian?”

Mando feels your eyes on him, burning, as you take a sip of your cocktail.

“She saved my life,” he manages as a straightforward reply. “I’ve hired her as a medic.”

“Febhana,” you say. When you’re slightly tipsy like this, you have a breathless wonder in the way you go about describing things. “It’s… it’s been so good. I’ve been practicing all these languages and… Maker, all the places I’ve been. It’s just like you described, when we would tell each other stories to go to sleep. Everything’s so big and there are so many people.”

Febhana throws back her head in a laugh, nodding. “Well I know that, darling. Oh, stars, it’s so good to look at you again.”

You and Febhana go back and forth a while longer still, Mando happily settles into the rhythm of it. There’s the warm, familiar way women get so engrossed in one another that he finds completely novel, if not enviable. It softens something in him to see you so relaxed as you prompt Febhana to detail her exploits, the excited yip you make when she flashes you the wedding band strung on a series of thin gold chains looped around her neck.

Then again, the way the two of you seem so physically intimate occasionally makes something in his chest constrict uncomfortably. He isn’t sure where it comes from, all the little touches you give each other seem to come from a place of purely platonic joy in reunion. But there’s a little jolt in his stomach whenever he sees it happen. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it as jealousy, but… she gets to feel you. So unabashedly.

At some point there’s a lull in the conversation. You take this moment to stretch your arm across the couch, clasping Febhana’s hands in your own. “We’re actually here for a specific reason,” you say. “And I’m only asking you out of genuine, pure desperation—Mando… has a job, here. That’s gotten a little tricky. The bounty is on the head of Tyreus Cavill.” Febhana’s eyes widen considerably, but other than that she maintains composure. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He needs to find him, Febhana—there’s intel that he’s supposed to be at some kind of event. Possibly tonight.” You glance up at Mando to check if you’re getting the details right, he gives you brief nod of assurance when you do. “Do you know anything about it?”

Febhana scoffs, shaking her head and withdrawing her hand from yours to grab her drink resting on the low glass table in front of you. “If you’re referring to what I think you are, it would be the Gathering of Rams, one of the most exclusive events hosted on Canto. I’d imagine that’s why he’d dare show his face, even with the price on his head. Unless you already have an in, you’re fucked, Mandalorian. That place is more fortified than a warship.”

You visibly deflate. “What do you mean?”

“It’s an old, and I mean old, money tradition. A dinner for just about every despicable person in the galaxy. I’ve only heard rumors about what goes on, definitely some serious cult-y type shit, oaths, rituals, the like.” She chews on a nail as she thinks. Something in her eyes lights up. “Wait. I think I… yes! Yes, I got the announcement a few weeks ago. Stars I think—” she looks down at the device on the inside of her wrist, tapping on it until—“Christ you two are the luckiest couple of bounty hunters in the galaxy, you know that? The Tagges are hosting the afterparty, tonight. The most eligible of all of Canto Bight will be there, and then some. I was invited a few weeks ago, I’d completely forgotten. With any luck he’ll be dumb and drunk enough after the Gathering to go.”

“The Tagges?” Your voice is filled with apprehension. You glance to Mando, then quickly back to your friend. “Febhana, there’s no way he can get in.”

“Hm, I’d think so too but there could be a chance…” Her eyes narrow, her face breaking into a toothy grin. “No, I’m a complete idiot. Maker, this is gonna be perfect--most of the ladies in waiting here dress their guard droids as glorified curtains. It’s a new thing if you get what I’m saying. If we go in together and disguise the Mandalorian as even more of a hunk of metal than he already is—” Mando grunts at the slight jab—“all one of us would have to do is get the target by himself with a little eye-batting and it would be a done deal.”

You and Mando speak in unison.

“I am not going to be a honeypot.”

“She will not.”

Febhana raises a brow, one side of her mouth pulling up in poorly concealed amusement.

“Oh I suggested no such thing, I’d happily volunteer. But I do need a wing-woman, for appearance’s sake. I am taken, you know,” she flashes the wedding band again, pulling the collar of her dress down a fraction to do so. “Would be unbecoming to go on the prowl in public like that without pretending like I was just assisting.”

Mando glances over at you, trying to gauge your reaction to her proposal before he came off as to overbearing. He didn’t have the right to, he knows that. But there’s some raw part of him that winces at the very thought of you and your safety getting involved in one of his jobs. Maker if you got hurt in any way—

Febhana’s voice breaks his thought before it can be fully formed. “Oh, this is going to be excellent.” She practically purrs, jumping off the couch and extending her hand towards you to help you up. You comply, giving Mando a raised-brow glance of well, let’s see where this goes.

As Febhana begins leading you across the room, Mando stands.

“Should I contact the nursery to let them know to keep the child overnight?”

“The child?” Febhana’s eyes flick between you and Mando quickly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You curse under your breath, pressing your hand against your forehead. “A kid we’re looking after,” you clarify for Febhana. “I’m so sorry Mando, I got excited so it completely slipped my mind. I…” you bite your lip. “If you feel like it would be safe doing that I… guess that should be fine.”

“My wife could also look after it,” Febhana regards Mando evenly for a moment. “If you’re worried about safety. Would that be sufficient?”

Your eyes brighten slightly, glancing at Mando, tilting your head in question.

Mando nods, addressing Febhana directly. “If she trusts you, I do. I can travel back and get him while the two of you get ready.”

“I’ll send a car for you,” Febhana throws the remark over her shoulder, already busying herself by flinging the double doors that lead into the hallway back open.

You inhale sharply as if remembering something, tapping your friend on the shoulder before she begins to walk down the hall. “Wait, Febhana—the car, is there maybe a taxi service you could call? With an actual driver? He… we don’t really ‘do’ droids, if possible.”

“I have an ‘actual’ driver, darling,” Febhana playfully chides. Her eyes flick towards Mando. “I’ll ring him, he’ll be downstairs in a moment. You remember where the entrance is, right?”

Your delicate rephrasing, that “we,” rings in Mando’s ears for the entire trip back to the nursery.

Mando quickly returns with the child, slightly weirded out by the enclosed landspeeder Febhana sent for him. It’s unlike anything he’d seen before, more like a carriage than any hover-craft he’d ever set foot in. There’s a dividing curtain between the passenger cabin and the driver’s seat, which he has pushed away to make sure the silent man at the wheel doesn’t try anything.

The driver has a stony demeanor that seems very similar to Febhana’s—she clearly wasn’t one to suffer fools, and the people she surrounded herself with seemed to reflect that. Thinking back to the way you initially interacted with Mando, he could potentially see how your shared history with Febhana could have informed that. The characteristic briskness, the unflinching resolve.

The child spends most of the returning trip chattering in relief, little hands reaching out to touch Mando’s beskar in a continuous greeting.

“Right here, kid. Always right here,” he affectionately rubs the corner of the child’s ear. There’s a heavy guilt that had settled itself in the bottom of Mando’s stomach since dropping him off.

He wants to apologize in some way, to blame it on his mood or the mounting anxiety surrounding the job, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete jackass. So he settles for bowing his helm to bump foreheads with the kid in a small display of reassurance. It seems to settle something in both him and the child almost immediately.

Mando glances up sharply, nearly forgetting the parted dividing curtain. The man, a wiry looking human male, glances back at the two of them through the thin pane of the rearview mirror, then returns to chain smoking while wildly maneuvering his way through traffic.

The hover-car’s abrupt stop breaks him from his thoughts. He glances out the window, recognizing Febhana’s apartment building. The entire block is in a similar style as the boulevard you both had walked down earlier, circular doors outlined by bands of glowing yellow light. The only difference were the towering, wrought iron gates in front of each building and a set of tall stairs made of the same sandstone leading up to each house. The driver gets out and opens the landspeeder’s door for Mando and the kid, then steps forward and unlocks the gate, holding it open for the two of them.

“Sir.” The driver’s voice is more of a growl. If it weren’t for the enhanced settings of Mando’s visor, it would be too dark to see the mass of scar tissue that formed a jagged line across the man’s throat. The old wound is only partially concealed by the lapel of his coat pulled up against the drizzling rain. He’s abnormally tall, so thin that it looks as if his skull is actively attempting to escape his face. “Febhana’s apartment is the third buzzer. The service droid will let you in. She told me you should follow it.” The cigarette balancing against his lip bobs as he speaks, his heavy drawl disrupted only in part by his eviscerated voice box.

Mando’s lip curls slightly but he nods, thanking the driver, ducking out of the hover-car and climbing the steps leading to the apartment’s door.

Just as the driver said, the front door of Febhana’s apartment is opened by a droid. Mando stiffens despite the fact that the thing just barely reaches his knee. It gives off a series of little sounds before turning away and maneuvering down the front hall. Muttering something unsavory about Canto Bight under his breath, Mando follows it inside.

When he arrives at the threshold of Febhana’s dressing room, she’s only just started pulling out dresses for you to try on. He deflates slightly, really hoping that the two of you would have gotten this part over with so he could begin scoping out the Tagge mansion as soon as possible.

Mando accepts his fate and seats himself for the time being, placing the kid on the ground to let him toddle over to you. You lean down immediately and scoop him up, lifting him in the air with a happy: “Hey, stinky!” The child giggles as you snuggle him to your chest, pressing kisses all over his face in reunion.

You keep gently playing with the kid as you and Febhana resume your conversation: wiggling your fingers over his face for him to grab, tickling his tummy, gently pinching his socked feet. It’s something you sink into so naturally Mando can’t help but be mesmerized by it. It calms something in him, to see both of you like that. He pushes the implications of that feeling away for the time being, as he always does.

Febhana gives the kid a bit of a once-over but looks overall disinterested, turning her attention back to rummage through her closet. “So it’s supposed to be a formal dance, but if it’s anything like the similar things I’ve gone to, that shit quickly disintegrates. But it’s still weirdly important for them to keep up the illusion of appearances, even though most rooms with closeable doors are occupied by people railing lines or fucking. Or both. Usually both.” The Twi’lek woman plucks out some kind of red, silken shift, holding it in the air then shaking her head and returning to her hunt. “I’ve been to enough Tagge parties to be a familiar face, we can play you off as an old friend of mine, some kind of lady-in-waiting thing or whatever. Crowds like these don’t tend to prod too deeply into personal histories, and with tits like yours I don’t think they’ll be interested in asking too many questions.”

Mando clenches his jaw so hard something starts hurting. You give a bit of an embarrassed laugh, quickly diverting the conversation. “So how do we get introduced to Cavill?”

“Honestly? The easiest thing to do would be getting you to snuggled up with one of his friends. He runs around with a group of bachelors who are not… pleasant company by any standards. Snotty rich kids,” she makes a face. “But if that’s not an option I could try to push some of my contacts there to get us into their circle. Seriously, darling, with men like this involved it is probably going to be one of the easiest bounties he’s ever going to collect.”

The strain being placed on every cell in Mando’s body in response to this conversation alone says the exact opposite.

Febhana continues pulling out dresses, layering some over a bench and discarding others all together.

“Febhana, will they know?” You ask it suddenly, your tone—not tense, necessarily, but definitely controlled, as if you were expecting an answer you didn’t want to hear but were willing to take regardless.

“It’s the Tagge family, so of course they know what happened to that fucker, but I don’t think they would care,” she waves off your fearful tone with a shake of her head. “Just as long as we make a bit of an effort to conceal your identity, for formality’s sake, it’ll be fine.”

“What happened to who?” Mando asks. Once he does, all the air is immediately sucked out of the room.

After an extended moment. “You didn’t tell him?” Febhana’s head cocks, you visibly swallow.

“I um…” your nostrils flare with the sharp inhale you take as you search for the right words. “When I escaped…”

Febhana interrupts. “She stabbed the shit out of the warlord who owned us. All his wife found was pulp. Didn’t take it well, the cunt. Nearly catatonic. The rest of us were able to practically waltz out of there because of this one. Owe this gorgeous bitch my life. All of us do.”

You smile at Febhana, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She winks at you, covering it with her own before turning to go rifle back through her closet. You keep your gaze to your hands when she does, lips pressed together. Mando doesn’t remove his eyes from you as Febhana continues.

“So it might be a little difficult getting her in there, but to be honest the Tagges hated him anyway. Rival business type stuff, though, not the whole holding women captive or worker’s rights violations and debt bondage thing,” her voice drips with a kind of contempt that Mando prays he’ll never have directed his way. He notices your hands tighten slightly from where they lay in your lap, your arms loosely looped around the kid who now sits upright in your lap. “I know someone who can forge some papers well enough to present to the guards, he owes me some favors anyway,” Febhana continues. “They’ll be ready by the time we have to leave. Doll you up enough and I’m sure it’ll be fine—ah!” It is only then that Mando looks back over to the Twi’lek woman. Her eyes are lit up, fanged mouth pulled upwards in a triumphant smile. The dress in her hand is a deep plum color, fabric so thin he cannot make out what it actually looks like without a form to fill it. You reach out to it, rubbing the dress between your thumb and index finger.

“Perfect.” You and Febhana say it in unison, your widest smile of the night parted up at her. There’s a delighted, mischievous tilt to your mouth he’s never seen before.

Mando swallows, despite the sudden tightness in his throat.

He waits outside while the two of you change, sitting on a strange tufted seat pushed against the hallway’s bay window. It’s piled with an obnoxious amount of silken pillows—it seems the longer you’ve been with him, the more surfaces his beskar encounters that it never would have otherwise. A part of him is able to find the humor of that, despite the discomfort of feeling wildly out of place in your friend’s luxurious home. He settles with his legs slightly spread, back hunched to brace his elbows against the tops of his beskar-clad thighs.

After about thirty minutes, a woman comes down the hall, absentmindedly cleaning a pair of large-framed glasses with the corner of her sweater, a thick, leather-bound book tucked under one arm. She looks as out of place in this hallway as he does—more like a Galactic librarian than a resident of an apartment like this. She puts her glasses back on and stops in her tracks once she sees him.

“Who are you?”

Mando clears his throat. “A friend of Febhana’s.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am--well. A friend of a friend.”

Her eyes narrow quizzically. “I’ve been married to that woman for five years now. I think I would know if she had a Mandalorian as a ‘friend of a friend.’”

As if on cue, Febhana emerges from the beaded curtain suspended over the entrance of her dressing room, barefoot and wearing a blue gown. She pads over to the woman, something bulky tucked under one arm, the other carrying the child in a sleeping bundle. Febhana places him in her wife’s arms delicately. “Lovely, we’re just getting ready for the party. Don’t mind her play-thing,” she tilts her head towards Mando without directly looking at him. “He’s just here for decoration.”

Mando physically bites his tongue.

Febhana’s wife glances at Mando, before leaning up to gently kiss Febhana. “Alright, I’ll be in the study. Wake me when you get back.”

Febhana cups her wife’s face gently. It’s such an intimate gesture that Mando looks away, feeling as though his presence alone is an interruption. The couple talks quietly for a moment, then her wife exits through the same door she came in from.

“Here is the guard’s uniform. The measurements should be right,” Febhana stands in front of Mando, handing him folded pieces of dark fabric, and then a helm. It’s two halves of a black metal shell meant to fit and tighten over the face of a droid. There’s a thick pane of darkened glass cutting through the middle of the mask, presumably to not disrupt a droid’s sensors but it will render Mando’s absolutely useless. This night just keeps getting better and better.

The whole thing is not something Mando has ever seen before, though he was never one to frequent circles like Febhana’s. The only distinguishable features are symmetrical dips cutting severe cheekbones into the object’s silhouette. Two fixed pieces of gilded metal form a swooping triangle that hovers just over where his nose will be under the helmet’s featureless surface. Looping, thin chains dripping from the decorative structure to partially conceal the mask’s lower half. When he holds it up in the low light of the hallway, their movement creates glinting waves of light.

All of it is purely flare, for the most part. At least the tailor made plenty room for armor beneath the--as Febhana put it--glorified curtains usually meant to conceal a droid. He heaves a sigh, taking the uniform from her. “This is the only option?”

Febhana shrugs. “Unless you want me and your girl going in by ourselves and trying to lure him out to you--which is certainly an option--yes.”

“She isn’t ‘my girl.’”

“Oh, trust me,” her smile is biting. “I know that.” She tilts her head towards the dressing room. “C’mon, the pretty one is almost done. You can use my room to change.”

When he enters, you’re seated at Febhana’s vanity. All the air is sucked out of his lungs.

The dress is really nothing more than a series of gauze-like drapes that spill from your body and pool onto the floor. The expanse of your back is completely exposed, the dress only resuming to cover you right above the base of your spine. One long piece of fabric serves as the illusion of sleeves, cinched at the swooping neckline by delicate, medallion-like embellishments that rest at the dip of both shoulders. The sleeves’ near-transparent fabric are fixed to ovular gold rings you have on the middle fingers of both hands.

Mando watches the fabric shift over the bend of your arm as you use said finger to swipe a little pigment on your lips. It glistens in the mirror he looks at you through. In that initial moment of deep focus, you have the severe look of a high official’s wife. Utterly untouchable. The most beautiful creature he’s ever witnessed.

His entrance breaks your concentration, you smile up at him, warmly, through the mirror.

“I’m almost done,” your voice breaks him from his stupor. Your other hand dips a small brush into a pot of powder. You dab it under your eyes and then stand, going to a crystalline bar cart and spraying some kind of perfume on your neck.

Febhana steps into the room behind him. After a moment Mando finds his voice.

“And you said she isn’t supposed to be the honeypot?” It’s hard to keep the pain out of his voice as he says it. At this point it’s like the two of you are actively trying to kill him.

Febhana laughs, and the smile you give him is expansive yet strangely private at the same time. As if you and him were in on some secret, some inside joke. You cross the room and pat him lightly on the shoulder twice, before moving him aside in order to link arms with Febhana.

The two of you leave the room, picking up whatever conversation you were having before Febhana left to give Mando his things. He stands there until his heartbeat steadies, then moves behind the wooden room partition to put the uniform on.

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n: mando, babes, u don’t even know the half of it

jokes aside i am so excited for the next chapter you guys have no idea how much fun this is to write !! love a good ol’ fancy party w a bunch of degenerates.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.3 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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bluegarners · 4 years ago

Text

“Dick has an overdose at a gala, hurt/comfort” ~ anon

~oOo~

He forgot to take his meds this morning.

Dick blows out a frustrated breath because that means he’s going to have to rearrange his entire cycle in order to not double dose. He always takes Zoloft in the morning with his breakfast and protein shake, and then the rest of the day goes smoothly and he can go to bed without the lingering worry of whether or not he remembered to do something. It’s an ingrained part of his routine and Dick is kicking himself for having forgotten to do it today.

The little yellow-tinted pill in his hand mocks him of his absent mindedness. The entire day had thrown him off of his usual planning, the not so gentle reminder of tonight’s charity gala for leukemia causing him to flit about in an attempt at getting his very much not used suit dry cleaned for the evening. Alfred would probably feel the need to strangle his first grandchild if Dick showed up with a wrinkled suit smelling of dust and disuse.

That wrench thrown into his day leads him to where he is now, staring down the pill in his hand and holding a glass of water in the other. He could always take his meds tomorrow so his routine wouldn’t be thrown off so drastically, but even the thought of doing so makes his hands feel clammy for skipping an entire day. He promised his psychiatrist he was going to take these things more seriously and he wanted to at least start that off by regularly taking his prescription. It had been working, so far, and Dick really didn’t want to fall into the bad habit of “skip-days”, so with one fluid motion, he was swallowing the pill and gulping down water.

Tonight was going to be fun at least. Even with his flighty day and the hassle it was doing things he should’ve done the previous week, Dick was excited to go to a gala for once. It was one of the rare occasions where Bruce had managed to convince all of his wayward children to go, and it had been far too long since Dick had spent some time with all of his siblings. He saw Damian at least once a week, Tim as well, but Jason had been a struggle to get a hold of and Cass and Duke were always busy with their own responsibilities. Not that Dick wasn’t busy as well, but in his book, there was always time for family.

Dick walks out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more pleased with himself for following through with his promise, and quickly walks to the garage where most of the family had already gathered. Had it not been for the fact that Cass and Duke happened to be staying at the Manor that week, Dick would have driven by himself to the banquet hall, but as it were, he was going to make every effort possible to squeeze in as much time as he could to be with his brothers and sister.

A slight problem arose though, as fitting eight total people into one car, driver included, was a tight fit. However, living with a billionaire had numerous perks, one of which being that they could choose from a variety of overly expensive cars and limousines and tonight, Alfred had chosen a classy black limo with leather seats and a cooler filled with bite-size cucumber sandwiches and bottled waters because, “In all of the many years of hosting galas, the Bestout family has yet to figure out how to properly serve a banquet.”

Slipping into the passenger seats, Dick was slightly giddy at the sight of both Damian and Duke already munching on a few of the snacks Alfred had prepared, Tim typing away on his phone and Cass curiously peering over his shoulder. They all looked dashing in their respective suits, and Dick reached out to lightly pat the head of the youngest, careful as to not disturb the neatly gelled locks of hair.

“Richard,” Damian acknowledges, a stray piece of bread clinging firmly to the side of his mouth. Adorable. “Where is Todd and Father?”

Before Dick has a chance to reply, Bruce and Jason step into the garage, Bruce’s hand latched firmly onto the third oldest’s shoulder. Dick can hardly hide his grin as Jason huffily plops down into the seat next to him, obviously still miffed at being forced to go to the gala. Bruce follows shortly after, taking his place besides Cass and in front of Dick, reaching into the cooler as well to retrieve a sandwich.

“Shall we proceed, sir?” Alfred calls from the front, the small window dividing the driver from the passengers a perfect view of the butler’s unimpressed eyebrows. “Or should we wait until the gala has ended to arrive?”

“Yes please. Sorry, Alfred.”

With that, they roll out of the Wayne Manor grounds and begin the short drive to the Bestout Charity Auction. Dick, personally, had no money to bid with and no intention to do so at all, but Bruce’s pockets went deep and they had already planned on what pieces to bid on and who to out-bid. Tim had made the bet that their “rivals” would attempt to out-bid the Waynes this year, and Tim was nothing but prideful on keeping the Wayne name free of that sort of blasphemy. He had done the math, was probably reviewing it on his phone at the moment, and had estimated that they could easily bid away about seven million dollars on a singular piece tonight if things went according to plan.

Money. Old money at that.

He feels a small tap on his shin then, and looks over to where Cass is gazing at him. She quirks her eyebrow, holding out her right palm and twisting her left middle finger against it. He nods, giving her two thumbs up and saying, “I remembered, don’t worry.”

She smiles, satisfied, before going back over to whatever Tim was doing on his phone. The rest of the ride is mostly silent, Dick basking in the presence of his family, until they finally pull up to the entrance. They are precisely thirty minutes late, fashionably so, and Jason is the first one to exit, followed then by Bruce, Cass, Tim, Duke, Damian, and lastly Dick.

Immediately, they are met with the flashing of numerous cameras, a couple shouting out questions or beckoning them to look their way for a good shot. Bruce indulges in a few of the requests, stopping for a few seconds, before hurrying up the steps, his many children following just as quickly behind. Entering, they are greeted with a high vaulted ceiling with a singular ornate chandelier hanging down as the centerpiece and a few other light fixtures to highlight the entrance.

Despite the initial grandeur, the charity gala is relaxed. Formal casual wear was allowed and encouraged upon, which basically meant one didn’t need to come dressed like they were meeting the Queen of England and could come in simple slacks and dress shirt, and for this reason and this reason alone is how Bruce managed to convince six of his children to attend. No one liked galas. Well, no one except Duke who was highly fascinated with how the rich and prim lived compared to the grittiness of Wayne Manor.

As Alfred had lamented about, the Wayne family was late, perhaps an hour or so from the initial invitation arrival time, and all eyes were on them as they entered the banquet hall. Cocktail hour had just begun, and it was a matter of moments before a chorus of simpering, “Brucie! Over here!” began and Jason and Duke disappeared to look for the bar. Tim meandered off to find a few familiar faces, and Dick, Damian, and Cass were left standing near the entrance.

For a second, Dick regrets his decision not to force himself to eat one of the cucumber sandwiches Alfred had prepared as his stomach rolled around unpleasantly. His medication didn’t require a meal to be eaten with it, but again, he had been thrown off his normal routine and that usually included some food.

He feels a nudge into his side and glances over to where Cass is smirking at him.

“I know, I know,” Dick groans, slumping slightly. “Alfred warned us, but you know I don’t like cucumbers. I’m just- yeah, I’m just going to go find something that doesn’t look like old cheese. Either of you coming with me?”

He extends a hand pleasantly, bowing over and winking at both of his youngest brother and sister.

“Unlike you,” Damian drawls, absently checking his fingernails, “I took sound advice when it was given.” He glances upwards, eyes narrowing as he finds his target. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it would appear that Father is in need of assistance.”

Dick watches the youngest Wayne march astutely towards a struggling Bruce Wayne, broadcasting a small amount of distress as yet another slightly drunk (already?) woman leers at him through false lashes.

“Cass?” Dick asks hopefully, turning back towards her. “My most wonderful and elegant sister, will you come with me?” In truth, Dick was the tiniest bit hesitant to go over to the buffet style table by himself, no doubt going to be swarmed by the Gotham elite youth once he was alone and miserable once he took in the shallow presentation of foods.

But his dear sister is nothing but sweet and ruthless, smiling prettily at him before walking off in the other direction, most likely to find Jason and Duke at the bar. Cass didn’t like alcohol, but she knew how to order a Shirley Temple all the same.

With a sigh, Dick begins the trudge over to the long horderves table, snagging a flute of strong smelling champagne on the way. He didn’t really like champagne truthfully, more of a white wine kind of guy himself, but it gave off the impression that he was relaxed and confident even if he was mentally preparing himself for food disappointment. He’s right, well, Alfred is right, as his gaze travels mournfully over the plain and overly dressed finger foods. Was it really just that impossible to serve a nice plate of cheese and crackers with some fruit? What in the world was foie gras entier anyway?

A hand slides smoothly over his shoulder as Dick contemplates if the horderve is an organ or not, and he steadily turns his head to meet artfully decorated brown eyes.

“Well if it isn’t the elusive Richard Grayson,” the woman says, letting her hand fall from his shoulder to his elbow. “It’s been a while since I saw you at one of these.”

Another hand brushes against his shoulder, and he turns his head the other way to meet the eyes of the exact same woman on his other arm.

“Tristy is right,” the other, same?, woman coos. “It’s been too long, Richard. Tell me, where have you been? You haven’t been avoiding us, right?”

It finally clicks into place as Dick looks back and forth between the identical women. The Thoreau sisters. Identical twins. Heiresses to the Thoreau Parts manufacturing company. Their entire net worth was close to five hundred million and the sisters were notorious, perhaps even more so than “Brucie Wanye”, for bringing home exploits and one night stands.

“Good evening ladies,” Dick says simply, dialing back the charm he usually reserved for the elderly elite of Gotham. “It’s been awhile since I last came to one of these auctions, but tonight is for a good cause. Of course I would come.”

The two sisters titter lightly, hands flying up to cover their arched grins. “Oh yes,” maybe Tristy says. “The auction is surely going to be a smashing success. At least with a man like your father bidding tonight, and that man is nothing but generous.”

The sudden innuendos leave Dick feeling slightly off footed. It truly has been too long since he attended one of these galas, and he’s out of practice at maneuvering around seduction attempts such as these.

“Oh hush,” the other sister snaps, tapping Dick’s bicep twice to get his attention back to her. “Do you plan on bidding at all?” she asks charmingly. “My sister and I have our eyes on a sculpture by Vasconcelos and it would break our hearts if your father also had plans to bid for it.”

Dick shakes his head, bringing his flute of champagne upwards to take a sip. He decides he does not like the taste of carbonation. “No, I can’t say I have plans to bid on any one particular item tonight. However, I can promise you that Bruce has no plans to bid on any sculptures, so you will find no grievances with him I hope.”

“How gracious,” possibly Tristy practically moans, leaning into Dick’s side. “You know,” she whispers, eyes flicking back and forth in mirth, “If you’re not planning on bidding at all, there’s a private study somewhere. Once the bidding begins, we can just,” she leans in closer, practically licking Dick’s ear, “get out of here.”

A cold feeling begins to settle in Dick’s gut, his composure quickly melting away as he struggles to keep on a pleasant smile. Has it always been like this? When was the last time he actually attended a gala? He can’t remember being harassed like this, much less so soon. They just arrived and already someone’s trying to take him to bed. Is that all he looks good for? Why is it so hard to just have a normal conversation? This is supposed to be a family day, and yet here he is, separating himself from them all because he can’t control his cravings and really this harassment should’ve been expected because Gotham didn’t call Richard Grayson Bruce’s imprint because he had to get the “playboy” tendencies from somewhere if not genetics, so really he’s fine and just making a big deal out of nothing.

This was normal. Right.

Lost in his head, Dick realizes too late that it’s been far too long since he’s said something aloud. Tristy, or whoever it is that’s to his right, is frowning at him, a mean looking sneer adorning red lips. The other sister, he just doesn’t know her, is looking at him with something akin to disgust as well though slightly better hidden.

He clears his throat. Clears it again. His throat feels funny. “Look, ladies,” Dick says, “I’m flattered, I really am, but I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m sure you’re both lovely, but I think I’m going to… yeah, I’m just going to go find Bruce. You know how he gets when he’s had more than a couple glasses,” he tries to chuckle, tapering off when neither of the women join in. “Have a good evening.”

Extracting himself from their manicured hands is more difficult than he thought it would be, their insistence at keeping him cornered to the table making him more nervous. The ice in his stomach pinches unpleasantly, and Dick finishes off the champagne to place the little flute on a passing waiter’s stand.

The lingering stench of overpriced perfume has him feeling nauseous, and Dick looks around for one of his family members. He spots Jason and Duke still at the bar, seemingly content at just sipping and observing, and Dick makes the move to walk towards them when the room tilts slightly. He stumbles, hardly even that, and rights himself in less than a second. He looks down, frowning when he sees nothing that might’ve tripped him up.

“Richard,” a voice calls out, and Dick turns to see Damian making his way towards him, Bruce trailing slightly behind.

“Hey, Dami!” Dick gushes, his unease melting away at the familiar faces. “Meet anyone interesting yet?”

The boy huffs, crossing his arms. “If by interesting you mean intelligent, then no. Not a single person here is capable of holding a conversation before spouting some nonsense. It should be considered cruel.”

“I hear you there,” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Is it just him, or is the banquet hall extremely bright? The Bestout’s should consider investing less in chandeliers and more in good food. “Did any of the art pieces catch your interest?”

Another huff. “No,” Damian replies. “Modern art holds no value. I find nothing special about three dots in the center of a large canvas. If anything, it is a waste of material.”

“Bruce?” Dick asks. “What about you? I just ran into the Thoreau sisters; they said they were going to bid on that, uh, what was their name again… the Vasconcelos sculpture.”

Bruce grimaces at the company name, looking more closely at Dick. “No, nothing was to my taste. Alfred has asked me to bid on a tea set supposedly owned by Queen Anne. It is… vintage?”

Dick nods, willing himself not to laugh at Bruce’s idea of something vintage. “Nice. I’m sure Alfred will be excited to add it to his collection. Have, uh, any of you guys seen Tim or Cass at all?”

“Cain left,” Damian says simply. “Brown invaded the gala about ten minutes ago and coerced her into ditching. Drake is most likely stuffing himself into a corner.”

“Oh.”

A waiter walks by just then and Dick snags another champagne glass. He takes two sips, feeling some of his anxiety from earlier rise up again. Tonight was supposed to be a family night, or at least one as close to it as it could get, and already Cass had left? He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be with Steph, he remembers how infatuated he was in his first relationship, but he already felt the tell-tale tug in his heart that told him he was lonely.

“I’m going to go find Tim,” he announces, patting the top of Damian’s head and giving a squeeze to Bruce’s left shoulder. “Have fun you two.”

They wave him off with little else, and Dick looks around the hall for the middle child. As his gaze travels from table to table, he can’t help but feel as if all eyes are on him, catching his gaze with each flicker. Taking deep breaths, Dick takes another sip, meandering slowly around the perimeters of the already established social groups. He catches bits and pieces of conversations, most if not all having nothing to do with tonight’s auction, and Dick begins to tap his fingers restlessly against his outer thigh. Why does he feel so anxious?

Someone bumps into him rather rudely, causing Dick to stumble again, but when he turns around to semi-glare, there is no one around him. The lights in the hall are blinding and Dick can feel a headache begin to form at the front of his skull. His breaths are suddenly very loud and Dick becomes all too aware of just how many people there are. At least two hundred and all of them seemed to be staring at Dick.

Someone else brushes up behind him, and Dick quickly turns around to confront them, because come on, that’s not a nice thing to do. There is no one there though. No one was even near enough to touch him and Dick feels sweat begin to trickle down the back of his suit.

What was he doing again? Right, right, searching for Tim. Tim was always calm, he’s sure he’s got to be around here somewhere.

“Richard,” a voice sing-songs to him. “Oh, Kathy, he’s right over here. My, my, thought you could give us the slip, hm?”

His grip on the glass of champagne tightens slightly as one of the Thoreau sisters slithers her way in front of him. He didn’t want to talk to them. He wasn’t feeling well. They didn’t make him feel comfortable and Dick really needed to find Tim.

“You don’t look so good, Richy,” Tristy, Kathy, whoever, whispered. “Are you feeling alright? Had one too many to drink it looks like.”

The other sister laughs. “We only left you for twenty minutes. Missed us that terribly? How sweet.”

One of them grips his bicep again. Turns his chin so he’s facing her head on. The other one falls out of his line of sight. He thinks he’s seeing triple though because the twin in front of him is slowly separating into two, faces flickering back and forth and failing to align with the center.

“Maybe he’s tired,” she says, voice distorted and far away. “Finish that off and we’ll all go find somewhere to lay down, hm? Somewhere… private.”

The flute of alcohol is pressed gently into his lips and Dick automatically begins to drink from it, the liquid sliding down easily. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue, and huh, that’s weird. It didn’t taste like that before. He really does hate the taste of carbonation.

Hands on either side of him push him forward, his feet dragging and shoes all of a sudden much too big for his feet. The glass is taken from his trembling grip, a whisper of “Wouldn’t want you to drop that,” letting his decisions elude him. The smell of sharp chemicals assault his nose and Dick feels his stomach roll. He thinks he might vomit.

Even though he keeps his face to the floor, the bodies beside him guiding the way, Dick can feel the stares, the eyes, that bore into him. The pressure leaves his chest heavy, feeling as though he’s slowly sinking into the red carpet below. The red shifts and melts like wax beneath his polished shoes, pooling and coiling around his shoelaces and reaching towards his ankles.

It smells like blood.

The red turns into a dark gray suddenly, fuzz turning into slick tile and the hands that gripped onto his biceps earlier now trail towards the hemline of his pants. He jerks, neck craning upwards and hands fumbling to push the invasion away. He’s simply shushed though, hands restraining his own and Dick feels like he’s been shot when he realizes he can’t get his legs to move properly.

He’s shoved towards an open door way, tripping and falling over himself as any semblance of coordination leaves him. It’s brighter in this room but everything keeps swirling together. Vertigo slowly weaves its way around his head and soon, there is no difference from up and down, left and right, sister and sister.

Nails dig into the sides of his cheeks in a harsh and fervent grip, and Dick feels like throwing up when he sees nothing but the swirling vortex of a flesh colored void. It spins faster and faster and Dick has to look away, but the sight of himself in a mirror is no better because that has to be him that’s standing there pressed into a stone counter but at the same time it can’t because he left that all behind.

He left Spyral behind. He escaped. He was home. They couldn’t control him anymore and yet- and yet.

Another blank flesh void stares back at his turned head. No visible features to recognize himself by. A smooth canvas that twists and churns and leaves him faceless. He is nothing once more.

Something breaks inside of him and Dick feels a sob erupt from out of his chest. He’s just so confused and scared and lost and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He doesn’t want to go back to Spyral. His mission was completed, he had done everything Bruce asked of him and even after enduring throughout all of that, Dick feels that desperate yearning for his father.

He wants Bruce. He’s so scared. His head hurts. He can’t feel his legs anymore. Everything keeps colliding into everything and he can’t even recognize his own cries because even that sounds like it’s a lifetime away, all the way back in Gotham, but instead he’s stuck here and he doesn’t even know where here is anymore because Agent 37 isn’t allowed to ask questions, that’s not his place, that’s not his place, he’s not allowed-

“Wow,” a voice breathes into his ear, “you’re even pretty when you cry.”

And Dick doesn’t really know when it started raining, but his face is wet and the person is right, he is crying and it’s raining so hard and he doesn’t completely understand why or how but he does know he doesn’t like the hands that keep fumbling with his belt. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want her. He should say something. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move and he just lays there and takes it because that’s all he’s good for right? That’s why Barbara didn’t want to see him anymore because he’s just an awful person that just takes it and please, please, please stop.

“Are you afraid of spiders, Richard?”

Of course he’s afraid. He’s terrified. He’s even more afraid of the dark and the dark contains many, many scary things. Things like a calloused hand reaching out to smother him, to choke him, to kill him. Things like a bright red pill shoved into his mouth, things like a bomb attached to his heart, things like the heat of the metal on his back as the chaos consumed him, destined to watch, destined to die, destined to be smothered over and over again. Bright red pill. Rough hands. Bright red lips. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

Dick vomits.

~oOo~

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looks up from his phone, a smartly dressed waitress staring at him. “Yes?”

She holds out a folded napkin to him and Bruce takes it from her hesitantly. He stares at it before glancing back up. “I don’t understand.”

The woman gives him a half-hearted shrug. “I was only told to give it to you, sir. I don’t know what it is. Excuse me.”

With that, the waitress turns back around into the throng of people that wave her over for drinks. Bruce looks down at the napkin, putting away his phone quickly as he unfolds it. It’s a note, hastily written in smudged black, similar to a crayon. Perhaps some sort of makeup applicator. Bruce doesn’t give it much thought though as he reads,

Find your son.

And isn’t that a great way to get his heart to stop? His first instinct is to look wildly about and start dashing around in search of his, holy shit, five sons he brought along to the gala. Bruce stops though, forces himself to take three deep breaths and count to five, before calmly beginning to make his way to the entrance of the banquet hall. It was easier to see everyone from that position and it was crowded enough so that he wouldn’t immediately be singled out once again.

As he walks, he stares at the napkin note, trying to decipher who exactly sent it. It was a woman’s hand writing, he’s sure of it, but the intentions behind it could be anything. Ransom? A threat? A simple warning that one of his sons was much too drunk to care about public decency? Either way, being passed an anonymous note wasn’t good and Bruce felt his gut clench in apprehension. He tries to think of everything that’s happened throughout the night so far.

Damian had remained mostly by his side, a good defense to have on hand whenever one of the socialites got a bit too grabby. Jason and Duke had remained a pair by the bar from what he'd heard, challenging other young adults into dart games and shot pyramids. Tim had steadily been making his way through old friends, chatting with a few and periodically texting Bruce to ask what the bidding was at.

(Alfred will be happy to know that he now had one more tea set to add to his collection)

And Dick… well, Bruce honestly hadn’t been keeping secure tabs on him. He’s trying to be a better father to adult Dick Grayson. Privacy and space had been something Dick had last emphasized on, the “mother-henning” as Dick liked to call it, overbearing and un-welcomed. When his eldest had mentioned his run in with the Thoreau sisters, Bruce had been concerned and looked for signs that his son was uncomfortable or something worse. As usual though, Dick had merely grinned and carried on like it was nothing and perhaps that was all it had been at the time but now with this note, this damn napkin note in his hands, Bruce could feel the suspicion slide into him like water.

“Father?”

A hand tugs on his right sleeve and Bruce finds himself sighing in relief as his youngest appears in front of him. Scrutinizing his son, Bruce finds nothing obviously wrong with him, hair still perfectly in place and a permanent frown etched upon his brow. His suit is still stain, spill, and wrinkle free and Bruce clasps a heavy hand onto Damian’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, keeping eye contact.

“Of course,” is Damian’s curt reply. “What happened?”

Wordlessly, Bruce hands over the napkin to him, watching as his son’s frown deepens. “I shall gather Todd and Thomas. I will return shortly.”

Damian’s small figure disappears into the crowd easily, leaving Bruce standing by himself at the front of the hall. Pulling out his phone again, he quickly types out, Come to the front of the hall. Urgent, and sends it to Tim. He types out the same message and sends it to Dick as well and contends himself for the wait by tapping his foot against the red carpet.

A minute barely passes before he spots Jason’s broad figure moving through the crowd, and the tension in his gut only increases as he counts the heads moving towards him. One, two, three, four…

“What’s going on?” Duke asks as the four boys gather closely. “Are we, uh, needed?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Damian showed you the note?”

“What note?” Tim demands. “Bruce, what’s going on? Is something- oh,” he trails off, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as he reads the scribbled napkin. Tim turns his gaze to begin counting, and the same realization dawns upon him as he finally looks at Bruce’s grim face. “Where’s Dick?”

“I’ll call him,” Jason is quick to offer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials and holds it to his ear as the rest of the family watches. “Voicemail,” he grimaces, staring down at the device as if it had personally offended him.

“We’ll split up. Jason, you’re with me. Duke, Tim, Damian, you three will go towards the east end, Jason and I will take west. Keep your phones on,” Bruce orders, checking his own ringer as he does so. “Ask around to see if anyone has seen Dick. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so remain cautious. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes” is the motivator for the split and like liquid, they flow back into the crowd seamlessly.

~oOo~

He’s alone.

Or, Dick thinks he is. Well, now that he’s thought about it, Agent 37 is never alone. There’s always someone there, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But Nightwing works alone in Bludhaven. He’s discovered that he doesn’t like team ups much. Partnerships always end in the rain and he doesn’t like the rain. He doesn’t mind it so much when Batman’s cape is shielding his face but the rain is still pelting his cheeks and it smells like acid.

It smells like acid and metal. It sounds like endless whirring too, constant noise when all he wants right now is quiet. He wants to reach out and smother whatever it is that’s making the noise but his limbs are gone, he can’t move, he’s been restrained once again and that damn red pill, or maybe it’s tinted yellow this time, he can’t be sure, there are just so many pills, so many pills, it’s all keeping him down and dead.

He feels his stomach convulsing again and he gags, unsure if anything actually comes out. There’s red on the floor, it always comes back to red, why red, and it gathers around in his vision, slick along the white void below him. A part of Dick is glad he can’t move because he fears that if he were to even breathe, the void below would capture him and turn him white and twist his nothingness into something even less than all of it.

His lungs stutter and his eyes roll back into his head for a moment. For a brief second, he is gone in the bliss of blackness. It’s not for long though because the need to cough erupts out of him and he has to open his eyes and see what plague is clawing its way from his mouth. His jerking disturbs the void and Dick can feel the blood in his veins freeze because he’s not supposed to move. He’s not supposed to make a single sound or else it would get him but he’s just so dumb, he’s just so incompetent, and now the void knows he’s here, now the void is going to get him and he’s so scared.

He blinks four times. He counts in his head. Two, five, one, two. Dick doesn’t think that’s right. He isn’t sure.

The void is angry though. He can tell in the way the ground shakes and the colors scream at him. He wants to move away and cover his ears but his arms don’t exist anymore, how could he forget, how could he forget, and he feels his eyes burning like he’s on fire and his brain is also screaming at him now and there are hands on his shoulders and no, no, stop, please stop, he doesn’t want this, he never wanted any of this. He’s sorry. He’s sorry.

The void grasps him and pulls at him and Dick’s eyes are wide open and he wants to scream at the void’s face because he doesn’t know who they are, he doesn’t know where he is, and there’s no comfort in the cold, there’s no love or warmth in it’s embrace and he’s so tired and his chest hurts and he’s having trouble actually seeing anything now because he’s just scared of the dark and everything is getting quieter and doesn’t anyone have a nightlight he can use so he can fall asleep a little less scared?

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bruce doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when that waitress handed him a napkin. He doesn’t really know what he wanted to happen when he asked his children to split up and search for the lost one. Of course, the goal was to find the eldest, find Dick Grayson safe and sound and just doing something silly like back flips off a stairwell so Bruce could come and save him from embarrassing himself further. Okay, yes, Bruce knows exactly what he wanted to happen.

But this wasn’t it.

It wasn’t Mister Dower slyly implying that Bruce’s eldest son was a clone of “Brucie Wayne’s” habits. It wasn’t the news that the Thoreau sisters had left in a hurry. It wasn’t a bellboy directing him to a private room that had been left ajar. And it wasn’t walking into a pitch black study only to hear wet retching and rattling from the adjoining bathroom.

He’s bursting through the door before he’s had the time to process it all and he feels as if all the wind in his lungs have been knocked out because there he is. Here is Dick Grayson, his son, his eldest, convulsing, bleeding, vomiting, shaking, dying, alone.

It’s second nature, done without a thought, and Bruce is kneeling down, stripping himself of his jacket and folding it, taking Dick by the shoulders and turning him on his side and placing the folded jacket beneath his head. Dick’s eyes are rolling, unseeing, and his face twitches and jerks and it’s terrifying, and Bruce looks away to stare at his watch and counts and counts and counts.

It’s scarcely thirty seconds before the jerking stops and Dick goes stiff, like every single muscle in his body is clenched in anticipation.

“Bruce,” Jason begins, and he sounds unsure and out of place and Bruce curses at himself for having momentarily forgotten about him, “Holy shit.”

Bruce says nothing and continues to stare at his watch because he knows the seizure isn’t over, he prays it is but he knows it’s not, and Dick begins to convulse again and Bruce’s heart is beating so fast he isn’t sure if he can feel it anymore.

“The others are on their way,” Jason speaks up again. “I’m calling 911. What should I tell them?”

And usually Bruce is faster than this, better at processing, but it’s all so sudden and this is his son that’s laying in front of him, shaking and heaving in front of him, that it takes him a few seconds to come up with an answer. “Tell them,” he tries, mouth dry and god how much longer is this going to last? “Tell them that we need police and an ambulance for,” Bruce clears his throat; two minutes now, five becomes dangerous, “A possible assault and drug overdose.”

There’s lipstick smeared on Dick’s collar, his tie is undone, his belt buckle unclasped, pink indents on the sides of his jaw, lips tinted blue, and a mess of vomit splattered down his shirt. It smells sour and pungent and it’s the color of old brandy. Blood weeps from Dick’s hairline and Bruce startles himself with the thought that, had it not been for the note, Dick could’ve died and no one would have known.

No one would have known.

Finally the seizure stops and Bruce can feel his fingers trembling as he cradles his son’s head to fully rest against the tile flooring. Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Too close. Too close.

“Move! I demand to see Richard!”

“You can’t, not right now. Bruce is helping him but you have to stay out here.”

“Jason, what the hell happened to Dick?”

“Bruce thinks he got roofied. Whatever was given to him was too much.”

“Did… did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Todd, I swear to you, if you do not move this instant-”

Bruce can’t focus on their conversation anymore, too entranced by the way his son breathes. They’re short, shallow gasps, like he’s panting through a straw, and Bruce reaches out a hand to rub his eldest’s upper back. He doesn’t move from his position, kneeled firmly as if in prayer, and maybe it is like a prayer because he needs a miracle right now. Bruce needs some guidance, some reassurance, and he hasn’t prayed since his parents died, but a little part of him is sighing and repeating those long forgotten words over and over again.

Abraham, Issac, and Jacob; Sarah, Rebekkah, Leah, and Rachel.

Dick does not stir from where he lays, eyes flickering behind closed lids. Bruce thinks he’s conscious, the flighty rhythm of his heart giving his blankness away, but the stillness in which his son lays allows a vine of terror to eclipse around his heart.

Grant him a r’fu-ah sh’lei-mah, a complete recovery.

His mother used to whisper prayers into his ear when he was younger and sick, fever-ridden constantly and just so tired. She would sit by his bedside, hold his hand, and pray for him in the silence of his room. Bruce was too young to understand what it meant. Too young to really grasp the concept of salvation, of hope found in religion. Now that he’s gone so long without it, Bruce thinks he still doesn’t grasp its weight, but the familiar words roll around in his head and leave the tightness in his chest with company.

But the comfort is like a blanket draped over your head when you were a child, on some level convinced it could protect you from the monsters in your closet and the kidnappers that surely tap on your window. The monsters are real though, the kidnappers are grabbing at your feet, and Bruce can feel his heart pounding away with the realization that he truly could have lost Dick. That Bruce had been in the exact same room, in the same vicinity as his eldest when he was drugged. When he was… assaulted. Possibly. Maybe. Bruce clings to those uncertainties.

And he’s got ideas. Theories. Conclusions. A list of suspects.

With those, Bruce also has punishments in mind. Vengeance. Retribution. But the situation at hand is more pressing than the thoughts that bang against his skull.

Dick’s eyes fly open, a cough that sounds more like a gag jerking his body. His arms stagger against his sides, feet kicking out with the force of his hacking, and Bruce merely lets his hands hover. He wants to touch him, to ground Dick, but the hesitation in his actions leave him barren of any sort of presence. Dick keeps coughing, getting louder and more forceful with each measly breath he manages to suck in, and his lips are beginning to turn blue and his face a bright red and Bruce doesn’t know what to do right now, doesn’t know how to help because he’s so afraid to touch him, to help him, when all he’s done tonight is ignore him and let this whole thing happen because he’s a horrible father-

“Richard, stop it!”

And then Damian is falling to his knees beside Dick’s heaving body, also fumbling for an answer and scared and all the things Bruce feels right now.

“Stop it, Richard! Stop it right now!” Damian demands, but his orders fall on deaf ears because Dick won’t stop coughing and gasping and shaking and he’s not having another seizure but that’s what it looks like and then finally, Bruce reaches out a hand and holds his eldest still, willing for something, anything, to happen to get Dick to stop.

“Son,” he implores, practically begging, “Dick, you need to calm down, okay? I know you’re scared and confused right now, but everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Take a deep breath, Dick. Breathe.”

Finally, something seems to register for Dick because he’s craning his neck around, eyes wide and searching even as he continues to retch out his lungs. Bright blue eyes, beautiful and robin egg blue, catch Damian’s and Bruce can see recognition light up onto his face. The relief that Bruce had felt blossoming in his chest at the sight is quickly smothered when tears gather in Dick’s eyes, a weak sob wrenching its way in between coughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dick moans, delirious and broken. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Richard, breathe,” is all Damian says, reaching out to grab at one of Dick’s flailing hands. “Please.”

Bruce doesn’t know if Dick actually understood what Damian was saying, or if he even recognized any one of his brothers that stood around him, but one moment, Dick is retching up a lung, and the next, he’s silent and holding his breath. The coughing stops but Dick is going slightly purple in the face and before Bruce, Damian, anyone can do anything to get him to open his mouth again, Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head and he drifts.

His head thuds softly onto the white tile just as the paramedics arrive and Bruce thinks he might need an ambulance too with how quickly his heart beats and how hot the blood in his veins feel.

The rest is a blur.

~oOo~

Many things happen in the few hours that follow.

Dick is promptly swept away on a stretcher, paramedics checking pulse count, setting up an IV, and other things that anyone hardly has the mind to pay attention to. By then, the entire banquet knew something was wrong, along with a few reporters that whipped out their cameras and began snapping pictures in earnest.

In a move that is sure to get him on the front pages, Bruce snarls at a few of the reporters, threatening them in mannerisms that suggested he might just break their obnoxious cameras. Jason follows a similar pattern, actually reaching over and knocking away one of the invasive reporters when they got too close to the ambulance, and the youngest is not far off in doing the same before he is ushered away and into a waiting private car that would escort them to the hospital Dick was being taken to.

Only Bruce had been allowed to ride in the ambulance on the way over, and the four brothers had sat in tense silence during the ten minute drive. Tim had been almost absurdly quiet during the entire ordeal, typing away at his phone and absently chewing on one of his fingernails. No one comments on the bad habit, all of them guilty of doing something in a similar fashion, and when they arrive at the entrance, Bruce meets them there where he tells them that, for now, Dick appears to be mostly fine.

His vomit and blood were being tested at the moment for a tox-screening, a toxicologist named Dr.Ruth informing them that Dick wasn’t in life-threatening danger anymore. The “anymore” bit startles them all and it is explained to them that, because Dick appeared to have eaten nothing that night and drank nothing but champagne, there was little else in his system to digest whatever drug was given to him. It all went straight into his nervous system, which is what caused the seizure.

Bruce manages to secure a larger medical room for all five of them to squeeze into and forty minutes later, Dr.Ruth returns with a clipboard in tow. Results are in.

“Mister Wayne,” she begins, making sure to keep an even gaze with the older man, “You said you believed that Richard may have been purposely drugged tonight?”

Bruce nods.

“Is Richard taking any drugs right now? Recreational or otherwise?”

The implication sends a strange stab of anger through Bruce, rising up from his seat to challenge the doctor about her accusations. “Richard has never-”

“Actually,” Tim interrupts, finally speaking, “he does.”

Bruce looks over, shock peppering his face through the way his mouth twitches and his jaw clenches.

Tim rushes to defend himself. “No, wait, what I mean is that Richard takes a prescription. He’s not doing, like, hard crack or something like that.” He holds up his phone as if it contains every single answer to life. “Cass- our sister- told me that Richard didn’t take his anxiety medication this morning. He took it before going to the banquet tonight.”

“Do you know what he was prescribed?” Dr.Ruth asks, scanning through something on one of the papers.

Tim checks his phone again. “Uh, Zoloft. 40 milligrams once a day.”

“Okay,” she hums to herself, satisfied with the answer. “That explains it then.”

She clicks her pen, setting down her clipboard and turning to face all five of them in the room. “Richard’s screening came back just a few minutes ago, but there were a few discrepancies that didn’t match up exactly. From what the labs tested, Richard was given a dosage of about 250 milligrams of ketamine, on which he overdosed, but an additional drug was also found in his blood and from what you said, young man, it would appear to be Zoloft. That medication, in addition to not eating anything and consuming some alcohol, was what caused such a bad reaction.”

She glances behind her again, checking her clipboard. “Now, Mister Wayne,” she addresses Bruce, “In your witness statement, you said that Richard appeared to be having hallucinations?”

“I don’t believe he knew we were there with him.”

Dr.Ruth nods. “Victims of large overdoses on ketamine typically experience hallucinations, similar to a bad LSD trip or otherwise. Sight and sound become warped and the person under the influence often doesn’t understand what’s going on around them.”

“What about,” Duke begins, nervous and quiet, “What about the, um, the other test? Did- Is Dick okay?”

The doctor smiles, happy to give fortunate news. “Yes, the test results came back negative. Other than a few scratch marks on his face which have been cleaned, Richard is fine.”

A collective breath releases over the room. Dick was going to be okay.

“Once the nurses have finished checking your son over, you’re free to take him home,” Dr.Ruth finishes, collecting her things. “Someone will be with you shortly to escort you to him.”

“Wait,” Jason calls out, “That’s it? You’re just going to send him away?”

The doctor looks back at him, sympathy lining her sad smile. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Keep an eye on him, make sure he drinks plenty of fluids and try to give Richard some dry foods. If anything happens or Richard’s condition worsens at all, please bring him back and we’ll do what we can.”

And with that, Dr.Ruth opens the door and leaves.

~oOo~

The nurses tell them that Dick needs to stay for an additional hour or so, just until he’s coherent enough to answer some well-being questions and to finish the IV bags they’ve given him. All five of them have managed to cram themselves into Dick’s small room, the man in question awake but quiet. He’s coherent enough that he seems to recognize them all individually, and no longer seems to be hallucinating, but he wears a grimace that tells of discomfort. Dick has yet to say anything since waking up.

His eyes are distant, staring listlessly towards the ceiling and trailing from light to light. Bruce is sure the action is somewhat painful, but he doesn’t make a move to distract his son from whatever he’s thinking.

It’s been a long night, for all of them really, but none as long as the night Dick Grayson has had. Bruce is told that Dick spoke in private with one of the nurses and an assisting officer about some of the things that happened during the banquet. Bruce doesn’t pry though. He knows better than to go sticking his nose into something so fresh, something so invasive. He trusts that Dick will speak when he’s ready.

Whenever that is.

There’s a knock at the door before Dr.Ruth walks in again, hands folded neatly in front of her as she enters. There’s no clipboard with her and a lightness in her posture is telling of good news.

“You’re all clear,” she says warmly, stepping up closely to Dick’s cot. “I just need you to sign some release forms and you’ll be on your way. Do you have any questions for me?”

She directs the question towards Dick, whose gaze travels slowly over to the doctor. He licks his lips twice before asking, “What do I need to do after I leave?”

“Hydrate,” she answers, mentally going through a checklist. “Lots of fluids. The charcoal is going to absorb a fair amount of liquid in your system, so keep an eye out for water consumption and bowel movements.”

“What… what about medication?”

She frowns at that, lips pulling down slightly. “Well,” she starts, “I would suggest keeping away from them for the next twenty-four hours. Are you in pain? Do you feel like you need something for it?”

Dick is quick to shake his head. It jostles him and he closes his eyes briefly, be it from pain or disorientation is something indiscernible. “No, no. Not hurt or anything. I take some, uh, prescriptions though. From my psychiatrist. Everyday.”

“I see.” Dr.Ruth is quiet for a moment before, “Try to wait as long as possible. If you absolutely need to, go ahead and take them but be careful. You won’t be in any serious danger but it’s always better to be cautious after an overdose.” She turns to Bruce then. “He’ll need to be somewhat monitored over the next few days. It’s not very common, but symptoms can linger.”

After another pause in which no one speaks up, Dr.Ruth smiles and bows her head slightly. “I’ll have someone bring those papers by soon. Tell one of the nurses if you’re having trouble walking, Richard, and we can get a wheelchair brought to you. Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

No one continues to make a sound as Bruce fills out the paperwork, insisting that a wheelchair be brought when Dick only manages to take a few steps before his legs begin to shake. Dick makes no comment on it, only half-heartedly glaring at Bruce as he sat down heavily into the plastic seat. The walk out of the hospital is quiet too, Duke along the way muttering that he was going back to his cousin’s place for the night. Alfred meets the remaining boys at the front, leaning forwards to bring Dick into a small hug before releasing him and helping Dick get into the car he brought.

When Damian hands Dick a water bottle, Dick accepts it silently, lightly patting his little brother’s hand before taking a singular sip from the bottle. He doesn’t drink from it again.

When they arrive at the Manor, Jason is the first one moving and is quick to pull out the ramp they have for when Barbara visits. Dick is tense as they roll him into the Manor, finally putting his foot down when Bruce suggests that one of them carry him up to his bedroom. It’s a slow process and it twists Bruce’s heart in a way he can’t quite describe as he watches his eldest struggle up the flight of stairs, using both the railing and Damian as meager supports.

Dick pushes open the door to his dark room and makes no comment when everyone follows him in. He all but collapses onto his bed, exhausted. They all just simply breathe for a minute, taking the time to truly process everything that’s happened that night. Somewhere in the Manor, a bell tolls and the electric clock on Dick’s nightstand reads two in the morning. They’re all still in their suits, still in their tight dress shoes, and nothing seems quite real yet. The black out curtains are clasped together tightly, as if their belief in maintaining the illusion and reality of darkness is all that’s keeping the peace.

Damian is the first one to move this time, peeling off his jacket and kicking off his shoes to sit beside Dick’s sprawled form. They don’t exchange words, but Dick shifts and allows Damian to get closer, a hand reaching up to finally destroy the carefully combed locks of hair, stiff with gel and pomade. Dick sighs and this release is what prompts the others to move as well, Jason plopping himself at the foot of the bed to lean against one of the banisters, Tim choosing to sit on the floor and rest his head against the side of the bed frame, and Bruce pulling a chair closer to be within reaching distance of Dick.

It’s quiet, calm, and the proximity is just enough to be reassuring. Comforting in a way that doesn’t demand physical touch but soothing enough to provide warmth. It’s nice.

Dick speaks first. It’s an apology.

“I wanted this to be a family night, you know?” he confesses into the stillness. “I didn’t mean for… any of this to happen.”

“We know, Dick,” Tim says, equally as quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

There is no response to that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jason asks, voice gruff but kind. Gentle in a way that betrays his outward appearance.

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” is all Jason responds, easy and light. The dark hides many secrets. He will not be the one to unearth them.

It goes back to silence after that and soon enough, Dick’s breaths are even and his eyes are closed. Slowly, the boys disappear one by one back to their rooms, allowing themselves to recover as well from the experience. Damian falls asleep by Dick’s side and Bruce tenderly picks him up, cradling the boy’s head onto his shoulder, and carrying him to his own room.

When Bruce returns, Dick is sitting up and staring at him. He’s nervous. Bruce takes a deep breath in for his own nerves and sits back down into the seat. They stare at each other for a long time, the eye contact neither uncomfortable nor helpful. It’s a waiting game, one that doesn’t need to happen, and Bruce breathes in again.

“How are you, son?” he asks, gaze heavy as he takes in Dick’s haggard appearance. The hospital had given him a scrub shirt to replace the one he had thrown up on and the texture crinkles as Dick shifts in place. His eyes go back to wandering around, drifting from Bruce’s face to the comforter around his legs.

“I’m tired,” Dick whispers, hands flexing and clenching. “And a little freaked out,” he adds, eyes flickering to Bruce’s and then darting away again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful. I… I messed up.”

Bruce sighs, slowly and deliberately telegraphing his movements as he reaches out to place a hand over Dick’s fidgeting one. Dick is still tense, hand clenching into a fist as Bruce just lets the warmth of his palm linger.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bruce begins. Pauses. Backtracks. “Everything that happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Whoever did this… that’s their fault. That’s their doing. Not yours. Never yours.”

“How did you find me?” Dick asks, deflecting. He’s always been good at that.

“I was given a note.” The napkin had been taken away as evidence earlier. The phantom hot weight of it still burns a hole in Bruce’s coat pocket. “It told me to find you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Pause. “I’m glad they did though. I was… worried. Worried of what had happened to you. Dick, look at me please.”

Instantly, Dick’s eyes snap to his and again, Bruce’s heart twists in a way he can’t describe. Sadness? Resentment? Melancholy? Regret? He doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry I let that happen to you,” he says firmly, reaching out with both hands to grasp at Dick’s. He grips them tightly, holding them together like they’re praying. This is now twice in over a decade. “I am so sorry, Dick. I wasn’t there when you needed me, but I’m trying to be better. I want to be a better father to you, son. You mean more to me than you will ever know and the thought of losing you scares me.”

Dick nods sharply, once, twice, and his face falls into apathy as he processes what Bruce has said. He doesn’t reach out to hold Bruce’s hands as well, but the fact that he hasn’t removed them is enough to reassure Bruce that he’s doing at least one thing right.

“It,” Dick says, voice barely a whisper, “It scares me too. Losing you. Losing anyone. Dying.”

He swallows audibly and sweat trickles down his brow. Bruce wants to insist that Dick go back to sleep or at least drink some more water, but he refrains from doing so, too afraid to remove his hands lest he lose Dick all over again.

“When I was...” Dick trails off, swallowing again. “While I was hallucinating,” he restarts, “I saw, no, uh, I thought I saw a lot of things.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, buddy,” Bruce reminds him, tapping his index across Dick’s knuckles. “It can wait.”

Dick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay.” His voice cracks slightly as he says that. Bruce ignores it and Dick seems grateful.

“I thought I was dying again,” he rushes out, as if to force the words before he can take it back. “All these bad things, things from the past that I didn’t want to remember, were suddenly all happening again and I-I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where I was, what was happening, who I was with half the time, and I couldn’t move, Bruce. I couldn’t move and it all just happened.

They wouldn’t stop touching me and it scared me. I was terrified and then suddenly I was alone and I really thought I had died. I thought that I had died and then Damian was there and-and I thought he had died again and I couldn’t, couldn’t handle that, Bruce.”

“Dick, breathe. Breathe. Damian is safe. You’re safe. Breathe in for me, buddy, that’s it. You’re okay. I promise.”

Dick nods again as if trying to convince himself that he’s safe now. That he’s home and everything is okay and there are no ghostly hands that cover and touch him. He tries, but he’s tired. The fear rests idle and Dick can feel it scratching at his throat. It’s been six hours hours since everything happened. Only six.

“I think the worst part,” Dick admits, strained and hushed, “was that I was alone.”

Bruce squeezes his son’s hands together, the pressure meant to be grounding. “I’m sorry,” he says, meaning it with everything he has.

Dick only shrugs his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping him. He looks at his father’s hands, the gnarled knuckles and thin white scars that grasp his own destroyed fingers. The contrast of the touch compared to the appearance is comforting in a way that reminds Dick of their early days as Batman and Robin. Before Nightwing. Before Agent 37. Before everything else. It is a testament to their struggles, their crooked fingers and half formed nails from broken bones and relentless pursuit. Their hands hold the weight of a thousand punishments, twice more punches, and countless conflicts and battles.

Their hands are the evidence of their survival though. Their victories against death.

Two thin stitches that hold together the cut just below his hairline are another piece of the evidence. Another testimony to Dick’s endeavor for endurance against the odds. There will be a pink scar to commemorate tonight, and in a year or so, there will be nothing left but a faint white line.

Tomorrow, Dick will wake up, eat breakfast, and carry on about his day. It will be normal because it has to be. There is no other way to move forward, and Dick will swallow his pills with the same grimace and remembrance of hot metal and red lips. Maybe in a week, he’ll tell his therapist about tonight and they’ll suggest another coping strategy that Dick’s already tried but he’ll try again because he has to.

For now though, in the silence of his childhood room, decorated with pictures of the circus and framed photos of his found family, with black out curtains that never move to let the light of day peer through and a noisy vent that sometimes drips from condensation; for now, Dick can indulge in his fears and his worries as Bruce holds his hands.

There will be police reports, prosecutions, scandals, interviews, testimonies, and so much more later. Right now though. Right now, Dick lets himself breathe and accept the fact that things aren’t fine and that he needs help. Dick lets himself squeeze his father’s hands and blink away tears, finding relief in their hold.

He’s not okay, but tomorrow he will be. He has to be.

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sondepoch · 5 years ago

Text

A Sleepover of the Ages (Simeon x Reader x Asmodeus)

When Diavolo's retreat gets extended, you want to relive your favorite human tradition: a sleepover! But you quickly learn that there's a difference between a human sleepover and one with an angel and a demon. Still, that won't stop you from enjoying the night with these two precious boys.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

Three days and two nights.

That's how long this retreat was supposed to be.

And you've (miraculously) managed to survive three days and two nights. So why is it that you're still in Diavolo's castle?!

"I can't believe the retreat got extended," Asmodeus murmurs, groaning. "I would have brought even more luggage if I'd known this would happen!"

"Don't worry too much," Simeon responds with a light smile as he opens the door to your room. He pulls it open and sighs at the bareness of it. Each of you have already packed up and prepared to leave, but it seems that you'll all be needing to unload your things once more. "At least, Lucifer will be making sure that there won't be any other pillow fights."

You let out a light laugh at that, remembering the Avatar of Pride's hour-long assault from the night before. It had resulted in everyone collapsing on the floor somewhere or the other, knocked out by one of his many pillow throws of death. Even Solomon's protective spells ended up useless, the white-haired mage just another body on the floor after Lucifer's anger was unleashed. (Though you suspect that the elder demon was also doing it to have fun.)

But this retreat hasn't been all that bad.

You've managed to secure another pact altogether, with Asmodeus—but now that you'll be spending an entire night in the same room as him, you can't help but think that it might end up being a curse in disguise.

"Hey, MC~" He coos, using his demonlike strength to pull you into his bed. "Now that Mammon isn't here to disturb us, how would you like to sleep with me?" You feel your face heat up at the words. The demon made it sound innocent enough, as if all you'd be doing was sharing a bed, but you can already tell that his intentions are far from pure.

"Asmodeus, don't disturb MC." Simeon's disapproving gaze flits over the demon as he pulls you from his grasp, and you're forced to remember that while demons are of unimaginable strength, angels seem to also share in those superhuman qualities. You have to avert your eyes from Simeon's toned muscles when he unclasps the white cloak around his shoulders.

"Oh my~" Asmodeus teases, at Simeon's side in an instant. "Is this what you've been hiding from us these past three days?"

Asmodeus wraps Simeon in a strange embrace from behind, not hugging the angel as much as he's feeling up his muscles. "Don't worry, I could treat you instead."

"Asmo, stop flirting with him," You murmur, flopping onto your bed. You toss a glance toward your luggage which Barbatos had magicked back up here before turning your gaze away. Nope. You're not going through the hassle of unpacking all over again.

"Thank you, MC," Simeon murmurs with a sigh, his usual smile back on his face. He flashes you a look-what-we-have-to-deal-with look, and you can't help but wonder how he manages to stay in such good nature all the time, especially when he's constantly in the presence of his natural enemies. "Anyway, I was planning on sleeping now. This whole retreat has been rather exhausting, wouldn't you agree?"

"Wait!" You murmur, startling the two men. You let an eager smile spread across your face, silently praying that your human charms will be able to convince them of what you're about to suggest. "Why don't we all stay up?"

"Oh~?" Asmodeus coos, clapping his hands together. "A three-way! I didn't know you were confident enough to take us both at once, but if you're up to it then—"

"I don't think that's what MC was trying to imply." Simeon shakes his head and you can't help but think that he's like a chaperone for Asmodeus. He turns to you. "We should stay up doing what?"

"Just stay up! We do it all the time in the human world!" You let your smile widen, memories of your time with friends in the human world flashing through your mind. "It's called a sleepover! If you have a few friends gathered together and you're all supposed to be sleeping in the same room, you just stay up the whole night and watch movies or talk and have fun and stuff. They're awesome!"

Simeon brings a gloved hand up to his face, considering the idea. "I suppose Diavolo's objective with this retreat was to bring the three realms closer together. Trying this human tradition may not be such a bad idea."

Next to him, though, Asmodeus pouts. "Ehh? But if I don't sleep my face will be all puffy in the morning!" He brings two hands to his cheeks, feeling his soft skin. "And my skin is already suffering from Lucifer's pillow attack last night..."

"Nope!" You jump off the bed, suddenly refreshed. When you proposed the idea of a sleepover, you were really only trying to get Simeon to agree. With his consent, you have no hesitations about forcing Asmodeus to play along irrespective of how the demon feels about it. "You're staying up! It's decided! We're having a sleepover!"

You clap your hands eagerly, and the two men in front of you seem to let go of their final doubts after seeing how happy it makes you.

"So how does this 'sleepover' begin? A traditional ritual? A prayer for a fulfilling night? A sacred chant?" Simeon's gaze is serious, and you have to stifle your laughter.

"Um, most of the sleepovers I've been to have started off as a pool party. But that doesn't matter!" You pinch the fabric of the bed you've spent the past two nights sleeping on. It's a bit on the thicker side, but it should work. "Let's start by building a fort!"

You started off eager, beyond optimistic about the idea of having a sleepover when you haven't had one since leaving the human world...but you quickly find that there are some differences between your normal human friends, and the demon and angel sitting in front of you.

"A fort? You want us to cast a fortification?" Simeon asks with concerned eyes, uncertainty creeping in. He glances around the bedroom, wondering how you plan to turn it into a protected stronghold.

It takes all your power not to facepalm then and there.

At Asmodeus's next words, you can only stare in disbelief. "No! MC means a military fort! It'll be tough, but we should be able to transform these walls with some high-level sorcery."

After you manage to explain that what you meant was a blanket fort, though, both Simeon and Asmodeus end up being shockingly helpful. Apparently, living for thousands of years gives you a pretty deep understanding of how to manipulate fabrics, and within minutes the two of them have suspended your bed-sheet in the air, somehow managing to tie the four corners to the three bedposts that are closest to the center of the room.

From there on, you all work together to double up two quilts on the ground as a makeshift carpet, and after the skeleton of the blanket fort is completed, everything becomes about the aesthetic.

You and Simeon creep around on your knees inside the fort, straightening out corners and tightening knots that need to be tightened. Outside, Asmodeus dances around, tossing additional blankets on top of the fort to create velvety walls to the structure. He spends nearly five whole minutes fiddling with the two blankets closest to the door, attempting to get them to match the shape of an opening curtain before you finally pull him inside.

"This is perfect!" You exclaim as you gaze around the fort. The bedposts that support the blanketed ceiling are fairly high up, so you're able to lean your back against the bedframe and sit upright with no problems. Simeon, on the other hand, is struggling.

"It's...low," He murmurs, craning his neck down. He keeps a hand on top of his head, earnestly trying his best not to disturb the ceiling of this fort, but you can tell that it's a struggle.

"No problem!" Asmodeus exclaims, extending a hand outward. He's more energetic than usual, which is surprising, given how mopey he originally was about the idea of staying up the whole night. He closes his hand into a fist and instantly, the entire fort begins to glow a faint purple, a mirror of the magenta hue radiating off Asmodeus's body.

You glance at Simeon, wondering whether the angel is as concerned over Asmodeus's actions as you are, but he seems nonchalant as the demon continues casting his magic.

And after the spell is complete, you understand why.

"Woah!" You exclaim, glancing around wildly. "I had no clue you could do that! Why didn't you tell me? This blanket fort looks amazing now!"

You glance upward, unable to even close your mouth in awe of how brilliant the fort looks. In truth, the fact that the three of you had managed to erect a ceiling for the fort already put it above all the blanket forts you'd built with your human friends, but this? Asmodeus's spell completely reworked all the blankets in the fortress: the fabrics move on their own, straightening and reknotting themselves until the structure has completely shifted. For starters, the ceiling is now a dome, the topmost part of the blanket knotted around the chandelier in your quarters. And the way the rest of the quilts draped down from the top truly makes your fort look like a princess's room, the most brilliant fort you've ever seen.

"A job well done, Asmodeus," Simeon compliments, now able to sit upright.

"Call me Asmo," The demon says with a wink. Asmodeus—or Asmo, rather—then turns his gaze to you, where you still have your mouth dropped open in awe of how beautiful this whole setup is. "Oh my, MC~ You certainly seem impressed. If you want, I have something even more remarkable in my pants that I could show you. I'm sure you'd love it~"

Yep.

Moment ruined.

Congrats, Asmo.

You flash the demon a dirty look, but even you can't hold up the facade for long before your frown turns into a laugh. You flop down on the soft floor, spreading your limbs out like a starfish while Simeon stretches next to you. "This is the best fort I've ever seen."

"I'm glad. This was...surprisingly fun, given that all we did was rearrange blankets." Simeon ruffles your hair, his smile bright as he gazes down at you. "What's next on the sleepover agenda?"

"Ehhhh?" You let your mouth drop in mock disbelief, ignoring how much your whine sounds like Asmo's. "You don't want to savor how awesome this is? Lie down on your back! It feels so good to appreciate all our hard work!" You pat the empty spaces next to you, inviting both Simeon and Asmo to lean back with you.

You know that they're only doing it to humor you, but they finally lean back by your side. "Oh," Simeon murmurs softly when his back presses into the ground. Asmo makes a similar sound, and you can't help but smile.

It's something you've done in every sleepover.

People always live such rushed lives. Even in their relaxation, it's hard to fully lie back and just chill, which is why you always make your friends do this. It doesn't even matter if the blanket fort attempted was successful or not—there's something about just leaning back and looking up, letting every muscle in your body loose and simply bathing in repose, that nothing else can replicate.

And while your human friends didn't always appreciate it, the sounds of contentment coming from Asmo and Simeon are more than enough to tell you that they understand you.

They get it.

"I could stay like this for the rest of the night," Asmo murmurs with a content sigh.

"Do that and you'll fall asleep," You respond. "And that breaks rule number three of all sleepovers!"

"Rule number three?" Simeon asks. "There are rules to sleepovers?"

"Of course," You stretch your hand up above your hand, shifting it with one eye closed until your palm is centered in the blanket fort's dome. You extend one finger up. "Rule number one: What happens in a sleepover stays in a sleepover."

Next to you, you hear Asmo smirk at that rule. You can already hear the flirtatious comment on his tongue before you raise a second finger and continue, not even giving the demon a chance. "Rule number two: No secrets! Whether you're playing truth-or-dare or FMK, you have to be completely honest! And you don't need to worry about any secrets getting out, because rule number one prevents that!"

"What's truth-or-dare?"

"And what's FMK?"

"Um...on second thought, it's best not to play either of those games when Asmo is here." You chuckle lightly, holding back a shudder at all the lewd innuendos that he would throw your way if you were to introduce either game to him. "And the third rule, the last rule, is to stay up as late as possible! That means no sleep!"

"Eh?" Asmo whines. "But it's called a sleep-over!"

You let your hand drop to the blanket you're on top of.

"Hm," Simeon says, thinking out loud. "So how do we bind ourselves to these rules? Do you swear on your lives? Or perform rituals? Or is it just that you're subject to God's wrath if you fail to properly adhere to them?"

You twist your head to the left, staring straight into Simeon's emerald eyes at his question. He's not serious, is he?

And as usual, Asmo somehow manages to top his comment, suggesting something even more outrageous.

"Oh, you angels are so uncreative. Humans obviously make blood pacts."

You sigh helplessly, unable to do anything but shake your head at the ridiculous propositions tossed forth by Simeon and Asmo as they continue to debate how humans ensure that these rules are followed through with, each idea worse and more unrealistic than the last.

"It's an honor system," You finally say, when their debate comes to a standstill. "A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with, and letting them see a new side to you, no matter how vulnerable. You just have to trust that everyone will stay true to the rules."

"I had no clue you trusted us so much~" Asmo teases, rolling over so that he's on his side and staring straight at you. He tilts your chin up toward him and leans in dangerously close. "Is it truly wise to trust a demon?"

You stiffen.

Asmodeus's eyes are bright with the fire of his namesake. Lust, his eyes spell out as he looks at you, gaze unwavering with that devilish smirk on his face.

You're frozen. And as Asmo's lips draw closer, you feel a smidgen of fear seep in.

Simeon is the one to snap you both out of it, placing a tender hand on your shoulder and a more admonishing squeeze on Asmo's. It's subtle, but the protective gesture means more than words can say.

Next to you, Asmo laughs, sitting up to face Simeon. "You two are no fun~" He teases, the normal flirtatious grin back on his face.

Simeon sighs for the umpteenth time. It suddenly dawns on you that it was no coincidence that Diavolo placed you in the same room as a demon and an angel. There's no doubt that Solomon can hold his own against his roommates, but Simeon's purpose here isn't just to rest in the same room. He's here to protect you, the only other human in the entire Devildom. So that his angelic qualities can negate whatever demonic attributes Asmodeus may have brought with him into the room.

But still, your words from barely thirty seconds ago flash through your mind.

A sleepover is all about trust. Trusting the people you're spending the night with.

You drag your hand forward, hesitating for a moment before you place it on top of Asmo's. His hand is larger than yours, but you give it a squeeze. "I do trust you, Asmo." You flash him a smile and turn toward Simeon, lacing your fingers with his when his palm is under yours. "And I trust you, too."

Your smile is dazzling as you grin at them, all fears of angel and demon alike vanishing. That alone is enough to melt all the tension in the room, and within seconds both of the men and your sides are relaxed once more.

"What's next, hm?" Simeon asks. He'd started out hesitant about this whole idea, but he now seems eager to see what plans you have in store for them.

"We should tell scary stories to each other and cuddle up when one of us gets scared~" Asmo exclaims with a chuckle. He says it as a joke, but his guess is spot-on.

"Actually, Asmo's right."

"Whoa! Does that mean you'll reward me, MC~"

"No, Asmo." You smack Asmo's arm before he can protest, giving it a gentle whack to tell him to tone it down. Given that he's one of the strongest demons in the entire Devildom, you probably had no reason to hold back on him, but your more docile instincts from being surrounded by non-indestructible humans always prevail. "But you can start us off!"

You flash the demon an expectant grin, pulling yourself into a seated position. In truth, you have high hopes for this story. Back in your days in the human world, the scary stories used to be your favorite part of every sleepover—but none of the tales ever really measured up. (Except for that one time your best friend read off a horror story about clowns and your other friend then barged into the room in full horror-clown makeup, laughing like a maniac. Yeah, that was terrifying. Short-lived, but utterly terrifying.)

"Get ready to be scared," Asmo warns as he lets his body glow purple again while he casts another spell, and when the purple light has faded it's so dark that you can't even see Simeon's face. You wrap your hand around his, the eagerness you were feeling one second ago now turned into a queer mix of both dread and excitement.

A horror story from a real demon. That's the dream, isn't it?

And so Asmo begins.

And so Asmo also fails.

By the time he's complete, you're left more confused than anything else.

"Asmo...what was the scary part?" Simeon asks, voicing your every thought. You think back to the plot of the story Asmo just shared, from the beginning where there was only the princess in the castle guarded by the dragon to the end, where she and the prince who saved her lived happily ever after, and the middle which was mostly about her falling in love.

"Yeah," You agree with Simeon after another moment's deliberation. "Was the fight scene between the dragon and the prince supposed to be the 'horror' part?"

"Eh?" Asmo exclaims, using his magic to turn all the lights back on. He turns to you with his mouth wide open. "The entire story was terrifying! The dragon was the most handsome in the entire kingdom of dragons—he was protecting the princess! But then the prince came and saved her, and he wasn't even super attractive. And the princess chose the average prince over the beautiful dragon just because she was raised to believe that the dragon was a monster! How terrifying is that?"

You stare at Asmo in disbelief. A part of you should have expected this from the demon; it might have been scarier if he'd actually come out with a true horror story.

"Oh, Asmo. Did you find this story scary because you're afraid that you'll be the dragon and that some prince will steal the princess MC away?" Simeon murmurs with a twinkle in his eye, a slight smirk on his face. "Oh my, does that make me the prince?"

For the first time, you see Simeon teasing and Asmo sulking as the latter pouts and crosses his arms. "Dragons are cooler! Right, MC? Aren't demons better than angels?"

You smile, pressing a quick kiss to the cheeks of both Asmo and Simeon. You had hesitated before doing it, but the look of surprise and wild blush on their faces makes it worth it.

"They're equally cool. Now, Simeon! Your turn!"

You and Asmo give the angel a moment to collect his thoughts before he takes his turn to regale you with a brilliant story. To his credit, he really tries to include horror. You can tell by his use of the "evil clown" and "omniscient witch" that he's trying his best. Unfortunately, his angelic spin on the entire plot makes the story sound like a kid's movie.

Impressive, but not quite what you're looking for.

"That...wasn't scary, was it?" Simeon drops his head when he's done. You pat him on the shoulder, comforting him by saying 'at least it wasn't like Asmo's' and then it's your turn.

And if there's one thing you're good at, it's telling horror stories.

It takes you a moment to pick one, but you finally settle on the tale of Bloody Mary.

By the time you finish, ending with an ominous warning about mirrors (more directed to Asmo then anything else) you're satisfied, and you can feel how stiff Simeon is. The uncomfortable look on his face lets you know that you did a good job with your telling, but you can't help but feel a pang in your heart when he quietly asks why you had to make it so scary.

But if your horror story was bad, Asmo makes it even worse.

"Hey, guys..." He trails off, and for the first time, you hear what must be Asmo's completely serious voice. You and Simeon look at each other worriedly, probably wondering the same thing. Did we break Asmo? But the demon's next words are truly chilling. "The human tale of Bloody Mary is true. She's a demon. I met her four thousand years ago. And...I think we should summon her."

Asmo pulls out a mirror—you momentarily wonder how he managed to pull one out so quickly before realizing that this is the narcissistic Asmo himself—and he begins to recite a demonic chant.

In seconds, you and Simeon are wrapped in each other's arms in a meek sort of protection, screaming together and at Asmo to stop and not summon the terrifying woman you just spent the past half hour depicting as the scariest entity in the world, before Asmo finally drops the mirror.

The pin-drop silence that follows is deafening, and you cling to Simeon tighter, quietly thinking that if Bloody Mary really does appear, then you'll sacrifice both men in the room and make a run for Lucifer's quarters before anything can happen to you.

But Asmo is the one to break the silence.

"Just kidding~"

Cue the next round of screaming.

You and Simeon team up to throw every pillow in sight at the demon, snatching them back as soon as they hit him to leave him with nothing to defend himself. "Ah!" Asmo exclaims, covering his face. "Not my face!" You suddenly wish for Lucifer, furious at Asmo for being such a little devil. You were actually scared for a moment there.

"Enough, enough!" Asmo groans out after what feels like an eternity of whacking him with feather-stuffed pillows. He breathlessly crawls next to Simeon and leans his back on one of the only spots in the entire blanket fort with a bed. "If I'd known you two were such scaredy-cats, I would have been a little less convincing," He murmurs with a wink, snuggling up against Simeon. "But this angel here looks so cute when he's scared~"

Simeon makes no motion to shake Asmo off, only leaning back on the bedpost.

"What time is it?" He asks with a yawn, and you can tell that the sudden exercise of assaulting Asmo via pillows tired him out.

You check your D.D.D. and are surprised to find that it's already well past four in the morning, telling him as much.

"But we can sleep now if you like," You murmur when a wave of drowsiness hits you. Like it's contagious, you can tell that even Asmo seems tired.

"B-but rule three!" Simeon exclaims, surprised.

"Rules are meant to be broken," You smirk, stretching yourself out across Asmo and Simeon. All the pillows in the room have been tossed to the corners of the room courtesy of Asmo, so these two boys' laps would have to suffice for your slumber. "That's why we don't have any stupid blood oaths to bind ourselves to them. Humans need sleep, hm?" Your words tumble out in more of a mumble than anything else, and you can feel the smile on Simeon's and Asmo's faces as they watch you drift off in their laps.

Vaguely, you hear them continue to talk. For how long? You can't be sure. But by the end of the hour, the room is dark and silent once more, the three of you separated only by the thin veil of dreams.

***

"I'm sorry, Diavolo," Lucifer mumbles in a huff, crossing his arms. The demon is worked up, Diavolo can tell, but he's unsure of how to comfort his friend so he simply lets Lucifer continue to rant. "All three of them were down on time these past three days, so I just assumed that they'd wake up on their own today as well."

"Do not fret, Lucifer!" Diavolo exclaims with a pleasant grin. His walk is brisk as he makes his way to the room where he knows you, Asmo, and Simeon are to be staying in, and he's almost excited to hear what excuse the three of you will throw his way.

In fact, that's the one thing he loves about the members of the House of Lamentations.

The seven brothers are each exotic in their own way, only Lucifer being responsible enough to give him full honesty and transparency. The other six are reliable, no doubt, but their methods are always entertaining.

Diavolo opens the door with a master key, entering the room with Lucifer hot on his heels. But the sight that greets him is beyond strange.

"What did they do?" Lucifer asks. Diavolo can sense his anger, and a small part of it finds it amusing. Truly. Lucifer's anger exists for my lack thereof.

He glances around the room, wondering how much time it took to do all this tampering. Every single blanket in the room has been stripped off the bed, likely stuffed inside the large dome-like structure (which, in turn, is also made of blankets) in the center of the room.

"Why, they've created their own castle in my castle," Diavolo jokes, pulling back the makeshift curtain that forms the entrance. He's about to enter when his eyes catch sight of the three people he's been looking for.

Next to him, Lucifer's breath catches in his throat.

For the first time in four hundred years, both men are stunned into silence.

All three of you are sleeping on top of one another, the first union Diavolo has ever seen of the human world, Celestial Realm, and Devildom.

"What are they..." Lucifer mumbles, but Diavolo places a quick finger to his lips. He doesn't want to disturb this.

His eyes skit over the three of you, taking in the image so that he can perhaps describe it to a demon painter. It's...truly inspiring.

For the first time, demon and angel are slumbering together in peace, with both Simeon and Asmodeus sleeping in upright seating positions. Their backs are pressed against the bed, and while Simeon rests his head against the pillar in what seems like a somewhat uncomfortable position, Asmo has made himself cozy, resting his head delicately on Simeon's shoulder with a hand wrapped around the angel's muscular arm.

You, on the other hand, must have been reluctant to sleep sitting up. You lie on the floor, lower body stretched out with Simeon's white cloak draped across your legs, upper body thrown across Asmo's lap. Your head rests on Simeon's upper thigh, arms wrapped around his waist while you bury your head in his stomach in what looks like an awfully human, childlike pose.

And the two men both have their arms resting on your body, one of Simeon's gloved hands nestled in your (h/c) locks with Asmo's free arm tossed over your body in a quiet pull to get you closer to him.

It's a sleepover of the ages: the first of its kind in thousands of years.

All of you rest with smiles on your faces, and the way Diavolo's face brightens up at the sight of you is enough for anyone to know that this is what he's been seeking in his journey to unite the three realms.

The future ruler of the Devildom pulls Lucifer out of the room, giving the younger demon no chance to disturb the three of you in what Diavolo hopes is the first of many more nights of happiness and union.

I'll extend the retreat even longer! He thinks joyously, a grin spreading across his features as he recalls the sight of the three of you once more.

It's the first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have all been so content with one another. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have been comfortable with each other enough to sleep without any protections. The first time that a demon, an angel, and a human have placed enough trust in each other to slumber so vulnerably.

Diavolo grins.

His plan to unite the three great realms of the world has finally begun to piece together.

The content, trusting smiles on your faces as you, Simeon, and Asmodeus slumber are Diavolo's testimony to that fact.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: If you guys are interested, I might consider adding a second chapter that's a bit more adult, but for now ill leave this as just some wholesome fluff~ aghhh Simeon is too precious x3 ALSO YEY IVE FINALLY ENTERED THE OBEY ME FANDOM

Comment & Like

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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topsytervy · 4 years ago

Text

Hello ~ Rafe Cameron

This is Part 2 to Goodbye cause I had the thought in my head and I didn't want to write it only for it to sit in my docs so you can read Goodbye (aka Part 1) here.

Blurb: A lot can change in five years.

Word Count: 3,677

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, smoking, cocaine, spelling/grammar mistakes, i think that's it.

Small note: I’m 19 and have never planned a wedding. I’ve been to my fair share of weddings as guests and my only experience with a wedding would have been when my sister got married, however, her in-laws are kind of assholes so her wedding was really lowkey and shit, like it took place in my sister backyard lowkey, cause her mother-in-law was like 'Im not paying for anything cause you guys wont last but I'll pay for your sisters weddings' so like I’m winging half of this shit if not most of it. I’m sorry.

~~~~~

It was 5 years later.

You were 21, along with the rest of the pogues, and able to legally drink and purchase alcohol. So no more hassle with a fake ID.

Nothing had changed except for college and jobs. You and JJ had broken up after two years of dating and, much to everyone's surprise, it was like nothing had ever happened between you two.

It was insanely easy to slip back into the friend zone with JJ, despite both of you thinking that it would be awkward. Both of you fell back into old habits fairly quickly. Sure there were the first couple of weeks where you two felt as if you had to force normality but after that, it was like nothing happened. Sure, JJ still called you princess and you still found yourself hiding into his side during scary movies, but those were habits you two had prior to dating, and old habits die hard.

The only other difference was that John B and Sarah were getting married.

They were planning on getting married at The Lodge at Bear River in fall which meant a ferry to the mainland and then an almost 8-hour road trip to the venue.

You, Kie, and Wheezie were bridesmaids, Kie being maid of honor, and Pope, JJ, and much to John B's displeasure, Rafe were groomsmen, JJ being best man.

You and Pope were walking together which left Rafe and his half-sister to walk together.

Rafe looked at his sister and John B, trying to stay as unphased as possible. "Y/N's gonna be a part of the wedding party?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette from his spot by the pool.

John B and Sarah were outside at the patio table with their wedding planner, going over guests and the wedding party. The three looked over at Rafe and Sarah nodded.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"No reason. If you need someone to walk with her, I'll do it." He told her as nonchalantly as possible.

"She's walking with Pope." John B responded. Rafe made a face as he brought the cigarette back up to his lips and John B narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is there a problem?" Sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"No. No problem. It's your wedding."

John B rolled his eyes before turning back to the wedding planner.

Rafe stood up and walked inside, flipping John B the bird as he walked by. He felt as if John B was put on this earth just to make him miserable at this point.

Rafe walked over to the bar and fixed himself a drink, Wheezie rolling her eyes from her spot on the couch in between Rose and Ward, who were currently scrolling through formal wear for the wedding.

"Dad, Rafe's day drinking... again." The now eighteen-year-old piped up.

Rafe glared at her. "Just wait Wheezie. This will be you in a few years." He told his half-sister with a smirk.

Wheezie scrunched up her face in disgust at the sight of her brother holding his cigarette in one hand and drink in the other.

Rose, a glass of wine in her hand, rolled her eyes at her stepson as Ward, a gin and tonic in his hand, just sighed. "It's five o'clock somewhere, Wheezie."

Rafe clinked his glass against his father’s as he made his way upstairs to his old room that he was temporarily staying in since his apartment building had taken some damage during the latest hurricane and was currently getting the necessary repairs done, and closed the door behind him. He sat down at his old desk chair and looked at the corkboard above the desk where a couple of polaroid pictures of you hung. The pictures were the first thing Rafe went looking for when he had gotten back to his apartment, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the little lockbox he had stored the polaroids still in the closet and completely unscathed. Rafe downed his drink as he swiveled his chair back and forth.

Of course, John B wouldn't pair you and him up. That would be helping a brother out. Rafe did everything he could to show that he changed once he heard you and JJ broke up.

He quit cocaine and took up cigarettes instead. He went back to college and got a business degree. He was currently working and getting along with his father. He had his life together, mostly, and on track. The only thing missing from his life was you.

He had barely spent more than 5 minutes in a room with you since the breakup because you were either by JJ or you retreated as far from him as possible. He'd casually bring you up in conversation with John B and your friend would just roll his eyes.

"We don't bring you up in conversations, Rafe." John B told him one day.

That cut the blue-eyed man deep.

Especially since this was after Rafe gave John B the money he needed to buy Sarah an engagement ring.

Some wingman John B was.

Rafe stood up with a sigh and walked downstairs, deciding to bring the entire bottle of whiskey upstairs since he could already tell it was going to be one of those nights. He halted by the patio door though when he heard his sister and John B start talking.

“Would it be that bad to pair Rafe and Y/N up for the wedding? I highly doubt Wheezie wants to walk with him. At least Y/N won’t whine about it.” She asked as she placed a hand on his arm, the wedding planner nowhere in sight.

Rafe leaned against the wall, biting his lip as he waited for John B’s answer. If Rafe was being honest, he was kind of surprised that his sister would even consider asking John B that since she could care less about what Rafe wanted.

“Sarah, I love you but you did not see her that day or the day after or the following month and a half after that. Do you know how hard it was seeing Y/N like that? Heartbroken. Not wanting to get out of bed. Thinking she did the wrong thing and that caused him to go over the edge. Do you know how many times JJ, Pope, Kie and I caught her reading the obituaries to make sure Rafe’s name wasn’t in there?” John B looked at his fiancée. “I’m not pairing them up together without her permission. That’s that.”

“Then ask her.”

"What?"

"Ask Y/N if she wants to walk with Rafe?" Sarah saw the 'are you kidding' look in John B's eyes. "I'm serious John B. Rafe's changed a lot and, despite what you think, you cannot keep her from talking or seeing my brother all your life."

"I can try." The curly-haired boy stated, crossing his arms.

"You know what, JB? You are acting like a damn child. It is not going to break Y/N/N if you ask her one small question that contains the name Rafe, okay? I'm sure she can hear his name and not break down or something. It's been long enough. Let him have that 5 minutes he needs to talk to her cause, yeah I do not doubt that Y/N took their breakup hard, but what about Rafe? Hmm? Believe it or not John B, but my brother has fucking feelings too, okay. He probably took that break up just as hard and Wheezie and I witnessed it. So stop acting like even whispering Rafe's name will break her and just fucking ask her if she wants to walk with Rafe or Pope."

"Fine. If it makes you and Rafe happy, I'll ask her." John B huffed.

Rafe didn't stay to hear the rest, just turned around and walked back to his room, the whiskey bottle long forgotten.

****

Fall had come quickly and the wedding date came even faster. It was like Rafe blinked and then he was on the ferry two days before the wedding, sitting next to you, very awkwardly might I add, his leg bouncing up and down as he played with his fingers. It was like he didn't know what to do with his hands. After all these years, the most natural thing to do with one of his hands was still to place it on your thigh and the amount of willpower it took to not do that exact thing was unbelievable.

Rafe had told his dad that he was going to rent his own car because eight hours in a car with his family was a hard no for him.

So there he was, walking over to the car he rented and opening the door before stopping and watching you get in a car with Pope, Kie, and JJ.

You glanced up just before you got in, making eye contact with him. You gave him a small smile to make it a little less awkward and Rafe returned the smile before hopping into the car. He watched you guys pull away and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh before putting the key into the ignition and starting the car.

This was going to be the longest three days of his life.

***

He was happy for the long-ass drive of day one considering once everyone got to the hotel, there was a silent, collective decision to all just turn in for the night.

Day two was a little less chill. After being awoken by a panicked banging on the door of his hotel room, Rafe got out of bed as quickly as he could and opened the door, only to be greeted by Sarah who roughly pushed past him into his room.

“Yeah. Come on in. Good morning to you too.” He deadpanned before shutting the door.

“What the hell am I doing, Rafe?” She asked out of the blue, causing a look of confusion to settle on his face.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” He stated.

He watched as Sarah sat on his bed and ran her hands through her hair, letting out a breath. “Is this too soon? Am I getting married too young? Like, I’m 21, Rafe. I should be out getting blackout drunk and having hookups and having regrets but instead, I’m doing the exact opposite.” She rambled.

“Okay. I see what’s happening now.” Rafe walked over and sat down next to Sarah. “Sarah, trust me when I say that marrying John B will not hurt any of that. I guarantee that you and John B will get blackout drunk together and call someone for a ride. I guarantee you will be having hookups, it’s just that all of them will be with John B. And you will have regrets. What those regrets are, I have no fucking clue but life is full of them. Trust me, I have a lot of regrets and I’m only 24.” Rafe told her. “But, I don’t think marrying John B is going to be one of your regrets. Canceling this wedding would be. After all, the venue does say no refunds.”

Sarah snorted slightly and Rafe bumped his shoulder against hers. “Believe me, Sarah, if anyone is ready to get married at this age, it’s you. You came down with a damn binder filled to the brim when you were like seven and placed it in front of me and dad on the coffee table and told dad to start making connections with everyone in that binder, right down to the dress designer.”

Sarah smiled before turning and wrapping her arms around Rafe. “Who would’ve thought you could give a pep talk. And liked John B.” She said.

Rafe slowly wrapped his arms around his younger sister. “Apparently you because you came to me. However, this does not mean I like John B. I am not going to start canceling shit just to have some one-on-one time with that curly-haired surfer dude. Okay? I simply tolerate him because he somehow makes you happy.”

After breakfast and lunch that he spent with Wheezie, last-minute plans when he walked to your room to ask you to lunch only to knock and have you answer the door which caused him to quickly abandon that plan and say “Whoops sorry. Room 202 for Wheeze,”, the rehearsal dinner came quickly.

In all honesty, Rafe wasn't really paying attention to the dinner at all. How could he when you were right there, quite literally within his reach, laughing and smiling?

The actual wedding day itself was stressful leading up to the ceremony but after everyone got where they needed to be, it was smooth sailing. Rafe and Wheezie walked out after Kie and JJ.

Rafe watched you walk down with Pope and couldn't help the pang of jealousy he felt in his chest. He also couldn't help but imagine himself as the groom and you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him.

He quickly shook the thought from his head though, watching you take your place next to Wheezie before turning your attention towards the door to watch his dad and sister walkout.

You glanced over at Rafe and smiled slightly when you saw him bring a hand up to his cheek, wiping away a tear. You turned your attention to John B before Rafe could look over and catch you staring.

You saw John B wipe his hands on his trousers as subtly as he could. You caught JJ's eyes and he shook his head, mouthing 'fucking whipped' to you.

You nodded and moved your eyes between Sarah and John B before settling them back on JJ. 'Obviously' you mouthed back before the pair of you stopped before someone caught you.

In all honesty, Sarah did and she saw Rafe catch the interaction as well, noticing him swallow hard.

The ceremony went smoothly with no objections -Rafe fought back the urge to object just to mess with everyone but he knew his entire family wouldn't appreciate the humor- and after pictures, everyone moved inside for the reception as the sun began to set.

Dinner and drinks were served, toasts were made -JJ had made sure to include a few of John B's stupid and most embarrassing moments, much to Rafe's pleasure-, and then the dancing began.

Sarah and Ward had their father/daughter dance and then John B and Sarah had their first dance before everyone else was encouraged to join them on the dance floor.

Wheezie walked over to Rafe and Rafe looked at her. "I am not nearly drunk enough to get out on that floor and dance with you Wheezie."

Wheezie just rolled her eyes. "You have a shot right now to go ask Y/N to dance and no one will even notice you. Take it." Rafe ignored her. "Oh, okay. So you can sit there and stare but you don't have the balls to walk up to her and say 'wanna dance'?"

Rafe glared at his half-sister. "Watch your mouth, Wheezie."

Wheezie took one last glance at the dance floor and shrugged. "That's fine. Looks like someone else did."

Rafe had never scanned a crowd faster than he did right there and sure enough, there you were, a cousin of his with his hands on your waist and yours on his shoulders, moving slowly around the dance floor.

"I'm going out for a smoke," Rafe muttered before getting up and making his way out of the building.

He stood outside and brought out his pack of cigarettes, along with his lighter, and opened up the little carton. He withdrew a cigarette before closing the pack and shoving it back into his pocket, placing the cigarette between his lips. He heard the song from inside end before another one started back up as he flicked the spark wheel a couple of times, his thumb landing on the fork before a flame appeared.

He cupped his hand in front of the flame and brought the flame to the cigarette that rested between his lips, making a mental note to buy a new lighter since his was running out of juice.

Rafe heard the door open and close as he shoved the lighter back into his pocket and inhaled. He blew out the smoke before looking over to see who had joined him and was a little surprised to see you.

Of course, Rafe knew at some point you'd duck out of the party for some fresh air considering in social situations where they were tons of people, you needed to get away for a bit and recharge your social battery. He just didn't expect you to do that so soon.

You both stared out in front of you, not saying anything and Rafe brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another drag.

"It's beautiful out here." You breathed out, trying to start some conversation.

Rafe nodded as he exhaled. "Yeah, it is."

"I wouldn't mind getting married here." You added absent-mindedly.

If Rafe had a drink right now, he would've choked at your words. He nodded nonetheless. "Yeah. It's a pretty nice place to get married."

You looked over at Rafe. "You gonna be okay over there, big guy?"

Rafe turned his head to look at you, confusion written all over his face. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw you wipe a tear away, bub." Rafe's heart sped up at the nickname that you used to use on him. "When Sarah was walking down the aisle. You gonna be okay or should the same reaction be expected at Wheezie's wedding too?" You smiled as Rafe groaned, tilting his head to look at the almost pitch-black sky.

"Don't even mention Wheezie getting married. To me, she's still that annoying thirteen-year-old that was always eavesdropping and snooping through shit."

"Awe, Rafe. You got a soft spot for your sisters now. That’s so sweet." You cooed, knowing that when he was 19, the only thing he did was complain about the two Cameron girls. "Seriously though, I think it's sweet that you walked with Wheezie and that you shed a tear today." You told him.

Rafe couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth. "I wanted to walk with you but you told John B you'd rather walk with Pope."

Way to go, dumbass, he thought to himself.

"What are you talking about?" It was your turn to look confused.

Rafe sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke pour past his lips as he spoke. "I offered to walk with you and John B said no. I overheard him and Sarah talking a bit later and Sarah told him that it wouldn't hurt to ask if you wanted to walk with me or not. And I think you know the rest."

He might as well fess up about it since his mouth and brain already decided to rat him out anyway.

You shook your head. "I don't know the rest because John B never asked me who I wanted to walk with nor did he ask if I wanted to walk with you."

Rafe looked over at you, his eyes locked on yours. He knew when you were lying and this was not one of those times.

He chuckled before shaking his head. "God. He's such a dick."

You ignored his comment about one of your best friends and walked closer to him. "You seriously wanted to walk with me?"

Rafe nodded, looking down at the ground. He was in way over his head, admitting that after half a decade he was still thinking about you and wanting to be with you. Even if it was for like a 20-second walk down an aisle.

You felt a blush grow on your cheeks as you looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers.

A beat passed before you spoke, keeping your head down. "If it makes you feel better… I would've said yes."

Rafe looked at you. "Yeah?"

You nodded and he took another drag from his cigarette.

"Can we start over?" He asked.

"What?" Your Y/E/C eyes lifted from the ground to meet his blue ones.

"Can we start over?"

You bit your lip. "Yeah. Sure."

Rafe cleared his throat before placing a small smile on his face and giving a little bow. "Hello. I'm Rafe."

You breathed out a laugh before giving Rafe a slight curtsy. "Hello, Rafe. I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rafe shook his head. "Oh no. The pleasure is all mine."

Your heads both turned to the building when the song changed once again to a slower song and Rafe took Wheezie's advice on seizing an opportunity.

"You still like this song?" You nodded once more and Rafe put out his cigarette before extending his hand to you. "Would you like to dance?"

You smiled and took his hand. "Of course."

He placed his hands on your waist and yours looped around his neck, him starting to sway you two slightly.

"You look amazing by the way." Rafe complimented, taking in the lavender color of your bridesmaid dress.

"Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself." You took your hands from his neck and straightened his tie before returning them to where they previously were.

You moved closer to Rafe, resting your head on his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Rafe?" You mumbled towards the end of the song.

"Mhm?"

"I missed you." You admitted.

Rafe smiled before placing a kiss at the top of your head. "I missed you too, Y/N/N."

"Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you maybe wanna ride back to the ferry together? 8 hours is a long trip. Especially when you're alone and I have to deal with JJ, Pope, and Kie."

You heard Rafe’s heart speed up a bit before it calmed back down as he took a deep breath.

"I would love that."

~~~~~~~

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #drew starkey

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aylinaliens · 3 years ago

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will you share your life with me (for the next ten lifetimes)— chapter 1

Fandom: Cherry Magic

Pairings: Kurosawa/Adachi

Summary: Kurosawa likes to watch his fiancé sleep, simply because he wanted to make up for the seven years he had to spend pining from afar. Adachi likes it when Kurosawa watches him sleep—so he decides to make it crystal clear one morning.

Word Count: 1450

Notes: kurosawa literally spends this whole entire one shot freaking out over how cute his fiancé is. seriously. that’s it. that’s the plot. just kurosawa going on one monologue after another about how much he ~loves~ adachi. he also has a lil insecure spiral because !!! our boy is a mess. anyways, i decided to post just one big fic for all my one shots and drabbles about Kurosawa, Adachi, and the rest of the Cherry Magic crew because i have so many just chilling in my drafts. Feel free to send in any request for prompts if you so desire!

Read it on Ao3 or down below!

Before they started to date, back when Adachi only saw Kurosawa as just a coworker, this particular image would frequently show up in his dreams. He always fantasized about waking up next to Adachi. It was so mundane and so simple, yet Kurosawa found himself aching with desire for it.

Now that they were living together, Kurosawa had the pleasure of waking up next to his lover every morning. He thought that after a year or so the giddiness he felt would dissipate but it never did. In fact, it only grew stronger.

Kurosawa was so used to waking up at the crack of dawn that even if he were to set off the alarm, he would still naturally wake up before the sun had even risen. But instead of getting out of bed to do something productive, Kurosawa would stay in bed, staring at his boyfriend. Every day without he would discover yet another reason to fall helplessly in love with Adachi.

Seven years. That was how long Kurosawa spent staring at Adachi from afar, that was how long he spent pining. He was so used to averting his gaze those seven years in fear of being discovered that he was almost overwhelmed when they started dating. Now, Kurosawa could stare at his boyfriend, fiancé, as long as he wanted to. If he wanted to spend twenty minutes straight tracing the wrinkles that had developed on Adachi’s forehead due to his inability of not using his whole entire face to express every little emotion he was feeling. Kurosawa very well could.

Today Kurosawa found himself drawn to the delicate curve of Adachi’s lips and then his eyelashes. He made sure to keep his touches feather light and gentle, silently hoping that this would not rouse him from his deep slumber. Kurosawa doubted that that Adachi would wake up from this, though. He was a heavy sleeper by nature. One time while Kurosawa was making breakfast, he accidentally dropped a glass pitcher to the ground in his haste to turn off the stove before his Tamagoyaki burns. He thought for sure that the loud noise would wake Adachi up, but he remained knocked out cold.

Besides, even if Adachi were to wake up and catch Kurosawa in the act of tracing every little freckle on his face, he would have not been surprised. Kurosawa did this so often that by now Adachi was used to it. When he did happen to wake up and see what Kurosawa was doing, he would just flush pink before letting his eyes flutter shut, feigning sleepiness. Sometimes Adachi would stare at Kurosawa while he slept too, except when he was caught he would practically bolt from the bed in embarrassment.

Cute, Kurosawa would think to himself. Adachi was the cutest person that Kurosawa has ever had the pleasure of encountering in his thirty-three years on this earth.

He was perhaps just a tad bit biased, seeing as Kurosawa was so indescribably overcome with love for his fiancé that he even thought Adachi drooling in his sleep was adorable.

Kurosawa brushed one of his fingertips over Adachi’s top lip before doing the same to his bottom. They were still a bit red and swollen from their little impromptu make out session before bed. Adachi was the one who initiated it last night, much to Kurosawa’s delight. Even if he was exhausted from a long day of work he was not about to pass up Adachi when he was like this. He was being clingy.

Kurosawa was unsurprisingly the clingy one in their relationship but that did not mean that Adachi was not affectionate. Kurosawa felt as if he always had to touch Adachi. Most of the time, the touches were casual and definitely not tinged with anything sexual in nature. He just liked touching Adachi—simple as that.

He liked it when they curled up on the touch reading Ragna Crimson together, fingers interlocked, and limbs tangled up together.

He liked pressing a kiss against Adachi’s forehead mid conversation for no apparent reason.

He liked sneaking up behind Adachi as he was washing dishes and hugging him behind. He would prop his head against Adachi’s shoulder and whisper sweet nothings that were full of cheesy and mushy declarations of love.

He liked accidentally brushing his fingertips against Adachi’s own as they passed each other in the office. They were still not out to anyone besides Fujisaki and Rokkaku in the office, but no one seemed to care enough to decipher why the grins they had on their face afterwards.

He liked it when Adachi would slip his hand into Kurosawa as they were walking home from work or out doing various errands.

He liked coming home from a long day of work and flopping down on the bed next to Adachi. Sometimes they were too tired to change out of their suits so they would just lay next to each other in silence, so comfortable in each other’s presence that they could communicate with the simplest of touches.

Even when they were old and grey Kurosawa knew that he would still feel like this. He hoped that Adachi would too.

Kurosawa turned his attention to Adachi’s eyelashes instead. He used to think that Adachi must have had extensions or something because no one in real life has eyelashes that long and soft.

Well, except Adachi apparently.

As he softly touched Adachi’s eyelashes, Kurosawa fought the urge to lean over and kiss him. On his lips. On his cheeks. On the tip of his nose. On his eyelids. On his forehead. Everywhere.

And that is exactly what he said out loud.

“Kiyoshi.” Kurosawa let out a sigh. “My angel. Hurry and wake up so I can kiss you.”

Kurosawa was just about to touch Adachi’s soft lips again but before he could they began to move.

“I am awake.” Adachi croaked out, voice dry from disuse and thick with sleep. “And you can. Kiss me.” Adachi kept his eyes shut but it was clear that he was awake.

Kurosawa let his own eyes flutter shut as he tried to calm the pounding in his chest. He nibbled on his lip for a few seconds before replying. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since your alarm—” Adachi broke off mid-sentence to yawn. “—went off.”

“That was nearly an hour ago!” Kurosawa gaped in surprise. “You were awake this whole time? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted to see how long you were going to do this.”

Normally Kurosawa was rarely embarrassed by being caught in the act but for some reason he was downright flustered right now. He did not understand why he was so shy about this, but he eventually chalked it up due to the fact that this was perhaps the longest amount of time he had spent staring at Adachi while he was sleeping.

Even though their relationship was stable and strong, sometimes that insecure voice in Kurosawa’s head would make him fearful that everything would soon come crumbing down. What if Adachi realized just how much of a fool Kurosawa was? What if he woke up one day and discovered that maybe, possibly, Kurosawa was not worth it—not worth the hassle? That was partially why Kurosawa spent so much time looking at Adachi. He wanted to memorize every single line and spot on Adachi’s face in case they would have to part one day. He wanted to sear Adachi’s image into his brain so that he would never forget anything.

“Still.” Kurosawa nibbled down on his lips again. “You should have said something.”

The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence for a few moments until Adachi cleared his throat, popped open his eyes, and rolled over to the side. He stared at Kurosawa for a few seconds before scooting close enough so that he could wrap his fiancé in a hug. “I like when you watch me, Kurosawa.” Adachi’s face was pressed against the fabric of Kurosawa’s shirt, so his voice was muffled as he spoke.

Was it possible that Adachi could somehow tell that Kurosawa was spiraling right now? Adachi was so terrified about losing his mind reading abilities but clearly he was worried for nothing. He was even better than Kurosawa at picking up subtle shifts in expression and body language. Sometimes he was wrong, but Kurosawa was far from perfect too. It was okay that they had the occasional mess up, those mess ups is what made them real and human. “I’m not leaving you, okay?”

“Promise?” Kurosawa whispered.

Instead of verbally replying, Adachi just kissed Kurosawa’s chest, right against where his heart was thump, thump, thumping.

Promise.

#cherry magic #kurosawa x adachi #kurosawa/adachi #kuroadachi #cherry magic fic #30-sai made dotei da to mahotsukai ni nareru rashii #30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい #Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!#kurosawa yuichi #adachi kiyoshi #bl fics #my fics*#i just...~looooveeee~ kuroadachi okay

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blitheringmcgonagall · 4 years ago

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Nah, He Didn’t... Jilytober Prompt #25

This is for @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world who made the list of prompts and is a star 😘😘😘😘

Prompt #25: 7th Year Lily thinking James is no longer interested in her…

(Btw, I am not a fan AT ALL of James chasing after an unrequiting Lily for ages, that stalkerish behaviour is more Snape, if anyone, and in canon James only asks her out once, just reminding you all…)

Nah, He Didn’t

It was freezing cold outside and Lily wrapped her fleece-lined cloak around her tightly as she wandered off towards the Great Lake on that blustery morning. She hadn’t slept particularly well, and she needed to wake up before starting school. She rubbed her tired eyes and yawned widely, then blinked. A fluffy, large, black dog was trotting towards her, wagging its tail joyfully.

“Ooooh, look at you!” she cooed warmly, hunkering down as the dog approached her. “Aren’t you a dote? Such a gorgeous dog!”

The dog barked enthusiastically as though in complete agreement.

“Of course you are,” Lily said, rubbing behind the dog’s ears. “I’m sure you get told that all the time!”

The dog made a sound half-way between a laugh and a bark, wagging its tail with enthusiasm.

“Big-headed git,” Lily snorted, ruffling the soft hair on the dog’s head affectionately.

The dog’s chin shot up.

“Oh, a bit defensive, are we?” Lily quipped.

The dog sniffed.

“Fair enough, unlike some big-headed gits, you actually have something to be vain about,” she said, with a sigh.

The dog cocked its head to one side, as though listening attentively. It did the trick.

“Don’t get me started,” Lily muttered crossly. “I really, really need to cop on and move on. I mean, there was a stupid rumour in Fifth Year that he liked me, which was bollocks.”

The dog’s eyes grey wide.

“Nah, he didn’t, utter bollocks,” Lily amended, sitting down on the damp ground with a huff. “But then last year, we were getting on really well, and I started seeing him differently, you know…”

The dog moved closer to her and his ears pricked up.

“Fine, I started liking him, as in, you know, liking liking him,” Lily said, as the dog’s eyebrows shot up. “Whatever, fancying him rotten, alright? Satisfied? Ugh! I’m such an idiot! I never hated him, not really, it’s just that we were always annoying each other, engaging in verbal battles and whatnot, I mean I think we both liked spending time with each other, despite the sassy remarks, or maybe because of them.”

She stared moodily ahead of her, which meant she missed the startled and frankly shocked look that the black dog gave her.

“Which was fine. It was nice being friends with James, he’s a nice person, you know?” she added.

The dog barked at her pointedly and thumped his tail against the ground.

“And then this year, when I heard he was Head Boy, I was delighted initially. We got to spend loads of extra time together and I got to see more sides to him and, and… and it’s been rubbish! I can’t concentrate on anything when he’s nearby, I keep seeing all these adorable sides to him that I never knew existed, and his bedroom is next door to mine. Next Door! You don’t want to know the number of times I’ve seen him come in from Quidditch practice with his uniform stuck to his toned abs and biceps and Merlin…”

She sighed deeply and the dog whined.

“Oh dear! Are you not feeling well?” Lily asked.

The dog groaned.

“And then after seeing him looking so hot, gone to bed and dreamt we had a row and made up and then I was tearing his quidditch uniform off and-“

The dog let out a huge yelp. Lily huffed with annoyance and ripped some blades of grass.

“So then as he’s so clearly not interested in my any more, if he ever really was-“

The dog dropped his head onto the grass and whined loudly.

“I decided the only way to address this was by us both dating other people. Excellent idea, I thought,” she said.

The dog looked at her as though she had grown two heads.

“Except it’s been an unmitigated disaster. Helping him get changed and deciding what to wear on his date with Miranda Carlisle? Helping him think of where to take Lelli Kumar on their first date? IT WAS A NIGHTMARE, Snuffles!”

The dog growled under his breath and sank his chin further into the grass.

“Well, I don’t know what your name is, love, and Snuffles is sweet,” Lily said, with a wicked grin at the grumpy looking dog.

“And as for asking James’ advice on what to wear on that cringeful date with Jack Meadows? Merlin, it was a disaster! The worst was probably the day we were both going on separate dates and spent an entire afternoon trying to be all supportive and encouraging with each other. I was so sick of it all, I said to him maybe we should just forget about our dates and go on a date together instead, save us all the hassle,” Lily said, making a face.

The dog sat up suddenly and his right ear shot up.

“How much more bloody obvious can you get, right? And he said yeah, we should,” Lily said, imitating James’ deeper voice and throwing herself down on her back with a huge sigh. “And then we both just stood there, like idiots, and went on our respective dates. I mean, he’s clearly not into me at all, is he?”

The dog let out a strangled sound.

“I know, so embarrassing! And another time when we were bitching about the stress of dating people you don’t know, I literally said I’d prefer to just go on a date with you James. And you know what he said?” Lily said, turning her neck to look at the dog.

“I’d go on a date with you any time you want, Evans, you just need to ask,” Lily said, mimicking James’ flirty tone and ruffling her hair.

The dog looked at her expectantly.

“So I said now would be nice, Potter, and he laughed and said please stop taking the piss, Evans, I can’t cope with you,” she groaned. “Well obviously I didn’t ask him again after that, not when he was just saying it to be nice!”

She huffed and stuck her hands behind her head. The dog flopped sideways onto the grass as though momentarily incapacitated.

“Bloody boys!” she muttered. “They’re all stupid!”

The dog gave a small bark, as though disagreeing.

“Take Sirius and Remus, both totally head over heels in love with each other, both totally clueless!” she said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know what either of them needs to do in order for the other one to realise it! Sirius sits in class gazing at the back of Remus’ head like he’s staring at a work of art, and Remus fell over his schoolbag cause he was staring at Sirius when he came in after a Quidditch match. I’m pretty sure Mc Gonagall knows it, she keeps giving them detention together for no good reason!”

The dog made a distressed sound, like it was choking, and Lily sat up.

“Are you alright, you poor thing?” she said, petting his back fondly, and watching as a particularly fit Quidditch Captain and Head Boy walked over towards them.

“He always looks particularly well in his tight quidditch top, showing off his toned forearms with the beautiful veins on the back of his hands and arms. I have a thing about his hands and his arms, and his eyes, and his smile,” she whispered to the dog, who made a hacking noise.

“You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t get back to sleep so I did some practice,” said James.

“If that dog’s annoying you, Evans, just send him on his way,” he added, folding the aforementioned beautiful arms, and looking at the dog with a raised brow.

The dog whined and squeezed in beside Lily.

“Leave him alone, Potter! Snuffles is a delight!” she glared back.

“Snuffles?” James snorted and beamed at the black dog. “Oh, Snuffles is pure joy.”

The dog sulked..

“You, er, you wouldn’t be available to help me with those prefect rosters later, would you, Potter?” she said, twisting her hair with embarrassment.

“Yeah, sure, no problem at all,” said James, looking at her wistfully. “I’m just going to shower before school starts.”

Lily stared after him.

“You know, you really aught to stop swooning over his arse, like an idiot, and ask him out, properly.”

“Sirius! Where did you spring out of!” Lily said, clearing her throat and giving him an unmerciful dig with her elbow.

“Ouch!” Sirius yelped, rubbing his arm fretfully. “I mean it.”

Lily rolled her eyes and linked her arm with his.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Where did the cute dog go?”

“The cute dog who’s definitely not called Snuffles? I have no idea,” Sirius said breezily.

Lily looked around her distractedly.

“Lily, there’s something you should know,” Sirius said. “Boys are very, very stupid. Significantly more stupid than you’d expect. Never underestimate how stupid boys are.”

“Oh,” Lily said. “Right.”

“Right. Now. I dare you to ask James out, properly,” he said, raising his arched brow at her. “And if you do, I promise to ask out Remus Lupin.”

She stared at him.

“Well?” he said.

Her face split into a huge grin.

“Well, in that case, as a purely platonic thing, to help you two get your act together,” she beamed and squeezed his arm in excitement.

“Platonic, my arse,” Sirius said. “Shall we?”

Lily grit her teeth and nodded.

He grabbed her hand and raced with her towards the castle.

#jilytober 2020 #jilytober #jily #jily drabble #prompts #hope you like it #silly fluff

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wordsfromthesol · 4 years ago

Text

You Confuse Pity with Love

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader Summary: The evolving relationship between you and Damian after you approach him at an annual charity ball. Warnings: Minor injuries, cursing Word Count: 1.9k Taglist: @zphilophobiaz

The annual charity ball was an event you had always been forced to go to. You had to keep up the façade that your family had spent years cultivating. Not that you could blame them, it was a mask that all of the Gotham elite wore. You gallivanted around, searching for something to entertain yourself when your eyes landed on Damian Wayne. The youngest of the prominent Wayne family and the only biological son of Bruce Wayne. Your eyes narrowed as a devious expression graced your features.

"Damian Wayne!" You called out, catching his attention. "Please tell me you are as miserable as I." You commented as you approached the unsuspecting bachelor.

"I would not know. Though I get no pleasure from events such as this. It is simply a means to an end."

"How debonair of you." You twirled around him, "I say we play a game."

"Game?" Damian's interested piqued.

"First person to get the watch of…" your eyes searched the crowd for an unsuspecting party-goer. "That guy, wins."

"This is childish." Damian scoffed as he rose to participate in your ill-conceived game.

"I think you're just afraid you'll lose." You winked at him before making a beeline for the chosen victim.

You had just ordered your coffee when you noticed a familiar face staring at you from across the café. "What, are you stalking me now?"

"Perhaps you are the one stalking me. I believe I was here first."

"Yeah, but this is my favorite place. And the closest coffee shop to my apartment." Damian stared blankly at back at you. "You're a Wayne, you could've figured that out." You scoffed at him, knowing full well that the Wayne's basically ran Gotham City.

"This is the closest coffee shop to my apartment as well. You are a Y/L/N. You could have figured that out." A faint smile donned his lips as he threw your words back at you.

"Y/N!" The barista screamed from the counter, saving you from trying to come up with a rebuttal. Grabbing your drink, you walked over to a nearby table and pulled out your laptop. You attempted to ignore the youngest Wayne heir, but you found your eyes constantly wandering towards him. An hour had passed and you were not getting nearly as much work done as you had hoped, thanks to your lingering stare at a certain someone. You glanced in his direction again, only to snap back to your laptop screen when your eyes met his.

Another hour passed and you began to pack up your things, realizing you would have to retire elsewhere if you hoped to get any work done. You walked over to his table, "I'll be here again tomorrow at 9, if you feel like stalking me more." You spun on your heel and hastily trotted out the door, screaming at yourself for being so brazen.

You stepped into the coffee shop the next day and stopped dead in your tracks as you saw Damian Wayne there yet again. Really you shouldn't be surprised, you did tell him exactly when you would be there. You tried your best to ignore him again, getting your coffee and heading over to an empty nearby table. As soon as you pulled your laptop from its bag, you looked up to see Damian pulling the chair out across from you. You gave him a faint smile before turning your attention back to your work. He didn't say anything, just stared at you for almost an hour before getting up.

"See you tomorrow." Damian mumbled the words as he retreated out the door.

"What the fuck…" you whispered to yourself once he left.

Damian was already at the coffee shop, yet again, when you arrived in the morning. This time you sat down across from him, ignoring the laptop you brought with you. "So, what's your deal?" The question slipped from your lips before you had realized what you had said.

"My deal? I assume you are asking why I keep seeking your companionship." You furrowed your brows at his odd vernacular, but nodded your head to assure him he understood your question. "You seemed entertaining at the charity ball. Then again during our first encounter here. My brothers keep hassling me to find friends outside of our family."

"Aw," your hand shot up to your chest. "And you want that friend to me?"

Damian shrugged, "You seem to be the least irritating person near my age that I have discovered thus far."

"Wow, the compliments just keep coming. I'm honored." You chuckled as you stood up to go order a drink.

"Where are you going?" Damian looked almost hurt that you were already leaving.

"Calm down, I'm only getting a coffee. Want something?"

The next few months went by and the two of you began hanging out outside of the coffee shop. This boy you had innocently approached at a charity ball had turned into your best friend. You weren't sure when it even happened. But there the two of you were, staring at the giraffes at the zoo, when you glanced over at him and commented, "I just really want to ride one."

"You want to ride a giraffe…" Damian auspiciously met your gaze.

"Yeah." The word resulted in an eruption of laughter from your present company. You turned towards him and that's when the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. This person had become your best friend. This person knew you as you truly were and accepted it.

"Why are you still staring at me?" Damian's words broke you from your trance, as you realized you had no idea how long ago he stopped laughing.

"Just zoned out for a minute, sorry."

"You okay?" Damian's face fell as a worried expression overtook his features. A smile lined your lips as you noticed the sudden change in demeanor. You took his hand in yours.

"I'm fine, I promise. Let's go look at the penguins!" You exclaimed, dragging him off down the pathway.

It was time for the annual charity ball and you knew this year's would be better than last. This year you actually knew Damian and couldn't wait to spend the entire night laughing at the Gotham elite with him. You were planning to surprise Damian at his house, so the two of you could go together. That's when everything went wrong. The car suddenly stopped, you looked around, seeing no stop sign or traffic light to warrant such an action.

"Chester?" You called out to your driver, "Is everything alright?"

"I'm sorry miss." His voice shaky, "They have my daughter."

Your eyes went wide as your mind worked out what was happening. The car door opened and two men stood before you with vile grins adorning their faces. You raced to the other side of the car, opening the door and jumping out. Before you could take off running, you felt arms wrap around you. You threw your head back, hearing the cracking of his nose.

"You little shit!" The man behind you screamed, but didn't loosen his grip. You stomped your foot down on his, causing another string of curses to spew from his lips; hisis grasp on you loosened. As you attempted to break free, a hand slapped over your mouth and nose and everything went black.

"Where is Y/N?" Damian echoed the question to anyone and everyone who knew you as he wandered around the charity ball in search of you. Finally, he spotted your parents. He raced over, but his face immediately fell when he noticed you weren't with them. "Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. A pleasure to see you again. May I inquire as to the whereabouts of your daughter?"

Their brows both furrowed as the anxiety glazed over them, "She's not here? With you? She left an hour ago, saying she was meeting up with you."

"I am going to find her." The rage bubbled inside him as he ploughed through the crowd, heading straight for Dick. "I need you," was the short phrase that left Damian's lips as he approached his brother. He didn't bother to wait, knowing Dick would follow him away from the crowded room.

"D, what's wrong?" Dick called out to his brother as they arrived at the empty balcony.

"Y/N is missing. We need to find her."

"Okay…how do you know she's missing?" Dick's expression gave away his confusion.

"Her parents said she was to arrive with me. She did not."

"Why would she come with you? She probably just said that to get out of going to this stupid thing." Dick turned to leave, thinking his brother misunderstood.

"No." Damian grabbed at his brother's arm. "She would not do that to me."

"I didn’t' realize you two were close." Damian didn't bother answering his brother, partially because he didn't have the words to describe your relationship. He had been avoiding his growing feelings for you since that day at the zoo.

It had been nearly a day, as you sat in the cold dark cell. You didn't know who these people were or what they wanted. Though you guessed it was probably just money. That's all anyone ever wanted from you. Except Damian. Your thoughts had traveled to him more and more the longer you sat there. Your hand reached up to wipe a tear trailing down your cheek. You cringed as the pain shot through you, just from the minor touch. Unfortunately, the kidnapper, whose nose you broke, sought out revenge for the injuries. You retreated further into yourself, until you heard a loud thud right outside the door. You braced yourself for the oncoming pain, but the man who opened the door donned a red costume...and was certainly not your kidnapper. The stranger fell at your side.

"Who let this happen?" You remained silent, still unsure what was happening. "How did --" his words cut off as his hand gently caressed the bruises forming at your jaw.

"I don't need your pity," you pulled back from his touch.

"You mistake pity for love." Before the bewilderment could take over, the vigilante ripped off his mask and you stared into the familiar green eyes before you.

"Am I dreaming…" you whispered as your hand reached up to touch his face. Damian leaned his head into your touch.

"No. I'm here. I will always be here." He pulled you into his chest just as another figure appeared at the door.

"Robin, we gotta go." Nightwing motioned around, as the sound of sirens began to fill the room.

"I am not leaving her." He mumbled as he pulled you slightly away from his chest, staring into your eyes. "I will never leave you."

Dick sighed, realizing he would lose this battle. "Fine. Bring her. We have to go."

Before you could protest, Damian picked you up and carried you out of your prison. "Damian," you whispered as he set you down in the back seat of the car. The look you gave him nearly broke his heart as in crawled in beside you. "I don't want to go home." Your voice hitched as you forced the words out. "I don't want to be alone." Damian motioned for Dick to drive before pulling you into his chest.

"I'm not going anywhere." Damian mumbled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

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peachiikawa · 4 years ago

Text

Fly | Route Selected: O. Tooru

genre: mafia au, choose your own adventure

warnings: honestly nothing too bad in this route

word count: 3.1k

Fly Masterlist

“I choose--”

But before you could even finish your sentence, the front door opened and an arm draped around your shoulders

“They’ll be with me”

You looked to see who had just walked in and were stunned to see such a beautiful man

“Very funny oikawa, now let them go. This is a personal matter”

Daichi took a step forward and you could feel the tension in the air

But the silence was broken with a chuckle from oikawa

“Dont worry so much daichi. They arent just a threat to you theyre a threat to the entire community so to make your burden easier ill gladly take them in. you have better things to worry about anyways”

The smile on his face was far from a friendly one

Even you could tell it was a bit condescending and it made you a bit scared

He led you out the door but not before turning his head one last time

“Tell your old man seijou gives their regards”

With that he led you to his car and got you buckled in

“Now where do you live..?”

“My name is y/n and i live down the street and around the block”

He drove you home and made sure you got into your apartment

“Come in tomorrow whenever youd like, preferable before noon though. Heres my card if you have any questions. Goodnight y/n!”

He kept the conversation brief and didnt look back as he left

As soon as you closed the door you leaned against it and slid down onto the ground

Just what had you gotten yourself into?

You couldnt really sleep that night knowing that in the morning you were going to be working with the mafia

So you took an early shower and got to the address on the card oikawa gave you the night before around eight o’clock

You took a nervous breath before walking into the gigantic corporate building

‘Seijoh Industries’

The company had a long reputation of being in the modeling and fashion industry

It scared you to think that so many big companies were involved in who knows what else

You pushed the glass doors open and immediately got lost

Like how do you even navigate the inside of this building???

It wasnt long before you got stopped

...by some guy with blonde hair with lines in them

Was he trying to look like a tennis ball??

As he steps toward you you take one back until youre against a wall

“What the fuck are you doing here? Youd better leave. Now”

You feel like your stomach is about to drop before you hear that all too familiar voice

“Maddog what are you doing to y/n! Its their first day you shouldnt be so mean”

Oikawa grabbed your hand and led you down the hall to a pristine office

He sat down behind his desk and organized a few papers for you

“Youre here bright and early. I was half expecting you to just not show up”

His eyes glanced up from the papers in his hands for a brief moment

“But im glad you did it would have been a..hassle to find you”

The way that sentence came out of his mouth with that smile on his face sent a shiver down your back

He handed you a few papers and a list of tasks to do

Most of which consisted of you running errands and organizing some cabinets around the building

“Finish those and if you get done with that before the end of the day you can do whatever. Just dont poke your nose where it doesnt belong”

The smile on his face never left once your entire conversation and it left you with a weird feeling in your gut

As you turned to leave you just couldnt shake the weird feeling you got every time you saw it

But you went on your way, trying not to think about it too hard

You did each task with ease and you really thought that some of them were a bit unnecessary since most of the things on the list were already done

It was almost therapeutic doing normal things, it at least made you feel less nervous

It didnt take you long before you finished your tasks

“Hey you”

You jumped at the sound of someone’s voice and slowly turned towards a man with short and spiky brown hair

He held out a couple of papers to you

“I need you to make a few copies of these and then bring them to trashykawa”

Your eyebrows furrowed and he noticed your confusion

“I mean Oikawa. Sorry, force of habit. Im Iwaizumi by the way. I work over in communications''

You fumbled with the papers in your hands, trying to get a grip before he noticed how nervous you were

His sharp eyes were fixed on you which made you even more self-conscious

You let out a shaky breath before introducing yourself

“Im y/n. Its my first day working here”

He nodded his head

“Yeah well just lay low if you want to survive this mess. Ill see you later y/n.”

A few weeks go by and it seems to be the same thing filling your days

This place wasnt as scary as you first thought and everyone seemed nice enough

The beeping from the copy machine brought you back to reality from your daydream and headed back to oikawas office

Though you had been here for almost a month now, it never got easier to be around him

Something was just too off putting about him

You took a deep breathe before knocking on the door to which you got a muffled “come in”

He didnt look up as you set the papers on his desk and only looked back up at you when he didnt hear your leave

He took off the glasses he was wearing and set them down in front of him

“Can i help you with something?”

Again, that smile on his face just...didnt feel right

“I was done with my work, is there anything else I can do for you?”

He just shook his head

“That should be it for me! Why dont you go see if iwa needs anything?”

You could tell that he wanted nothing more than to have just a moment to himself

And the constant flow of people probably didnt help

“This might be bold of me to say but that smile you wear around people...you dont need to put up any false pretenses around me. I know my situation and I know it isnt all sunshine and rainbows so feel free to be yourself around me. So one last time, before I go, do you need anything?”

His eyes were wide at what you just said

You had only been here for what? A few weeks? With minimal contact as well

So how did you notice?

The only other person whos ever called him out on it was iwaizumi

And he hated being read like this but he kept that smile up

“Nope im fine”

You nodded and left, closing the door behind you

And as soon as you did he threw his pen down on his desk and held his head in his hands

How...how did you see through him

He had carefully made this mask of his so that no one would be able to see how he was feeling

Emotions were a weakness

He didnt need them

And he sure as hell didnt need you

The next week he made it his mission to completely ice you out

No contact at all

And it made you kind of frustrated

The man steals you away from the other mafia you almost became affiliated with and just throws you to the side?

So you went to him after him doing whatever he could to make sure he avoided you

The man literally had tennis-head outside of his office to scare you away

“What are you doing”

The sudden voice behind you almost made you scream

“Oh iwaizumi! Dont scare me like that!”

You smacked his shoulder as you two hid around the corner from oikawas office

“If you must know im trying to get into oikawas office. I'm sick of his avoiding me like im the plague”

Iwaizumi let out a deep sigh

He knew why oikawa was avoiding you

And he also thought it was a little much

Wasnt it about time he stopped being scared?

“Tell you what y/n, ill distract kenta and while i do you can sneak into oikawas office”

Your eyes sparkled and he almost wanted to laugh

“Really?!”

He nodded and patted your head

“Get that idiot out of his funk”

He then walked up to kenta and walked off with him, giving you a thumbs up behind his back

And when they were out of sight you knocked on oikawas door and didnt wait for him to respond before barging in

To say he was shocked was an understatement

“What are you-”

“Stop. Before you go on about how youre busy just please listen to me. I dont know what i did to deserve this amount of avoidance but if its about what i said that day, i dont regret what i said. And i wish you would stop avoiding your problems and just confront them”

Confront his problems?

What the hell do you know about his problems

“So you came in here to tell me that? What the fuck do you know about me? Youre just some street rat that poked their nose where it didnt belong. You dont know me so stop trying to tell me what to fucking do! Emotions make you weak and i dont need that”

At this point he had you backed against a wall

And when he realized what just happened he pushed himself away from you

God what the hell was he even doing

Hes spent years perfecting his facade

And then you come barging in and it just breaks?

You slowly approached him and put a hand on his shoulder

“See? Was that so bad? Honestly, seeing you like that was refreshing. Feel free to keep the mindset that emotions make you weak, i wont try to convince you otherwise. Thats a realization you need to make on your own but for now please dont hold back around me”

For the first time in a while oikawas heart stood still, almost as if he could feel himself again

“Whatever. I still have paperwork to do so leave or make yourself useful”

He shrugged your hand off of him and went back to his desk

You just smiled and nodded your head

“Ill be back with a coffee for you!”

And when you exited you bumped into the back of kentarou

“Ah sorry! Ill be back!”

As you ran off kenta took a step toward you

“What the hell..get back here!”

But before he could take another oikawa cleared his throat

“You can leave your post mad-dog. Youre no longer needed here”

Kenta nodded his head but was too shocked to move for a moment, caught off guard by the small smile that lingered on his boss’ face

The couple weeks after that you were allowed back in his office and he even started to request your presence at times for no other reason than he just wanted you to sit in the room with him

And that smile he used to give you was now replaced by a soft, genuine smile that made your heart flutter

Little things started to become more noticeable to you

Like how cute it was when he pouted his lips when he was really focused

And honestly he was too

Your smile was maddening

And your laugh made him feel like he was being swallowed whole, unable to breath

It scared him

Nothing good has ever happened when he became emotionally attached to someone

“Oikawa, are you okay?”

You put your hand up to his forehead and checked for a fever

He could feel his cheeks heating up and gently swatted your hand away

“No im fine. Dont worry about me”

He watched your face fill with concern and his heart lurched forward

This feeling...it scared him. But for now, if its you, hes willing to see where this goes

“Good morning oikawa!”

You walked into his office with his morning coffee which he gladly took from your hands

“Good morning y/n”

He had a job later and needed all the energy he could get

But not before having his morning conversation with you

“I'm leaving around noon with maki and mattsun. Iwa’s in charge till i get back so if you need anything ask him”

You could tell by the way he was talking that it was something serious and therefore probably something to do with the mafia

Sure you had done a few things for Seijoh like fax some papers and have oikawa sign a few things but nothing to where oikawa needed to leave has ever come up

He could see anxiety cloud over your face

“Hey”

He grabbed your hand and gave it a small squeeze

“I’ll be fine. You have nothing to worry about, okay?”

You nodded your head

“Please be safe”

Worry reflected in your eyes and it made him almost go weak

All he could do was nod and give a half smile

The entire time he was away you sat at his desk anxiously waiting for his return

...

“Cough up the money oikawa. We had a deal”

Oikawa looked at the man in front of him with his trademark empty smile

“That wasnt our deal. Now give us what you owe”

The room was tense but nothing that oikawa hasnt dealed with before

But his world soon turned upside down with what was thrown on the table that stood between them next

The color drained from his face as he looked at pictures taken of you without anyone knowing

“Where the hell did you get these”

The man in front of him just laughed

“Now thats an interesting expression oikawa. Never thought id see the day where that smile of yours wasnt on your face”

His knuckles were turning white from how hard he was clenching his fists

“You know, it would almost be a shame if something were to happen to them”

Oikawas eyes widened in fear

It felt as if time around him had stopped for this one moment

And it made him want to puke

“Dont you dare lay a hand on them”

His jaw was so tense that he thought he was about to pop a blood vessel

“Then give us the money”

He wasnt left with much of a choice

So he did what he was told

“See? Was that so hard?”

“Are we done here?”

He was itching to get back as soon as possible

To make sure you were okay

He couldnt rest until he knew you were fine

“Yes now leave”

The car ride seemed to last forever, maki and mattsun had never seen their boss like this and exchanged subtle glances the entire ride

As soon as the car stopped he ran into the building and to your desk

And when he saw you werent there his heart dropped

‘Where are you, y/n?!’

The only other place you could be was his office

He slammed his door open only to see you jump up from his desk, the sleep in your eyes still evident

He let out the breath he didnt even know he was holding as soon as his eyes landed on you

He went straight over to you and pulled you into his arms

The tightness of the hold around you was comforting yet alarming

You brought your arms up to wrap around him and you swear you could feel him slightly shaking

“Oikawa?”

You voice was soft and made him feel weak in the knees

“Just…let me stay like this for a moment”

After that day you were moved into his home and he never left your side

He never fully explained what happened that day

But you knew it had shaken him

Especially since you havent seen his smile since then

You were escorted everywhere

And when you asked why you were only given the short answer of “i said i’d guard you so i'm doing that”

You didnt mind being with him, really

If anything you liked being able to be with him all the time

You just hoped you werent being a hindrance

So one night as you laid in bed while oikawa sat on the ground next to you leaning against the bed frame, you turned towards him

He had been doing this lately to “guard” you and you knew he wasnt sleeping much

“Oikawa”

His eyes immediately met yours

“Am i being a burden on you?”

Though it was dark, he could hear the sadness in your voice

“I just feel like ive been holding you back lately and thats the last thing i want to do”

He cupped your face with his hand and gently stroked your cheek

“Not to mention that you havent smiled once since coming back that day and it just all feels very distant and lonesome. I hope you know that you can talk to me, i’ll never judge you for anything”

And in those few simple words the gate that had been holding back all of his emotions back suddenly broke

“y/n im scared”

His head hung low as his lips trembled

“Im scared to lose you and im scared that ive become weak since being with you but i just cant let you go. Losing you makes me feel more terrified than anything else”

The thought of losing you made it feel as if he was drowning and the water was filling his lungs with a burning sensation

You sat up in your bed and took his hand in yours

“Then why dont you turn that fear into strength? Hiding me...putting me under 24 hour surveillance...its no different than running. I dont want to be away from you either oikawa”

How did you always clear his head? It was like your words just made everything make sense

He made his way onto your bed and started to kiss you, soft yet hungry for more

He could never get enough of you

You made his heart full

And you became his strength

You made him strong and he could never forget this debt

taglist: @the-ironic-me @multisun @my-mass-hysteria @sugawsites @youbloodylegendyoudidit @sinthxy @celamoon @tinymouth @fait-de-fleurs @tsukifanbase @69owo @laglyssage @hearteyeskags @ntngann @shnnn @fukuro-dani-ace @exponentially-tired @soy1melk

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #toru oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader

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hopelikethemoon · 5 years ago

Text

maybe (Javier x Reader)

shoutout to @baar-ur who asked for this incredibly angsty prompt

Title: maybe Rating: PG-13 (language and allusions to sex) Warning: Lots of language, name-calling, miscommunication, everyone’s an asshole, ANGST, so much angst, pregnant!reader

You had been in a lot of difficult situations throughout the course of your career — shootouts, drug busts, asshole bosses paired with the government’s blind eye towards rampant sexism in the workplace. You had faced a lot of shit, but none of it had prepared you for the fallout of sleeping with your partner.

It all started the weekend after Escobar died. Murphy announced he was heading back to America now that the hunt for Escobar was finished taking both you and Javier by surprise. Escobar hadn’t been the only narcos on the DEA’s radar and you had both anticipated that he’d stay on to go after the next cartel. It was Javier’s idea to have a going away party for Steve, but in the end it was less about the party and more about you and Javi closing out the bar at two in the morning. Murphy and Connie left at a reasonable hour, leaving the two of you to drink your cares away.

Without Murphy there as a buffer, you and Javier were fucked. Literally.

As you stood in your bathroom, staring at your towel-clad reflection in the mirror, the irony wasn’t lost on you. This whole mess had started in a bathroom and now, as you stood with a pregnancy test sitting on your bathroom sink, it was becoming a reality in a bathroom too. Nothing good ever came to fruition in a bathroom.

Just last week, Javier had been bragging with one of the newer agents about having to bang another hooker-informant. What happened between the two of you had meant nothing and with each passing day of awkward glances and short conversations, you realized Murphy had been the glue holding your friendship together.

You and Javier were nothing but partners and fucking him had ruined any chance of being friends. Now a positive pregnancy test would ruin any chance of remaining partners with him.

For a week you debated whether or not you would even tell him. It was none of his business really — you’d be fine if the entire department thought some wayward one night stand had knocked you up. But the guilt of keeping him in the dark eventually ate at you. You had to tell him, regardless of his reaction.

The worst-case scenario would be that he wanted to get reassigned a new partner and given how awkward he’d made things since Murphy’s going away party — you wouldn’t actually be against it. A little distance would probably do you some good.

It was probably a mistake to tell him while he was driving.

He’d actually been in a decent mood as the pair of you set out to stake out the house of one of the cartel members. The whole morning had felt like you were walking through a vivid waking dream. Hell, you hardly even remembered a word your boss had said during the briefing.

You slid into the passenger seat beside Javier and stared at him as he pushed his aviator’s up the bridge of his nose, watching his mouth as he silently sang along to whatever was playing over the car’s grainy radio.

He’d been in a good mood right up until the moment you said—

“I’m pregnant.”

Javier’s foot hit the break a little too harshly at the next red light, his fingers curling tightly around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

“Why are you telling me?”

You pushed your fingers through your hair and stared out the window to your right. “Why do you think I’m telling you?”

He slammed his fist into the center of the steering wheel, the car horn making you nearly jump out of your skin. “Goddammit.” He hissed out as he drove the car down an alley and put it into park.

“I’m keeping it.” You told him quietly. “With or without you.”

He pulled his aviators off and tossed them onto the dashboard. You watched as he dragged his hands over his face, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, before he turned his anger in your direction. “Were you going to fucking tell me? It’s been three fucking months since Murphy fucked off back to the states.Three months!”

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” You started, keeping your voice steady. “But I didn’t know how you’d react.” Your brows rose upwards as you met his heated gaze. “You’ve been a real jackass ever since that night. This,” You gestured to the current situation. “is about what I expected.”

“No shit.” Javier snapped. “You should’ve fucking told me sooner.”

“So I could subject myself to this sooner?” You questioned, your own anger boiling to the surface. “I mean, I guess I could’ve pulled you aside last week after you got done telling Tom about the hooker you’d fucked. But that seemed like a bro moment and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

The color seemed to drain out of his face as he stared at you. The silence was more unnerving than his shouting. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”

You swallowed thickly as you held his gaze. “Did you want me to be there? I mean I know you, Javi. I know how you operate.” You shook your head. “I left to spare myself the awkward morning after.”

He sank back against his seat, hitting his head against the headrest twice before he finally found his words. “You can sit there and call me a jackass all you want, but you’ve been a bitch to me ever since that night. I tried. I fucking tried.”

“You tried?” You laughed harshly, shaking your head. “How the fuck did you try, Peña?”

“I brought you coffee.”

You stared at him, your mouth going dry. He had brought you coffee that Monday after. He’d left it sitting on your desk for you. He was already in meetings by the time you rolled into the office, but you had known it was from him. “I thought you were just… I don’t know.” Your shoulders sagged. “I thought it was like an olive branch.”

“I tried to get you to go out with me. You shot me down.”

“When?”

“A week after, maybe two. Fuck if I remember we were swamped with paperwork.” Javier dragged his fingers through his hair, staring out the driver’s side window. “It was late, eight or nine. I asked if you wanted to grab a drink and you laughed at me.”

Your heart clenched as you recalled that precise encounter. “Shit.” You breathed out and covered your face. “I had just puked my guts out in the bathroom. I was just trying to get you out of the office before I puked again.”

Javi let out a near-hysterical laugh as he turned his head to look at you. “I thought you were blowing me off. I gave up then. I figured you’d regretted that night and I had to stop chasing you like a dumbass.”

“I didn’t realize.” You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling a surge of raw emotion come over you. “I hate hormones.” You lamented as you covered your face to hide the tears that were now spilling from your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, baby. Don’t apologize.” Javier drawled out as he reached across the car and squeezed your leg. “I should’ve said something.”

You shook your head, wiping at your tears. “What were you going to say? What was I going to say? We’re both fucking idiots.”

“It’s all gone to shit without Murphy.”

“Yeah.” You said weakly as you sniffed, staring out your window.

Javier kept his hand on your thigh, his fingertips drawing little circles against your pant leg. It was kind of annoying, but you knew he was just trying to be comforting.

“I don’t expect you to be involved.” You finally spoke again. “I wouldn’t blame you. I don’t want or need your money.” You held up your hand when he started to interrupt you. “No one has to ever know who the baby’s father is.”

“Are you going back to the states?”

You shook your head. “I don’t plan to. I’m sure they’ll try to hassle me into going back, but I’m not. I’ll take desk duty if I have to.”

“So you’d just… What?” Javier’s grip on your thigh tightened. “Make me sit across the office from you, watching our kid grow and… pretend it’s not mine? I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but—”

“You left your highschool sweetheart at the altar, Javi. You’re the kind of man who has one night stands and fucks hookers. You’re the perpetual bachelor and that’s fine.” New anger was brewing in your words. “I respect you enough to not want to ruin your M.O.”

“How many times are you going to throw who I fuck in my face?”

You laughed harshly.

“Are you jealous?” He continued.

“Am I jealous of the women you pay to fuck? No. I can’t say I am.” You stared at him pointedly.

“You broke my goddamn heart when I woke up and you weren’t there.” Javier admitted with a deadly serious tone. “I thought we’d finally figured this out. But instead I woke up alone and confused.”

“You have a heart?” Now you were just being mean for the sake of being mean.

“Fuck you.” He snapped, pulling his hand away from your thigh.

“That’s what got us into this situation.”

“This isn’t a fucking game.” Javier snarled. “I don’t want to just be some deadbeat dad. Do you get that?”

“So you want to be involved?”

“With you.” He raked his fingers over his face, pressing his palms against his eyes as he let out a frustrated sound. “I want to be involved with you. Not just ‘cause you’re knocked up either. You and me? We can figure this out.”

You stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. You couldn’t believe Javier Peña was admitting that he wanted to be with you. You.

“You don’t have to say that.” You stated. “If this is just because I’m pregnant, if this is some white knight bullshit. I don’t want it, Javi. I don’t want to put myself through it and I damn well don’t want to put our kid through it.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He stared up at the roof of the car. “Am I not making sense? Have I not made it clear enough that I wanted you.”

“But I know how you are, Javi.” You frowned as you stared at him. “You have this whole little life of yours—”

“I’m lonely.” Javier confessed, his voice actually cracking. “So fucking lonely.” He slowly turned to look at you, his dark gaze full of emotion. “I’ve spent the last three months feeling like I’m going crazy. I lost Murphy and then I thought I was losing you.”

“Javi—”

“Don’t, ‘Javi’ me.” He snapped. “Do you want this?”

You stared at him, breathless, for what felt like a small eternity. “Yes.”

His seatbelt snapped against the side of the car as he hastily undid it, surging across the center console. He cupped your cheek, dragging you into a surprisingly gentle kiss that stood in stark contrast with the anger that had flared between you.

Maybe it was a mistake. You were both volatile people, you always had been. Maybe it would end in flames in a week or a month or twenty years down the line. But maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it would work out. Maybe you and Javi were going to be alright.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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wickedmilo · 3 years ago

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THREE, MIRROR | MILO & BEA

PLACE: A coffee shop near the university campus TIMING: 10:37 PM SUMMARY: Bea notices Milo being the worst vampire in the world, and makes a begrudging effort to help him. WRITING PARTNER: @beatrice-blaze CONTENT WARNINGS: Very brief mentions of substance abuse, mentions of emotional abuse

Milo’s mind was still reeling. From finally running into his killer, from being forced to accept the fact that he had allowed the man to escape Dani’s stake, from being given the chance to explore the space where he had lost his life, and really see it for the first time since waking up as a vampire. It was an awful lot to process, which was why he was feeling slightly idiotic, and simultaneously slightly desperate, as he waited in line to order a coffee. Of all the places he could be drowning his sorrows, searching for an answer at the bottom of the bottle, a coffee shop was probably the last place anybody would expect him to be. Maybe that was a part of why it felt so comforting; the unpredictability, the spontaneity of the decision. Also, he supposed, the mundanity. He was waiting in line alongside late night students, people working on screenplays, or trying to complete assignments that were dangerously overdue. He could hear scribbling notes, hear the tapping of keys, even the subtle whir of laptop machinery if he allowed himself to focus. But he wasn’t here for other people, he was here for himself. For the familiar scent of coffee. For the feeling of wrapping his hands around a hot paper cup. He could only assume that was what everybody sought when they visited a café after dark.

He couldn’t count the amount of times he had stumbled into this particular shop with a bad hangover, or even still drunk. It had been a saving grace first thing in the morning. And it was proving to be a saving grace now. At least here he felt vaguely human, at least here he could pretend everything that had happened to him over the course of the past few months had been some awful fever dream he had finally woken up from. Something he could move past, and forget. Something he could wash away with the right combination of syrup, coffee, and oat milk. When he reached the front of the line, he placed his order, asking for far more syrup than he usually would in the hope of granting the beverage a stronger taste. A few more minutes of waiting, of forcing any unwanted thoughts to the very back of his mind, and he picked up his cup, making his way over to the wall lined with mirrors.

It was a staple of any coffee shop trying to appear sophisticated. And he was so used to the décor that he didn’t stop to consider whether his favourite spot could still safely be his favourite spot. Pulling out the chair closest to the wall, he dropped down onto it, leaning back against the cool surface of the glass as he began to tap his fingers against the drink in his hands. It was a nervous habit, one he never could seem to shake. Taking a careful sip of his coffee, a quiet sigh managed to escape him at the dull, one-note taste. If only it would taste as strongly as it smelled. It didn’t seem fair that one sense had been heightened while he had essentially lost another entirely. Maybe if he mixed it with some blood? Could he do that? Would that work? So lost in his own thoughts, it took him far too long to realise he was being watched. Catching the eye of a stranger, when they didn’t look away he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Apparently he wasn’t even allowed to wallow without being interrupted.

Bea had gotten used to sleeping when it was light out in New York. The habit had still lingered after her return, her night owl tendencies too much of a hassle to break at this point. It helped to sleep in the light, to wake up gasping and be able to see everything in her room. There was no fear that the Hunter stood in the corner of her room in the light. The ocean could not flood her room. She could see that Adam’s dead eyes weren’t staring at her, crawling to her and telling her he needed to come back. The day rid her of her nightmares far faster than the night did. There were no corners to hide in. She was safe awake at night and safe asleep in the light.

Usually after a show, Bea would find herself at the Stacked Deck, martini in hand as she gambled. She was trying not to drink on bad days, on the days where memories tore at her. Partaking in another vice, that seemed safe. Her mouth was dry as she stared into the steaming coffee in front of her. This wasn’t usually her first pick of a café, but it was the closest she had been to when her walk started to turn into wandering, aimless. These moods, they hit like waves, battering her over and over again, small moments of reprieve falsely claiming the storm was finally over. It exhausted her, cement added to her bones, trapping in the cold, dragging her down further into the sea. Water slipped into her lungs, coughing it up, inviting more in, but there was no release of consciousness, no, she was forced to live it all, feeling herself drown, over and over again.

A hand gripped the back of her seat and Bea jolted with the motion, magic rushing to her fingertips as she looked for an enemy. It was some college kid, punchdrunk from hours spent in front of a laptop. Her heart hammered in her chest, her pulse screaming that she was alive, they were safe. Find five things you can identify in the room. That’s what her therapist had said, right? She couldn’t remember, but she began to count. “One, coffee,” She forced her eyes around the room. “Two, table. Three, mirror.” Mirror… She could see the mirror clearly, could see herself from across the room, all too sophisticated looking for the wild look in her eyes to fit, but not the man in front of it. He was a vampire, he had to be. She had stood in front of a mirror enough with Kian to know. His eyebrows went up and now she was too. A tide pulled her to him, pushed her to do what always made her feel safe and take care of someone else. “You’re in front of a mirror,” She said, her voice stronger than she expected.

Milo hadn’t been expecting the woman to approach him, and he stared at her as she closed the distance between them both. It took far too long for her words to fully register, but when they did he felt an irrational surge of annoyance. “What?” He snapped. Why should she care where he was? What business did she have trying to tell him something he already knew? The mirror had always been there, it didn’t exactly feel like an important piece of information. But as quickly as his irritability had risen to the surface, it was replaced by a sudden realisation. Oh shit, he was sitting in front of a mirror. A jolt of panic shot through him without warning, uncomfortable, and disorienting. Had he really just announced to the entire coffee shop that he wasn’t human? As if hoping to prove he hadn’t been quite so moronic, he glanced behind himself to be met with the reflection of the woman, the shop, and absolutely nothing else. “Fuck- shit-” He muttered, scrambling to his feet, backing away until he was standing beside a window. No longer within reach of the mirrored wall, he still felt nervous, and unsteady. Only when he took a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure did he fully understand what this stranger had done for him. But why? What had compelled her to care?

Offering her a hesitant smile, still battling the anxiety clawing at his chest, he did what he could to calm down. Part of him understood there was a possibility this wasn’t the end. The person standing by his abandoned table could be a slayer who had decided to toy with him, or somebody who loathed vampires and was hoping to laugh at his lack of intelligence. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. He would deal with that later, for now he needed to focus on the present. “I-uh… thanks.” He muttered, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. It was important to look unassuming, he knew that. Lest he be seen as a threat. But the sheepish demeanour came naturally to him, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “It’s easy to forget sometimes… I just…” Glancing back down at his coffee, still sitting on the table where he had left it, he let out a quiet huff of frustration. “Hey- I don’t suppose you could pass that to me?” He asked. She was only going to say yes or no, he didn’t see the harm in pushing his luck. “That drink is… it’s me trying to stay sane. Apparently it isn’t working…” He added, gesturing vaguely to the mirror.

Irritation rose swiftly in her chest as the man snapped at her. For a moment, Bea considered turning around and letting him suffer the consequences of his actions. The memory of her sister cradling Adam’s body swam to meet her anger, tempering her. This vampire was not Adam, but just like with Eddie, she had the urge to force him to take care of himself. Death had been a friend when she was the one reaching out to it. She understood who truly held the power now. No matter what she could do, there would be people who she lost. Death might be something she could circumvent herself, but that did not mean she would not witness the ramifications of it. She could still try to make others safer from it, even if after it took them, they refused to come back to her.

Dull brown eyes watched as the vampire scrambled back from the mirror. “It shouldn’t be,” Bea said with reproach. She didn’t want this man to hurt, but she did not like him. She still remembered the taste of Kian’s disappearance in her mouth. She still felt the sting of rejection. The understanding of his goals with her, had come later in life. She had even truly realized that he had been using her until she spoke to her friends about their relationship. Abuse seemed like a terribly harsh word for it, but she could not think of something softer that described it correctly. Her lips pressed and for a moment she thought of saying no. She passed it to him wordlessly, eyeing him with suspicion. “Are you always so careless?”

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t forget to eat sometimes, or put on lotion before you go out into the sun.” Milo countered. Self care, and self preservation consisted of so many little things, things that were difficult to remember when you were busy, or tired, or your life was getting complicated. Surely anybody could understand that. Pointedly ignoring the tone the woman had chosen to take, he was surprised when she handed him his coffee. It wouldn’t take a genius to see she was annoyed, maybe she too had come to the coffee shop for some kind of escape, and he was ruining it for her by being an all too present reminder of the supernatural. Focusing on her scent, on the sound of her heartbeat, she clearly wasn’t a werewolf, vampire, or zombie. So what was she? A spellcaster? A human who knew too much? “Thanks…” He said quietly, his demeanour softening. She didn’t owe him anything, and she had given him his coffee in spite of that fact.

Hugging the cup to his chest, he watched her, unsure how they were supposed to move forward in such an unusual circumstance. But then she spoke again, and a laugh managed to escape him. He pushed his hair back away from his face, relief at only being caught out by one person was beginning to wash over him. Lowering his inhibitions, and making him all the more grateful for the stranger’s begrudging intervention. “Not always.” He insisted, feeling the need to defend his intelligence. “Sometimes…” Mirrors weren’t always an issue, and when they were he had proven relatively competent when it came to avoiding them. But he had an awful lot on his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on his many mistakes. He wanted to pretend, to enjoy the little bubble of safety the coffee shop felt like it was providing. “Look, it’s been a really fucked up week, okay? I just… I needed a break.”

Bea’s expression soured even further at the man’s reply, “Those things aren’t the same and you know it. I’m not going to have someone attempt to kill me if they notice I didn’t eat.” She didn’t know why she cared, maybe she didn’t actually but wanted the distraction, but whatever caused her to come over here kept her here, even with her mounting irritation. Hadn’t her therapist said something about this? She couldn’t remember it, not with her pulse roaring in her ears, but she knew that Miranda wasn’t going to be happy with her for butting into something again. She’d probably say that taking care of other people to ignore her own self care was a form of escapism or some shit. Bea wasn’t really all that willing to work on breaking out of that habit just yet, it’s what made her useful to the people around her.

It was always a fucked up week in White Crest. There was always another building disaster. There was always something that ruined someone’s life. It was just how the town was. She bit her tongue and said nothing. Taking a moment, she looked away from the man, back to the mirror. She stared back at herself and her eyes lingered on the scar circling her neck. Wicked’s Rest always took something from the people who lived here, it was just how it went. She looked back to the man, “Find a place that doesn’t have mirrors to take a break then. Or one day a hunter will find you sitting in front of a mirror and they will try to kill you. They’ll make sure you stay dead too.” She certainly didn’t hate hunters, especially knowing the ones she did and how they were driven to make the world a better place, but she didn’t want to be a bystander to someone’s death.

Milo was half expecting to win over the woman’s sympathy, convince her in some way to feel for him rather than see him as an idiot. The fact that his words only managed to irritate her further only managed to irritate him further too. Maybe she had a point, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Whatever, I’m only saying it’s easy to forget the important shit. Especially when your life is a mess. So, bite me.” Taking a sip of his coffee, out of habit more so than in an attempt to calm down, he found the hot drink did manage to soothe him a little. It reminded him of why he was here. The desperation, and longing for an escape. He wouldn’t be able to find one while he was being yelled at by a stranger, that much was undeniable. Though he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to escape this interaction. This woman had genuinely helped him, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. No matter how determined she seemed to ruin his night.

Watching as she turned away from him, he saw her stare at her own reflection, but couldn’t follow her gaze without stepping closer, something he absolutely wasn’t willing to do. She would only berate him again, and he didn’t want to encourage her. “I used to come here a lot while I was studying.” He countered, glaring at her even as she ignored him. “Forgive me for wanting something familiar.” If he had chosen almost anywhere else in the cafe he might have been able to avoid the mirrors, but he hadn’t been thinking, too lost in his own pain. As far as he was concerned that was understandable, more than valid given the circumstance. Though his company would probably argue otherwise. “No shit,” he shot back. “I’ve met one or two, I-” He broke off before he could insist he knew what he was doing. How could he say that after such a ridiculous mistake? “I’m fine.” He answered instead. “Okay? I don’t need your help, or- whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I decline that offer,” Bea sneered back. Maybe on another night she would have been kinder, gentle in her correction. The combination of bad night and an unshaken dislike for vampires was a potent one. She wouldn’t apologize for it, not when she felt she was justly annoyed. She took a deep breath in, Miranda’s voice ringing in her head. She had to keep her cool, they were still in public and she had a reputation to uphold. She kept her eyes off the mirror now, unwilling to see how her face had shifted as anger took over. She was better than this. She knew she was better than this. It was just that this vampire was in front of her and she could barely stand the proximity. The grief of her past had never truly been dealt with, pushed aside instead in favor of continuing on. That was the way of the Vurals, wasn’t it?

Familiarity. Bea could understand that. She found that in the Stacked Deck and Coffee Plus after her death. A place to feel normal just for a moment. It was the most human thing a person could want. “Be more mindful about where you sit here then,” She conceded, her throat tight at the grim reminder that he was struggling with his own demons. A sharp smile took over her face, “You don’t need my help now, after I helped you.” That was the way of it though, wasn’t it? She never wanted help after she proved she needed it. She could, in a way, sympathize with that. “Look, I don’t like vampires, but I wasn’t going to let you get caught like that. I’m not in the business of watching someone make a fatal mistake, even if I don’t like them. That’s all I’m doing.”

“You’re excused.” Milo countered, unable to think of a witty comeback. He was torn between gratitude and frustration. The fact that this woman had done something genuinely good for him, and then turned on him almost the moment he was safe, was pathetically causing his head to spin. Was it really too much to ask for a quiet night? He didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with such inconsistency. He had been polite, he had thanked her, and he had been met with a less than positive attitude. It didn’t feel fair. Raising his eyebrows as a few beats of silence passed between them, he watched the stranger as she turned away from her reflection. She was a difficult person to read, which only served to make the interaction feel more irritating, and unnecessary. “I don’t know whether it counts if you stick around to insult the person you helped.” He pointed out, although he knew she could argue against his statement. Regardless of whether she was being kind to him, she had stopped him from potentially becoming a target. Nothing she said now was going to change that. He and Deirdre hadn’t exactly parted as friends, but that didn’t erase the medical attention he had offered her.

Letting out a huff of breath, unsurprised to hear she didn’t like vampires, he appreciated the reason for her behaviour. Even if said reason was bullshit. “I’m sorry, it’s not my fault you’re Team Jacob. I’m not about to fucking fall at your feet because you did me a solid in spite of what I am.” He awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest, careful not to drop his coffee cup. His confidence was rapidly fading as he realised he didn’t always like vampires either. When he met them for the first time, he felt nervous, and scared. It was a product of his history with them. It was only after getting to know them that he became comfortable in their company, maybe this was something they both had in common. “Okay, shit. I get it…” He muttered begrudgingly. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he chewed on his bottom lip, steeling himself to be honest with her. “You think I like vampires?” He asked. “I was fucking killed by one… but that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like you already know who I am. We’re still people. There’s still good and bad.”

“Asking someone if they’re always careless isn’t an insult. My attitude towards you isn’t an insult just because it’s not immediately positive.” Bea could feel the heat in her blood, felt herself simmering under the surface. The world was unfair, so why did she have to be fair to everyone she met? She was kind when she didn’t have to, better than other people had been to her. It shouldn’t fall on her shoulders to carry on with optimism and generosity at all times. Shouldn’t she get to be as bad sometimes? You’re spiralling, she thought grimly. Miranda had told her she did that, where all of her thoughts started to go too fast to logically go through them. She wanted to go home, but what waited for her there. Felix was in New York, Nell at their parents’ house, Luce at the cabin. The house was empty and it was too late to call anyone over to fill in the gaps that ghosts had left.

Bea’s eyes narrowed, “When you spend three years of your life getting used as a convenient blood bag, I’ll listen to your opinion on how I should feel around vampires.” The relationship she had held with Kian was complicated, but she had grown to realize that their love had been toxic. She had begun to understand that they had only lasted so long because he hadn’t felt motivated to find someone else only a year or so ago. Her throat tightened, she had assumed that he was like Kian, someone who had chosen this life. She had never forgotten with zombies that many of them didn’t pick this. It was harder with vampires. It was hard to look at him now, the stripped truth of what was in front of them almost too much to bear. She nodded, such a small movement that it could have been lost with a blink. An apology stuck on her tongue, thick, hard to move. She could type apologies, but speaking them, that was a very different story. “You’re right,” She conceded. “I let my bias get the better of me.”

“It wasn’t what you said, it was the way that you said it.” Milo pointed out, although he strongly suspected the woman might already know. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering to continue with this argument, but walking away felt too much like admitting defeat, like agreeing with her. “It is when you’re generalising.” He added, figuring it definitely counted as an insult if her mood was in relation to his vampirism. It wasn’t the first time what he was had managed to make somebody uncomfortable, and it didn’t seem to get any easier. But at least she was making it easy to be annoyed, at least she was making it easy to not feel guilty. Bex had been different, she had been soft, and regretful in a way that made him self-conscious, that made him want to apologise for being himself. His current company had an edge, one that as far as he was concerned, gave him permission to be less than content.

Fully prepared to defend himself, he found his expression shifting once again when he registered what he was being told. There were so many details to her story that would change the context of it. Had she given blood willingly? Was it being taken by someone she knew? Was she being held captive? Or manipulated into sharing? But as quickly as his mind began to run through the possibilities, he was reminded of her obvious trauma. How it had happened wasn’t relevant. It didn’t matter. What mattered was how upset she clearly was, how deeply affected by the past. She had damage, same as him. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said quietly, a frown creasing his brow. He had been used as a blood bag once, and it had cost him his life. He tried and failed to imagine how he might feel if he had been used for three years, if he was still alive, and vulnerable to another attack. He still felt vulnerable, though he knew nobody was going to drink his blood now. She couldn’t say the same. “Yeah, you kind of did… but it’s whatever.” He unfolded his arms, trying to assure her without letting her think she might have won. “That shit stays with you, I know it does…”

Irritation continued to mount, but now it was focused inward. Bea did not lose control. She presented herself as a measured person, her actions had meaning. There was hard to find meaning with the pressure building between her ears. She had fallen from her path without realizing it, twigs broken from her blind tumble. Left behind her an ugly, broken mistake. Her jaw locked, unwilling to deny the truth of his words, unwilling to apologize or put herself in a worse position. She felt young again. At least there was no threat that she would break all the windows in the café, even as far she had fallen, she had more control than she did at nineteen.

“It’s not,” She finally said. She had let him speak, let him apologize for what happened to her. She knew he deserved to be heard after she spoke to him as she had. “It’s not appropriate or kind of me to treat you the way I did.” The way, she knew, certain witches had in the past. The way her zombie friends had. “It’s not alright or whatever. I was wrong,” The words throttled her, the alarms in her brain begging her to shut up. She never enjoyed admitting she was wrong, it made her feel dizzy, out of control. But she was already there tonight, she was already spiralling, might as well dive in to fix something she had made. “I’m sorry too, for the little that it’s worth, that it happened to you. That you were killed.” She knew the feeling, the wrongness that came after that. She didn’t know how being changed into something else felt however. “White Crest isn’t kind. Just try to be careful and maybe it’ll avoid pressing its misery on you again,” She finished softly, weakly.

Milo listened to the apology, taking a moment to really register the woman’s choice of words. He recognised the fact that she was trying, in the same way he understood how difficult it was to take responsibility for a mistake. He appreciated it more than he could say, so he offered her a hesitant smile, hoping to show her he was no longer offended, or upset. He was too tired to cling to so many negative emotions, too desperate to forget, if only for a little while. “You, uh… you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.” He teased, careful to gauge her reaction. He was attempting to lighten the mood but he knew there was a possibility of pushing her further away. He wanted to move forward, he just didn’t know how to. “Look,” he said, becoming serious again. “I know how it feels, I really do. Or part of it, at least. I also know that’s weird because I guess I’m like, one of them now. But I didn’t ask for any of this… You were used by a vampire, and I was used by a vampire. Different outcomes but it still fucking sucks...” Catching the ironic phrase the moment it left his lips he laughed quietly, unable to help himself. “I mean, figuratively but…”

Falling silent when his company warned him White Crest wasn’t kind, it made him wonder what else she had been through, how else she might have suffered at the hands of his hometown. His memory flashed suddenly back to Dani, and his killer, to the moment he had allowed the person responsible for his death to touch him. He couldn’t do anything to suppress a shudder. As it always did when he truly considered what had taken place, anxiety began to claw at his chest, and he swallowed, staring down at his coffee so that he could collect himself before looking back up again. It was a strange conversation to have, and maybe not one he was ready for given recent events. But he pressed on. “I’m Milo. I probably should have said that earlier.” A soft sigh escaping him, he pointedly ignored the pain still weighing him down, remembering distinctly why he had come to the coffee shop in the first place. “Hey, I don’t suppose you want to, uh… start over? Maybe get another coffee and find a table that isn’t in front of a mirror?” He asked. He didn’t have anything to lose, but maybe, just maybe, he could gain a friend. A friend who partially understood the way the aftermath of his attack was still affecting him.

A snort left Bea, an amused smile lighting her face, “Trust me, this is me not being dramatic. I’m usually far more over the top.” She knew how to make a show, knew the words to say to get crowd reaction, knew how to dress and act to get the attention in a room. Her calm was often everyone’s dramatic. She watched his face closely, knowing that these conversations were never easy to have. Personally, most people didn’t know the details of her relationship with Kian. They didn’t know her history or how she felt dirty after it was all said and done. She had never gotten close enough to another person with ties to vampires to compare notes, see how trauma was different on other faces. “I find a lot of people turn into the thing that destroyed them, your’s just couldn’t be stopped.” She had become a killer after the Hunter, had walked this world with the goal of making sure others knew she could end them if she so wished. She had picked that, this man hadn’t. “It does fucking suck, pun intended, considering what happened,” She repeated back, that small smile still on her face.

Bea considered her options. She could just walk away, this had ended amicably enough, or she could give him a shot, accept company and let herself get pulled from the hole she had placed herself in. “I’m Bea or Beatrice, either work.” She always introduced herself that way, even though she rarely went by Beatrice anymore. Her mother had loved her full name though and so Bea had never stopped. Maybe it was time to. “I know a spot here where there are no mirrors, should be pretty safe.” She had never really stopped looking for those safe spots, not after three years of it. “I’ll get us more coffee and meet you over there?” She offered, guard still up, but willing to take some time to pull it down.

Milo watched the woman, pleased to see a genuine smile light up her face as she spoke. He smiled too, unable to help himself, but it didn’t take long for the expression to fade. He tried to imagine a world where he killed people so callously, where he was willing to take a life because it was convenient, and made him feel good. He refused to let himself become that, he was never going to forget the trauma, the unrest his experience had caused him. It might actually haunt him forever. He knew he could be selfish, knew on the odd occasion he put his own wants and needs before the wants and needs of others, but never to such a scale. That wasn’t him, and it was never going to be him. “I really hope that isn’t true…” He murmured. Maybe his company was right, and becoming a vampire was enough. Maybe she wasn’t talking about the murderous tendencies that apparently came as part of the package. Humming quietly in response to the pun, he glanced back up at her and was surprised to find she was still smiling. It made him feel better somehow, the knowledge that she might actually be enjoying the conversation.

“Bea...” He echoed, committing her name to his memory. He didn’t enjoy being given a choice, not when names could carry so much weight, and be so personal. It only made sense to use the first option he had been given. A laugh escaping him at the mention of mirrors, drawing him out of his thoughts, he was struck by how ridiculous it was relying on a human to show him where he would safely be able to sit. He felt like a child, although he knew he was in no place to complain about that fact. She was helping him, and considering how their interaction had begun, that alone seemed like an outright miracle. Following her gaze to a handful of tables, he nodded before catching her eye. “Coffee sounds good.” He agreed. “With oat milk, and as much syrup as they can legally give me.”

“Sometimes hope can be enough, if you follow it with determination.” There were moments where Bea looked toward Luce and saw hope in a manner she didn’t with many other people. It was a Vural trait to never go down easily, but Luce always felt like the most hopeful somehow. She was by far the least optimistic, yet somehow when hope was introduced to a situation, the eldest sister thought of the lightning caster. She couldn’t completely explain it, but it felt right in her chest. Luce didn’t let go of hope once she found it, she held fast, a dragon with her horde. “Oat milk,” Bea nodded, heading over to the front. “I’ll convince them to give you some illegal syrup too, don’t worry.”

Milo grinned at the mention of illegal syrup before turning away from Bea, making his way over to their new table. He felt okay, he realised. Not good, and definitely not whole, but okay, and that was undeniably the best possible outcome of the evening. He had been expecting the drink to help him. Had been expecting the solitude, and the quiet sense of normalcy to ground his overwhelming emotion. When in actuality it was the company helping him settle. Bea may have been cold, and short to begin with, but he was really beginning to like her. Maybe there was something in that. He had called Evelyn, hadn’t he? To help him when he was catatonic. Didn’t he usually call Orion when he was feeling particularly miserable, or confused? Even Macleod and James on the odd occasion had helped him to organise his thoughts. It struck him suddenly that he didn’t need coffee, he didn’t need to cling to his old life, or wallow in it entirely alone. He needed to find somebody to be with, somebody who could distract him from his thoughts, and allow him a sense of freedom. He knew the clubs now, he knew the substances. But did he know anybody willing to get on his level? If he looked in the right places, he strongly suspected White Crest might finally deliver.

#c:bea #milo and bea #emotional abuse tw #drug abuse tw

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