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djarinsbeskar · 4 years ago

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PREQUEL ARC: PART 2 - THE HOUK

A/N: Part 2 is here! First and foremost, can I just say thank you so much for the reception Part 1 received and to those who (gasps!) actually want me to tag them for updates??? I don’t know how to react??? I’m so touched??????? It’s so motivating and has reminded me why I love sharing my scribbles!

There’s a greater focus on world/character building in this chapter so if it feels a bit rambling or description heavy, I do apologise! Like I said, I’m trying to build some context to the reader-insert before we get to the smut, and I hope that I’ve kept her general enough that she doesn’t cross the line too much into OC territory and becomes unrelatable. As always, constructive criticism is welcome! My style of writing leaves much to be desired so I would love to know if something doesn’t make sense so I can improve and fix it. But enough of that, on with the show!

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Language and slight injury detail.

Plot: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

8 ABY, Mynock, Dandoran.

The second time you met him, he had dislocated his shoulder after a nasty clash with a Houk.

Your dealing with the Mandalorian on Klatooine had moved to the back of your mind and you rarely, if ever, thought about it. It was merely another encounter with a rough character that needed some medical attention. You wouldn’t have been able to hazard a guess at how many similar characters you saw in a week while you worked at the clinic. Even more so when you’d left Klatooine after becoming disillusioned that the New Republic were actually trying to make a difference.

You had heard stories from the Core and Mid Rim planets. Stories of the investment and progress being made to rebuild after the tyranny of the Empire, of the billions of credits being poured into the development of new ship building centers on Corellia and large, extravagant residencies for government members on Coruscant. Things, you were sure, that were not actually urgent necessities as they were desires. Especially given that the funds you received from that same government to sustain the clinic thinned before drying up completely a few months after your encounter with the Mandalorian.

…Hemorrhaging more credits than is justified for the benefits we’re seeing in return.

The busybody politician with a colorful title and even more colorful robes waxed poetically, hiding the sentiment of disinterest in ways only a politician could. Half-heartedly trying to distract you by his explanations with empty praise and gratitude for your service during the Rebellion and your humanitarian work now, a true embodiment of what the New Republic stands for. He crowed like the colorful bird he looked like, dressed as he was with fine feathers lining the lapels of his robes.

You bristle at the memory of the hologram’s eyes flickering to look at anything besides you, running down the time you had spent weeks trying to get.

That was when the memory of the Mandalorian surfaced, surprisingly. How the day after you treated him you arrived at the medical center and saw a familiar pouch of credits sitting innocently behind the check-in desk. When you enquired with the receptionist, she told you it was sitting there once she opened up earlier that morning. The only note left being on one of the datapads behind the desk, the scrawling font reading; to help with your work. You had let out a chuckle to yourself as you checked your schedule, wondering if the brutish male you had treated last night really was as cold as he portrayed himself to be.

The memory had incited a righteous anger that a bounty hunter was more willing to support a voluntary clinic than the government that set it up in the first place was.

I thought the Empire were the ones who put a credit limit on what a life is worth. You had hissed in return, interrupting what you were sure was a well-rehearsed and well used speech, before hanging up. You pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes, taking a shuddering breath as you tried not to be nihilistic in thinking that you had spent nearly half your life thinking you could make a difference, when, you were just serving the Empire in different clothing.

It wasn’t a fair comparison; you knew the New Republic was neither as cruel nor as tyrannical and oppressive as it’s predecessor, but you had been made so dreadfully aware that in places like the Outer Rim, people would always be overlooked by those in power because they simply didn’t offer enough to be worth looking at.

The realization was a raw wound to your soul. You had lost brothers and friends to the fight for liberation, but it didn’t seem as though the grass was much greener on the other side. Maybe elsewhere in the galaxy it was, but where you were needed most, the grass was dehydrated and dying under the relentless sun.

With the clinic penniless, your meagre pension from the Rebellion was not nearly enough to keep it functioning. Add to that the reluctance of the other medics to run the clinic alongside you out of their own pocket and the intergalactic beacon for medical aid that alerted anyone in the parsec of where to go being disengaged, traffic stopped. The native Klatooinians preferred their own healers and very rarely, if ever, sought out medics from the New Republic.

For the first time in your life, your path wasn’t clear. If you even had a path anymore.

That was how you found yourself on Dandoran, flying off a week after the last of the medics left Derelkann to the first planet that was habitable to humans. But by the Maker, it was even rougher than Klatooine. The temperate climate and lush greenery were more comfortable for you, but the city you found yourself in, Mynock, was to say the least, undesirable. Having once been Hutt Space, there were still several illegal operations active that kept the city going and you learned early on what areas to avoid and to always carry a blaster with you. But at least where there was activity, there was work for you.

***

You met Biran Sonter the very day you arrived, asking directions to the nearest medical facility, hoping they could use another medic. He was an elderly Mirialan male with a wealth of history behind him, his facial tattoos creased with deep wrinkles and a kindly smile that reminded you of your grandfather.

You were flabbergasted to learn that during the time of the Galactic Republic, he acted as the royal physician to the palace on Naboo.

As you choked on the tea he had kindly made for you at that revelation, you couldn’t ask him quickly enough how he ended up here? On an Outer Rim backwater skughole of a planet and his tale had been sobering. When the Republic first fell, anyone who did not immediately surrender to the rising Empire was terminated. Biran had, at the time, only heard word of the death of the beloved former Queen Amidala and blamed the Empire vehemently. Escaping on one of the last shuttles from the Mid Rim planet before legions of clones descended, he arrived on Dandoran where no one, not even the Hutts cared enough to notice him. All they knew, was that he was an excellent doctor who charged little for his services and kept to himself. That was good enough for them. While he treated a vast number of criminals ranging from thieves to bounty hunters, he was not wholly merciful. He somehow managed to avoid or talk his way out of treating anyone in the organized crime syndicates or known traffickers and killers. It may have gone against a physician’s code to do ones best to save every life, but he like many, made their own code in the Outer Rim.

You fell into a fast and easy friendship with the Mirialan after that, your similar histories of working in the medical field despite being decades apart giving you plenty to talk about. The practice Biran ran in Mynock was always busy and he was only too grateful when you offered to take the weight off his old shoulders and gradually, his clients began to expect to see you most of the day and Biran for a few hours in the early morning. You were never short on work between cantina brawls, accidents and the downright attacks that took place in Mynock and the next eighteen standard months seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, Klatooine a distant memory, as was the Mandalorian you met there.

The night you saw him again, was no different to any other you spent enjoying a quiet drink before heading back to turn in for the night.

You had been in the process of leaving the cantina, recognizing that the later it grew, the rowdier and aggressive the clientele became. You could handle yourself as well as anyone who made their home in Hutt Space, but you knew better than to be blatantly reckless when you were on your own. It wasn’t like you had the squadron you stayed with throughout the Rebellion for backup as you once did, and your closest ally would probably break in half if you pushed him too hard. So no, you were not staying late with Mynocks newest resident of a Houk warlord and the company he seemed to attract.

The Houk in question was a cruel and belligerent brute, a former local warlord by the name of Gappo Teff. His reputation for inflicting punishment disproportionate to any slight committed against him or the Empire was one of the many echoes of the former imperial rule that was still being felt in the galaxy nearly three years after its collapse.

The stories of the chokehold he held over Sullust would make even a hardened soldier’s stomach churn. How he managed to escape the liberation of the planet without being dragged to the noxious surface of Sullust to suffer for the pain he had caused so many, was a mystery. But there he was, sitting like a king in the cantina you found yourself in, bellowing laughter ricocheting obnoxiously throughout the space, not a care in the world that he was a wanted felon.

It might have been to do with the fact that he was at least seven and a half foot tall, with a mass that could easily fit three of you side by side across him and still not be seen. It might have been to do with the cold, milky blue of his small eyes, sunk into a skull so large it could probably shatter ribs and rupture organs if one were to be headbutted with it. The last thing anyone wanted was those eyes focusing on them. It could have been the heavy artillery modified blaster he kept laying on his lap; the weapon more of a cannon for those of a more regular stature. Whatever the reason, very few bounty hunters and even fewer New Republic guards came to collect him. He was probably one of the most easily found quarries on all Guild registers and New Republic wanted lists and yet, he languished in Mynock as if the Empire had never fallen and his reign was still assured.

Making your way to the entrance, you came up short as someone walked in, your nose coming abruptly close to a reddish-brown durasteel chest-plate. Taking a step back, your eyes did a double take at the familiar unpainted beskar helmet. Subconsciously, you had stepped to the side, the Mandalorian continuing to walk without a word as if you hadn’t nearly walked into him. Mandalorians were a rare sight these days, so you could be forgiven for staring. Though, you were most likely staring for entirely different reasons compared to everyone else in the cantina.

The armor was the same, if not a bit more worn, as was the dark boiled woolen cape and pulse rifle strapped to his back. But it was the gait; how could someone walk both gracefully and arrogantly, almost cocky in his self-assurance that he was in control wherever he went. It explained why he was so determined not to let his injury be known by his walk the last time you saw him. Because you had seen him before, there was no doubt in your mind that this was the same irritable reek of a Mandalorian you met in Derelkann years ago.

He stood in the middle of the cantina, assessing the place as his helmet scanned the area. If you didn’t know any better, you say he was…

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” You muttered to yourself when the helmet stopped on Teff. When you said bounty hunters didn’t bother to come after him, you should have been more specific. Smart bounty hunters didn’t bother hunting Gappo Teff, which explained why the one you knew of was right there looking for him.

A choice lay before you. Leave now and lock your doors until morning… or wait. For what, you couldn’t be sure. But if the Mandalorian wasn’t killed tonight by Teff, he was going to wish he was with the injuries he would probably sustain.

You let your head fall back on your shoulders as you exhaled. Why were you so soft for lost causes and wayward souls?

The Houks bodyguards left much to be desired, crumbling to the ground before they had even drawn their blasters, smoke rising from the blaster wounds inflicted effortlessly by Din.

The bodyguards weren’t what worried Din. Their boss hardly needed protecting, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The groan and screech of the metal table being shoved away by Teff as he stood to his full height made Din grit his teeth, arms open as he boomed, “Ah Mando, I was wondering when you’d try your luck at me. Your reputation is becoming rather infamous throughout the parsec.”

A guttural, wet laugh left the purple skinned quarry as Din remained silent and kept his blaster aimed. Damn, but the piece of bantha crap was big. He quickly scanned his peripheral, but it seemed the residents of Mynock had more self-interest than to trade blaster fire over one warlord, the barkeep casually making his was into the backroom of the bar to keep out of harms way.

“Why don’t you hang up that Guild work and let me make you a better offer.” Teff boomed, taking a swing of his drink, streams of the yellow fluid running down the sides of him mouth as those frosty eyes stayed trained on the bounty hunter.

Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet; negotiations by the quarry were his least favorite reaction to being caught but he knew better than to think he had captured the colossal male yet. Until Teff was either dead or frozen in carbonite, he was a danger. Luckily, the orders were to bring him in dead or alive. Seems the New Republic were fed up with him still breathing. He couldn’t say he blamed them.

“No?” the Houk pushed when Din didn’t respond, “Too bad, you’d have made an excellent addition to my collection.” And with more speed than Din had anticipated from the large male, he charged.

You had the good sense to leave the cantina as soon as the first blaster shot was fired, pulling the hood of your dusty grey jacket over your head while you made your way back to the practice to gather a few things. Things that would be completely obsolete if he died but you wouldn’t think that far. You were a realist, not a pessimist. The Houk might have had the advantage of height and sheer strength, but the Mandalorian was quicker, possibly smarter, and decked with enough firepower to make a starfighter pilot drool.

So, you put the odds about sixty forty in favor of the Mandalorian. Not that you would ever tell him that.

Teff roared in anger as Din rolled out of the way again, shooting his grappling hook to latch onto the Houks shoulder and yanked hard enough to throw the male off balance. Despite his large size however, Teff was able to slide his foot back to catch himself, putting him in direct line with Din.

He was on his feet in no time as the Houk charged at him, lowering his head so that on contact, Din’s left shoulder was thrown back into the wall of the cantina. His breath left him as the impact winded him, a dull but growing pain throbbing from his shoulder before Teff’s vile breath permeated even his helmet and a large hand wrapped around Din’s throat. He could feel his feet leave the floor and the weight of his body pulling downward made the pressure on his windpipe all the heavier.

“Oh well, at least you tried.” Teff gloated, his head leaning closer as if to peer into the visor and that distraction was all Din needed to lift his hand and engage his flamethrower, engulfing the Houk in flames. Din gasped in a breath when he was dropped, the squeals of pain coming from Teff disconcerting as he staggered around the cantina, desperately looking for something to extinguish the inferno his clothing and more vulnerable tissue had become.

Din waited a few more measured breaths before lifting the blaster and shooting the quarry in the vulnerable side of the neck, satisfied with the resounding bang the body made as it fell to the ground, flames still burning bright until he picked up the half-drunk tankard on Teffs table to douse the fire lest he be completely unrecognizable upon delivery.

Din looked around, the cantina was empty; the silence suddenly deafening as he looked back down at the body.

Now, how to get him back to the Razor Crest.

Din sighed.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

You held up your hands unsurprised when the Mandalorian spun on the ramp of his ship, blaster raised and aimed right at you. He tilted his head slightly, taking you in and you tried not to fidget under the gaze you could feel raking over you despite not being able to see his eyes. What you could see though, was how limp his left arm was hanging to his side.

“The demon medic from Klatooine.” He muttered, finally placing your face and lowering his blaster slowly while you lowered your arms.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You snorted before nodding to his arm, “And you’ll probably be calling me a lot worse when I tell you that that arm needs tending to.”

He shifted slightly, turning his body so you wouldn’t be able to see. You just crossed your arms across your chest and stared at him pointedly. He held your gaze and was still as a statue. You could play the silence game too if that was how he wanted to do this. It was only a matter of time before one of you broke and you weren’t the one with a dislocated shoulder, so you’d say that the odds were in your favor.

It seemed like time dragged on before, without saying anything, the Mandalorian sighed and turned towards the ship.

You bit down on a smile, but you could still feel it creeping upon your lips as you congratulated yourself on winning. Two nil, you tallied in your head, not bad girl.

The ship… well the ship was a fossil and that was being generous. But it was clean and obviously well taken of, if the tidy hull was anything to go by.

Apart from the charred corpse lying in the middle of course, but those were just details. Easily overlooked. The smell however… that was a different story, but you held back any comments. You still couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to drag a fully grown Houk through the town one-handed, but then you knew that the strength and discipline of the Mandalorians was unrivalled. He could have done it through sheer determination and honestly, you were lucky to have found him at all. But people in Mynock liked to talk, so following the rumors' had let you there relatively easy.

A sigh broke your train of thought, “Let’s get this over with.”

The warrior seemed resigned to his fate as he stepped over the corpse and you followed suit, mind instantly running through the correct procedure and treatment.

“We have to get the bone in the upper arm into the correct position before it slips back into joint, otherwise the force will just break your arm.” You explained as you moved to stand in front of the large warrior when he sat back on one of the many crates pushed against the wall of the ship. You could barely hear the short exhales coming from the modulator and you could only guess that he was holding back speaking, whether in pain or frustration that you had strong-armed him into accepting treatment again.

“But hey, look on the bright side.”

His visor tilted slightly to look at you.

“No droids needed.” You shrugged a shoulder and sent him a grin when he said nothing. When he looked away, you focused your attention back on the problem shoulder; it wasn’t immediately clear that it had been dislocated, the pauldron he wore hiding the jutting ball of the joint that was no doubt pressed uncomfortably against his flesh. What you could see was that his left side was hanging just a bit lower than his right, and the inability to move the arm was a dead giveaway.

“Are you just going to stare at it or actually do what you said you would when you barged onto my ship?” The rasp was closer to you as he turned his head, the rumble of his voice decidedly deeper than you remembered last time. Or perhaps it always had been, and you just hadn’t been paying enough attention, more focused on the very real threat of having a dead body on your hands as the poison spread. You rolled your eyes; or it was all the short and biting commands he only seemed to know how to give as opposed to actually speaking that made you forget the voice. The man could be attractive, if he wasn’t so frustrating.

“I can’t see it properly.” You replied, agitated with him again. He got under your skin too easily, and ruined your cool demeanor.

“You dealt with the problem just fine before.” He snapped back, pain making him cranky.

“You didn’t have a bone out of place last time!” You stopped yourself, sucking in a breath before releasing it to prevent yourself from snapping again.

“At least,” you bartered, “let me remove the pauldron. I can feel around the duraweave to get an idea. I won’t see any more of you than I did last time.”

He didn’t say anything again for a time and honestly, he was the slowest person you’d ever met at receiving emergency medical care. Half the men you treated during the Rebellion would yell until you’d taken care of the worst of their injuries before they even considered if it was what they wanted or not.

“Fine.” Was all he responded, making no move to remove the offending piece so you took that as your cue to feel around the curved metal cautiously, feeling where it attached to his duraweave and releasing it into your hands before placing it down on a separate crate.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” A warning growl echoed in the hull, turning you back to your task with a hum.

It seemed the joint had popped forward, no doubt from caving in as Teff collided with Mando’s shoulder. You leaned forward, your fingers feeling around the area as gently as you could while his breathing came out a little shorter. You sent him an apologetic smile.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stay still, okay? Usually I’d have someone to hold—”

“I can keep myself still, just do it.” He snapped finally, turning to look at you before he looked away again. You said nothing more as you took his gloved hand in yours, turning the forearm over and feeling the hand clench in yours when he hissed.

“Shh, nearly there.” You soothed, moving your hand under his elbow to lift it so it was aligned with Mando’s shoulder. You stood, keeping the arm in place and twisting yourself to stand facing his side.

You were definitely out to get him. There was no other explanation for why he only seemed to be seriously injured in your presence. Din tried to tell himself he was being over-dramatic and irrational, that you hadn’t even been on the same planet when he was injured the first time, but then you opened your mouth and he felt justified in his petulant thoughts.

“On three.” He heard you warn and all he could offer was a single nod; the sooner he got this over with the better.

“One…” You jerked the arm forward and slipped the joint back into place quickly with a sickening crack and searing pain took his breath away before it began to ebb immediately.

“DANK…. FERRICK!” Din yelled as his good arm reached across to grip his left, bending forward as he breathed through the flash of pain. You moved out of his way, waiting for him to look back up at you through the helmet, deep pants making his chest heave. You cocked your head to the side when his eyes found yours, a clear question there.

He groaned as he sat back, leaning his head against the hull, “It… doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” He admitted, thinking that the smile you gave him was somewhat worth the knock to his ego at having to admit such a thing in the first place. And like last time, before he could even worry about the concerning direction that thought had led to, you were fluttering about opening crates and bins as if you owned the place.

“What the hell—” he made to stand indignantly.

“Do you have any spare cloth?” You interrupted, “Your arm needs to be bound for a few days. If you have bacta it might reduce the healing time a bit but honestly, I don’t think dislocations can be rushed despite recent studies. Rushing back to heavily lifting or activity for at least six weeks is a sure way to hurt yourself again.”

You were rambling now as you set a pile of disused yet clean cloth you found on your lap, sitting across from him as he just blinked at this enigma of a woman. Giving him orders in his own ship, were you daft?

Your eyes sharpened and shot to his and he was suddenly glad you couldn’t see behind his mask. His eyes had widened guiltily at the thought that you had read his mind.

“You will do what you’re told, understand Mando?” You warned as your fingers tied a loose sling from strips of cloth you’d pulled apart without even having to look at it, deft fingers looping the material and strengthening it with several more layers woven in for good measure.

“If you insist on getting injured so often, you live with the consequences. And the consequences are doing what you’re fucking told and being happy about it, got it? Sulk if you want, so long as you keep the arm bound and don’t take on any jobs for at least two months.”

He opened his mouth a few times at the audacity, did she have a death wish? He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him as if he were no more than a child and it made his blood boil. But just as quickly as the anger arose, it simmered as she muttered while watching her fingers tie off the sling,

“You don’t actually seem like a bad guy, and the galaxy can’t afford to lose anymore… not bad guys.” She seemed unsure of giving out even this level of praise but then again, she only had their first encounter to go by.

He grunted; not sure how to respond. And when Din was uncomfortable, he resorted to silence.

You got to your feet once the sling was suitably strong enough to support the weight of his arm without unravelling or breaking and you indicated to him, “May I?”

He jerked his head up in affirmation and you maneuvered the sling to sit correctly under his elbow and forearm, coaxing him to lift it slightly with a tap before you looped the tied end over his helmet, adjusting the length slightly to fit against him.

“You left Klatooine.” the statement rose from the warrior, his tone quieter than you’d heard him all day. Was he... trying to make conversation? Din told himself that it was merely out of curiosity from seeing you by chance on two totally different planets.

Blinking in surprise, you sat back on the crate in front of him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back on one of your hands, “New Republic stopped funding the clinic and I realized that they’re all the same when it comes to the Outer Rim.”

He snorted in agreement, honestly, he wasn’t surprised to hear the New Republic had cut their losses on charity. It wasn’t in their nature to funnel money away from the Core planets.

“But it’s not all bad,” you continued, “I work with a doctor here. He’s old now so he should be enjoying his retirement. I’m kept busy and…”

He watched you while he waited for you to finish, surely there was more? But when you just shrugged and sent him a tight smile, he felt an uncomfortable niggle at the back of his neck, a familiarity that made him almost want to smile back even if you couldn’t see it. Almost. But not quite. He was unnerved at the… empathy he had for your situation. He too just… kept busy. It wasn’t towards any end beyond supporting the covert and the foundlings there. But for himself, he just kept working towards some translucent, non-existent goal, one job ended, and another began.

Something in your eyes told him you were doing the exact same thing. It unnerved him to think about.

“Echoy’la…” the word left him without knowing and you blinked,

“Hm?”

He shook his head and stood, grunting a bit at the ache in his shoulder when it jostled a bit, “Nothing. It seems I owe you my thanks again, demon medic.”

“I do have a name you know.” You snorted, letting the previous topic go as it seemed to just make him more awkward and grumpy than he already was. You packed away the medikit and replaced the unused cloth back where you found it.

“Somehow I don’t think it’ll be as fitting.”

“Whatever, sunshine.” You looked over your shoulder at him, the sling looking so out of place as he hooked a thumb in the utility belt he wore. It was amazing that he could still look as intimidating as he did. You gathered your things and started down the ramp leisurely. He followed you silently until he was standing at the entrance to the ship.

“Demon or not… thank you.” He called out as your feet hit the dusty ground of Mynock once again. You looked back over your shoulder and gave a single wave, calling something back to him that did make him smile behind his helmet this time.

As you disappeared into the streets of Mynock, he tested the name you had thrown back to him, rolling the syllables, and testing the vowels as he repeated it to himself.

Pity, he thought. He hated being wrong about anything, but somehow, your name was a much better fit than demon medic.

Not that he would ever admit that to you, of course.

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@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog

#the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #din djarin imagine #mando imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic

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chandelier-s-notebook · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 3

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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“Police! Everybody put your hands up!” they shouted barging into the main hall of the abandoned mall.

Heads turned and there was a brief moment of disconnect; on one side you had the fighters wondering who snitched, and on the other you had officers equipped for a potential multi-party drug deal and instead got a fighting ring operating in broad daylight.

People scattered, some ran to the exits; some hid in the rubble of the crumbling building; some were still with shock; and others were close enough to get grabbed by an officer. Out of those, a few guys fought them off, but others--such as the Dream Team--went quietly.

The Dream Team and two others were led out of the building.

“Where are you taking us?” the younger girl walking along with them asked, worry etched on her face.

“We’re just taking you to the parking lot,” the officer said. “Then you’ll be taken to the station to make a statement.”

“First time?” Dream asked, trying to make a joke.

Sapnap whacked him upside the head. “Not funny.”

“I’ve never been caught before,” the girl murmured to him, her tone significantly hardened. She quickly lightened up her voice and addressed the officer, “Will we be charged?”

“Mostly likely.”

The officer led them out to the parking lot.

Captain Craft met them at the barrier. “I’ll take them from here X33N. Jordan's just arrived to take over the scene, I’m going back to the station to get these guys processed.”

“Yes Sir.”

“We’ll send out rotating cruisers to pull in detainees as your team apprehends them.”

“Understood Sir.” The officer--X33N--left the five of them with Officer Craft.

Captain Craft’s junior partner then abruptly grabbed Dream by the shoulders and shoved him down to the car.

“Ouch!”

“You are under arrest for loitering on private property.”

“Geez, I get it! No need to be so rough. I came quietly, for goodness sake.”

“Just had to make sure you didn’t get away,” they said snidely.

“The only place I’m going, is the fucking station.” Dream let the officer pull him upright. “I’d like Captain Craft’s car if I get the choice.”

Captain Craft gave his junior partner a nod as well as a hard look. “Be gentle. Treat them with respect, otherwise things will just get worse. You respond, not instigate,” he reprimanded. Captain Craft was much gentler with Sapnap, George, the girl, and the other boy.

Dream and George rode with Captain Craft, while the other three took another car driven by the junior partner.

“Fuck,” George whispered under his breath.

“What is it?”

“Seriously?”

“Specifically,” Dream amended.

“Mother is gonna kill me.” George dropped his head forwards. “She’s been on my ass for that 92 I got in biology last week.”

“She’s still on about that?” Dream asked. “Dude it was a 92, people would kill for a 92.”

“Word choice,” Captain Craft teased from the front seat.

“Sorry,” Dream quickly said, attention never fully leaving George. “She’s too hard on you.”

“And now I’m being taken into the station.”

“George, you’re the medic. You didn’t do anything.”

“Willful ignorance,” George cried pitifully.

“Dude shut up. Anything can and will be used against you and all that.”

“Fuck. Right. Sorry.” George took a deep breath. “It would come out in questioning anyways. Fuck. Mother’s gonna read this on the news.”

“You didn’t have to come with us.”

“I need to live Dream.”

Captain Craft parked the car. He opened the door and ushered the two of them inside, the other three following close behind.

“Names?” the receptionist asked.

“Dream Taken, you?”

“F1NN,” he replied offhandedly, typing Dream’s name into the system. “No current warrants. Next.”

“George Lore.”

“Sapnap Halo”

“Hannah Rose.”

“Walli Bear.”

“Any injuries?”

All five of them stood patiently as F1NN led them through the spiel, the Dream Team bored, Hannah putting on her scared little girl front, and Walli looking genuinely panicked and muted. Dream was then taken away for solo questioning by Captain Craft first, and the rest were taken into a communal holding cell in the station.

“Dream Taken, was it?”

“Yes Sir.” Too formal.

“How are you this fine afternoon?”

“Wonderful. Going to me on my best behaviour for the few weeks I believe. I’ll try too anyway,” he bantered.

“Dream.”

“What’s on your mind Captain?” Dream leaned forward on his elbows. “Any questions for me?”

“There was this kid--your age--in the parking lot.”

Dream blinked, his joking persona dropping for a split second. “Yeah? What about it?”

“He was doing homework. Said that was his spot to get out of the house. What’s the likelihood he didn’t know what was going on?”

Dream wasn’t about to throw Techno under the bus. “Pretty high. He could have gotten there before us and not noticed everyone parking around him today. Also could be a case of thinking that this was normal and not questioning things. You know, Las Nevadas guys running around, best to keep your head low.”

“Advice you clearly stand by.”

Dream shot the officer a wide smile. “That’s my aim.”

Captain Craft scribbled something down in his notebook. “How often does that ring meet?”

“Every so often. It moves around.”

“How many locations?”

“Three? Four? Not sure.”

“Fight often?”

“When I’m told the location.”

“Where’s the next one?”

Dream wiggled his eyebrows. “Not telling.”

“Less community service hours coming your way if you ‘fess up.”

“Need that in print before I hand everyone over. Besides, I only attend when it’s at the mall.” Dream smiled again, clearly having fun with the banter. “Am I done here? I think I’m done.”

“Nothing more to say?”

“I didn’t fight this afternoon. I only watched.”

Captain Crafted jotted it down, he flipped the page and wrote down another note before ripping it off and closing the book. “Take this to F1NN and call your guardian for pick up. Loitering on public property, and willful ignorance to assault and battery.”

Dream stood up and pushed his chair in. “Not gonna walk me there?”

“We’ve been here enough times,” Captain Craft sighed. “Best behaviour?”

“Of course.”

Captain Craft cut open Dream’s zip ties and sent him on his way.

Dream gave the note to F1NN and was given the phone in return; like clockwork these visits were. That was a bad thing wasn’t it?

After two rings Bad picked up his phone. “Hello?”

“Hi Bad, it’s Dream.”

“Tubbo just left,” he said as if he knew exactly what Dream would have wanted from him. “Techno just came by to pick him up.”

“That’s ‘cause I told him to,” Dream explained. “The three of us got picked up by the police, think you could bring us home?”

Bad could be heard moving around the apartment, and he heard the clinking of keys. “I’m on my way. Anything I need to know?”

“George and Sapnap will probably be calling you, once they’re finished with their interviews.”

Half an hour later Sapnap was sitting shotgun in his dad’s car, while Dream and George chilled in the backseat of the car. The first stop of the night was Punz’s house, so they could pick Tubbo up, before dropping Dream off at home.

Bad parked on the driveway, and Dream got out of the car. He walked up to the front and used his spare key to get in.

It’s quiet, and too early for the fourteen year olds to be asleep. Tubbo and Purpled are good friends, they had been since childhood; getting dropped off at Bad-Halo’s-Unofficial-Daycare-for-the-Siblings-of-Petty-Criminals-and-Their-(Count-‘Em)-One-Normal-Friend did that to friendships. They should have been playing around here somewhere.

Dream stalked around the house looking for clues as to where they might have gone. It was in the kitchen that he found a note.

“Purpled went out. Didn’t want to be here alone. Went to Ranboo’s.”

Dream grabbed the note and groaned in frustration, all this way for nothing? He checked his phone. Nope, Tubbo hadn’t even sent a text message. He left the house--making sure to lock the door behind him--in a huff.

Opening the car door, he slid in, exhaling loudly. “Punz wasn’t home. Purpled’s gone. Note saying Tubbo went to Ranboo’s. I’ll just bus home from your place. Think Techno left my bag with you.”

“He did. I noticed it on my way out.” Bad pulled out of Punz’s driveway. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

“I would, but you know Ranboo’s parents. If they find Tubbo there, they’ll kick him out, and I’d rather be in the apartment if he has to come back.”

Bad nodded. “I’ll drive you and George back to your places then.”

“Actually, Bad?” George interjected quietly. “Can I crash at your place? Mom’s been a lot this week already and they got our picture. Think we’re gonna be in the news again.”

Bad sighed. “You’re ruining your future. How will you get into university with those articles?”

“Good grades and scholarships,” Sapnap said.

Bad laughed. “Of course you can stay the night.”

#Dreamwastaken #Sapnap #Georgenotfound #Badboyhalo #Philza #These Streets Are Made For Walking

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escapewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Hey There Delilah

pairing : seungkwan x reader

synopsis : if only you got his address right, maybe he wouldn’t have been that salty.

genre : fluff, humor, slight angst

word count : 3.3k

warnings : none

posted : 01/16/21

a/n : IM SO SORRY THAT I HAVENT UPDATED THIS FOR A MONTH. BUT I GOT INSPO BECAUSE HIS BIRTHDAY WAS COMING UP SO HAPPY SEUNGKWAN DAY!!!!

TAGLIST : @vibecheckvernon @beomiebear5 @lightoflife @skylions-den @noniesgirl

won’t let me tag : @pandora1834

send me an ask/dm if you would like to be on the taglist

pieces of love masterlist // playlist // main masterlist

“Do you have to leave so soon?” Seunkwan pouted as he held your hand and rolled your luggage in the other. “I mean, you have time to stay a little longer.” He looked down at your intertwined fingers, slightly swinging it.

“You’re telling me this now? If you told me earlier, I could have gone later but I already got my ticket and we’re literally standing in the middle of the airport.” His mouth fell open as you giggled, releasing his hand to cup his face in your palms. “Don’t worry, Kwan, I’ll be back before you know it. And remember our deal, okay? Only letters.”

He sighed but repeated your words in a defeated tone, “Only letters.”

“Man, fuck these letters.” Seungkwan groaned in annoyance as he crumpled the 5th piece of paper into a ball and threw it into the trash bin. Jun looked up from his phone where he was seated on the couch, a concerned, yet amused, look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong? Can’t spell their name right?” Laughing at his own joke, he didn’t notice his friend swiftly turn in his chair to glare at him, shutting him up with a cough. He cleared his throat and nervously sat up straight, “Seriously, what’s wrong? Don’t know how to spell something or what?”

“No that's not the problem, and even if it was, I wouldn’t be asking you how to spell something.” Seungkwan turned back to his desk, resting his head on the wooden table. “I haven’t gotten a letter in a month. Do you think something’s wrong?” Jun hummed again, listening as he scrolled mindlessly on his phone.

“I don’t think you did anything wrong, they’re probably just busy. I mean, New York is a busy place and they gotta pay attention to some things, I guess.” Seungkwan turned around again, looking at the coffee table Jun had his feet propped up on.

“I don’t think I did anything wrong. I’m saying, maybe something is wrong.”

Jun looked up, eyes staring at Seungkwan’s furrowed eyebrows, “Wouldn’t their family tell you though? I honestly don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Just write the letter and ask them what’s wrong and if they don’t reply, then... there's your answer.”

“Aren’t you such great help.”

Seungkwan slammed the pen on the desk, finally finished writing the letter to you. He doesn’t really know why you stopped sending letters; it was usually a one to two week delay. Nevermind that, Seungkwan is sure that after you get this letter, you will definitely reply to him.

“Jun, can you read this for me? See if it sounds good?” He turned to the male who was eating on the small table, holding out the letter for him to take. Reaching over, Jun retrieved the letter from Seungkwan’s grasp, scanning the neat handwriting before reading:

Hey there,

How are you? Are the people treating you nice there?I sure hope they are because you’re too kind for this world. What’s it like living there so far? I’m sorry for all these questions, I’m just curious because ya know, it's New York City!

So… it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a letter from you, but maybe you’ve been busy. I mean, this internship, it’s a big deal so I wouldn’t want you to worry about sending letters all the time. Plus it probably keeps you occupied so don’t worry about anything, I’m just glad you’re happy doing what you love.

Anyway, uh, I heard back from Vernon. He said that he can show you around since he’s in town visiting with his mom. I don’t know if you’ll get this in time, but maybe he’ll contact you about it!

I really miss you. I know it was such terrible timing for me to have confessed. Just two weeks before you had to leave. Ah I wish I could’ve done it sooner. Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. Don’t overwork yourself and stay safe, okay?

Remember, time square could never shine as bright as you. I know it’s cheesy but I’ll always say it because that was my best pick up line ever. Okay, now get back to work! I’ll see you soon! I’m counting down the days!

From, Seungkwan

Jun put down his arm that was holding the letter and looked at Seungkwan who was munching away the food on his plate, “‘Time square could never shine as bright as you?’ MAN, and I thought Mingyu was the cheesy one in our group.”

Glaring at the elder, he snatched the letter from his hand, muttering something under his breath. “It’s from a song. An inside joke you wouldn’t understand.”

Jun took a sip of his soda, sighing as he set the can on a coaster, “Well, whatever it is, cross your fingers in hopes that they mail you back,” He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans, “I’ll take my leave, gotta go cleanse my apartment.”

Seungkwan nodded, looking at the letter in his hands. Of all the things, it had to be letters.

“Seungkwan, get up.” He mumbled in his sleep, trying to shoo away the intruder that was waking him up. “Seungkwan, have you gotten mail from them yet?” He groaned again, not aware of his surroundings as he rolled over, arm hitting a hard surface beside him. “Man, you really are a pain. Anyway, I have a letter for you.” Seungkwan shot up, squinting at Jun who towered over him in his bed.

“You have a what for me? I’ve been waiting for almost three weeks for one, did one finally come in?” Jun’s eyes widened, not realizing sooner that he didn’t receive a letter from you.

“Oh, uh, you see, um, I was just… kidding.” Seungkwan narrowed his eyes before making a frown and crashing back head first into his pillows. “Seungkwan, come on man. The letter probably got lost in the mail or something. You never know.”

Sitting up, he stared at what’s ahead of him; a bookshelf. The shelf had various books, photo albums, picture frames, etc. Mainly, it had a picture of the two of you hanging out the day he finally confessed — just two weeks before you had to leave. He doesn’t remember that night, though he wished he did after staring at the photo for so long now.

“Seungkwan! What are you looking at?” Jun leaned over, trying to take a glance at what his friend was eyeing, though it appears it is something that won’t make him feel any better. “Okay, enough is enough. You helped me during my break up, so I’m gonna help you through this letter drought, okay? Okay. Now, up you go!” Jun lifted the man from his bed, dragging him to the middle of his bedroom before plopping him down on the rug. “You're not gonna help me out Seungkwan? Come on, please.”

“What if they met someone,” Jun thought for a moment, hoping what Seungkwan said didn’t turn out to be true. He had to stay positive and make sure his friend does too.

“Hey, don’t think like that, okay? Now get up and wash up, we’re going to get food.” Seungkwan sighed, finally deciding to listen to his friend.

“Jun, I know you meant to go out to get food, but I didn’t think that I would pay for it AND we eat it at my place.”

“It’s the thought that counts, and thank you for paying. The food? Muah.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes and put a piece of meat into his mouth, staring at the desk that was against the wall. He eyed the papers, pens, and pencils; a wave of sadness crashing over him. He couldn’t help but think that you actually had moved on. All the doubts he had in the beginning when you left resurfaced as he thought that maybe you just used him for those last two weeks you had spent with him. But why would you do something like that? It didn’t make any sense, but maybe Seungkwan doesn’t really know you.

“Hey, Seungkwan what’s the date today?”

“Not sure, why?”

Jun hummed, noticing that Seungkwan hasn’t been keeping track of the days recently, so he decided to keep this valuable information to himself, “No reason, just wasn’t sure.”

Seungkwan sat at his desk, thinking about how he should start the next letter to write. He used to write every week to you, but now he hasn’t written to you for over a month. He swirled the pen in his hand, attempting to gather words to form a sentence in his head. Finally, that imaginary lightbulb lit up, his eyes sparkling with ideas.

Hey there,

How’s New York City treating you? Have you taken care of yourself? Eating all your supplements?

Scratching his head, he scribbled on the paper and decided to use this as a rough draft and to rewrite it later.

How’s New York City treating you? Have you taken care of yourself? Eating all your supplements?

I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you’re safe over there. It’s getting more and more difficult for me to go so long without seeing you and hearing your voice. I miss you.

He thought maybe it was too cheesy, or maybe he was so in love he couldn’t control it. Nope it was too cheesy.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you’re safe over there. It’s getting more and more difficult for me to go so long without seeing you and hearing your voice. I miss you.

Taking a small sip of his coffee, Seungkwan closed his eyes, thinking about the situation he was in. He used to be so good at saying all the right words in his letters but now he couldn’t even find anything to say. He doesn’t even know if you're reading them or not. That hurt his pride a bit because of how much time and dedication he spent to write and think these out to send to you, only to not get a letter in almost two months. That’s the crazy thing about love; one would do anything for the person they love.

Snapping his eyes open, he checked the time only to find that it was no use because the clock was broken. The ticking of it irritated him and it always felt like it was getting slower and slower.

Focusing on the paper in front of him, he decided that if you weren’t going to send any letter, then he wasn’t going to either. It sounded like a great idea, but it was also bad at the same time. He didn’t know why, but he chose to ignore the bad part.

Jun could sense that Seungkwan was feeling a bit better than usual, but that's what freaked him out the most. Seungkwan hasn’t been this active ever since he got his first letter from you, so he guesses that his friend received a letter. Jun wanted to ask, but the fear of the thought not being true made him hesitate and not ask at all. He didn’t want to see his friend in despair again. After all, you are coming home in a few hours.

Seungkwan hasn’t felt like he has right now since a few months ago. It could be the weather, the feeling of the air, the food, anything. He just knows that today is a good day.

“Jun, what are we gonna do today? I’m feeling great so we should go out.” Jun pursed his lips as Seungkwan looked at his friend, waiting for an answer. Jun looked up in thought, but his mind just wandered back to his bed or the couch because he was feeling a lazy day.

“I don’t know, I’m not really in the mood to… go out.”

“Why? Are you feeling okay?” Seungkwan raised his hand to touch Jun’s forehead, only for Jun to smack it away.

“I feel fine, I’m just a bit lazy is all.” Jun thought to himself, thinking about how you’d for sure want to see Seungkwan and to talk to him about everything. Well, that's what he thinks and hopes. “Can we stay here for a bit and then head out?”

Plopping down next to him, Seungkwan turned on the TV, clicking through the channels before keeping it on one show. “Let me know when you want to leave.”

Seungkwan soon fell asleep on the couch, laying on his right side. Jun looked at him and then to the clock. He set a reminder on his phone before you left on when you would come back and what time.

It was currently 3:10pm and on his phone, it says you arrived at 1 o’clock in the afternoon. The airport is quite away and you probably are feeling tired after the plane ride, but Jun can’t help to look back every time he hears a car go by, hoping that it’s you to see Seungkwan.

He sighed, glancing at his sleeping friend before getting up and placing a blanket over him. He’s had it rough for the past couple of months, the thoughts of his brain eating him alive. Oh how he knew the feeling all too well.

Hearing a car door shut, Jun peeked outside, seeing you approach the house. Quickly and quietly, he opened the front door and closed it, meeting you halfway.

When you saw him, you immediately smiled, “Jun!” He raised his hand up to his lips, shushing you.

He began to whisper, “Where the hell have you been?” You eyed him weirdly, but shrugging as it was only Jun in front of you. “Do you know how much pain Seungkwan was in? He’s been waiting so long for you to reply.”

You were confused, “What do you mean? I was the one waiting for him to reply back to me. I came here to see what was wrong.” Jun sighed before signaling you to Seungkwan’s home.

“You go in. He’s asleep on the couch and will probably wake up hungry.” He gave you a soft pat on the head, “Glad to have you back, now I’m gonna go. Also, he’ll probably get mad, so don’t mention me.” You giggled before giving him a small hug.

“Thanks Jun.”

Seungkwan groaned, sitting up as he looked around the room, trying to spot Jun. Finding him nowhere, he sighed thinking about how he never went out. Turning to put his feet down, he lifted his arms to stretch, a yawn escaping past his lips. Mid yawn, he sees you at the doorway from the kitchen with a tray. He blinked a few times, not sure if you were really there or if it was just Jun. He rubbed his eyes as you came closer and set the tray onto the coffee table.

“About time you woke up, I’ve been here for an hour.” Seungkwan said nothing, his mind still thinking that this was all just a hallucination. He glazed over at the clock on the desk and saw that it was almost 4:30pm.

He heard you clear your throat, his mind now processing that you were indeed actually there with him in the same room. You began to walk around the small table, “I made your favorite soup,” Sitting down next to him, you looked into his wide eyes, “Why are you so surprised? I should be the surprised one here.”

Blinking a few times, he finally said your name. Lifting up his hand, he caressed your cheek lovingly as you smiled bitterly. But then he remembered how you never responded to him, and how you had the audacity to come into his home as if nothing was wrong.

He narrowed his eyes, taking his hand away from your face before standing up abruptly, “Why didn’t you mail me back?” Your eyebrows shot up and so did your legs, but wanting to one up him, you stood on the couch.

“I could ask you the same thing, Seungkwan! I haven’t received a single letter from you.” A shocked look flashed over his features as he looked up at you.

“What do you mean ‘haven’t received’ a single letter? I sent a few asking you why you didn’t respond. But what did I get? N. O. T. H. I. N. G.” You glared at him, not believing the words you were hearing. You sent so many letters with no information as to why he didn’t respond back to you.

“Really Seungkwan? You want to play victim?”

“Victim? I am the victim!” You scoffed, getting off the couch and walked around the table to put some distance between the two of you. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re accusing me of not responding when I did.” You rubbed your temples, pacing in front of him as you took small glances at his messy desk filled with crumpled papers. You walked over, picking up a ball and unfolded it, reading what he wrote before tossing it aside.

“I told you I wrote. And I did stop, I admit, but that was only because you never responded. I did write to you.” You looked at him, trying to think about what went wrong before an idea popped in your head.

“Seungkwan, what was the last letter you got from me?” He looked around his desk, scanning the messy area before pointing to the only neat pile. You picked up the letters, reading each date and word on the envelopes. However, you immediately knew what the mistake was.

You sighed and closed your eyes, biting your lower lip in frustration. Turning to Seungkwan who was sitting on the couch and eating the food you prepared, you debated if you wanted to hurt your pride by telling him what you did wrong.

He looked at where you were standing with the letters in your hands, as clear sadness in his eyes. You thought about the pain you may have caused him because of one stupid mistake. If only you got the address right.

“Okay Seungkwan, I know what happened, but hear me out.” His eyes narrowed, but he motioned you to continue, “So, when we write letters to each other, we put our address on it, right?” Nodding his head, he took a sip of the warm soup, “Well, the people I was working with moved me to a different department which relocated me to a different city which was far from my apartment.”

You watched his eyes, seeing the expression that tells you he knew nothing about it, “Yeah, you knew nothing because in the letter that I wrote to you, I put the wrong address. I put a 5 instead of a 6.” You looked down, too ashamed to face him and his hard eyes. Seungkwan was surprised, he didn’t know how to process the information, so all he did was laugh.

“I can’t believe how stupid you are.” You let out a soft laugh, hiding your face in the letters. “But I have a question still,” He tried to look at your face, but couldn’t see anything except your nodding, “If we wrote our address, why didn’t you just look at my old letters?”

Placing the letters on the table, you let out a loud groan, softly stomping over to the couch and sitting right next to him. Leaning against his shoulder, you sighed, “Like you said, I can’t believe how stupid I am.”

Seungkwan laughed, moving his arm to wrap around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, catching his familiar scent that you missed so much.

“Seungkwan?” He hummed, loving the feeling of having you in his arms again, “I’m sorry I got your address wrong.” He smiled, rubbing your back as a soothing gesture.

“I know. But just remember I’m never letting you live this down.”

#caratwritersclub #newskynet #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen oneshot #seungkwan #boo seungkwan #happy seungkwan day #pieces of love #escapewriter oneshot

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writingwithadinosaur · 4 years ago

Text

“Under the Knife” - Part 2

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 2,500-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talks of murders, talk of crime scenes, cursing

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Tag List:

@fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude @ntlmundy

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

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

After your meeting with Jack, you filled out some paperwork and made it official: You were going to be his profiler for any case that he wanted to call you in for. And apparently he already had one building.

“We have a suspected serial killer hitting close to home. Three killings in Montclair, Lorton, and Fredericksburg.” As he said the Virginian cities, Jack plopped 3 case files in front of you and moved to the board full of evidence that he had.

“Oh! We’re starting right now? O-Okay.” He turned from the board to look at you with a sort of incredulous way.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“I mean, we literally just signed the papers. I thought I would have a night to prepare instead of being thrown right in.” You said the truth without seeming ungrateful or annoyed, which was good. But you instantly started to nervously ramble as Jack nodded and walked back to his desk. “But if we need to start right now, I can. I just wasn’t ready for--”

“You’re right. We’ll start talking tomorrow. For now, take those files, do your homework, and report here at 9AM. We’ll go to the lab and introduce you to Beverly, Price, and Zeller.” Jack smiled and motioned toward the door.

“Thank you. I will see you tomorrow morning!” You tried to be professional but also show that you were actually excited to work with him.

“See you tomorrow.”

After putting the files securely in your bag, you headed to your apartment. You put the files on your dining room table before you hung up your coat and work bag. You checked your watch. You had dinner plans with Hannibal in an hour and a half. You stood between your room and the table that the files were seated on. You fidgeted with your ring for a few seconds as you debated on whether or not to start catching up on the case now or after dinner.

“I can read over the first one and then get ready for dinner.” You told yourself as you pulled out the semi-comfy chair and opened the file.

Case: #566-A

This case was from 6 weeks ago in Montclair. Ballsy to be close to the FBI and kill people. There were two victims: Dr. Everet and his wife Whinnie. They were found dead in their shared bedroom in their upper-class house. A nice upper-class place thanks to being a doctor.

Whinnie looked like a murder that you would find in an armed robbery case: Quick throat slit, not much thought or motive into it, left on the floor to bleed out. Dr. Everet on the other hand was what you assumed grabbed Jack’s attention.

Dr. Everet was in the middle of their bed. The autopsy report claimed that the cause of death was exsanguination which made sense considering he was in pieces. Everet was cut at every major joint. His arms were separated from his shoulders, his legs from the pelvis, his thigh from his knee, his forearm from the elbow, and so on and so forth down to his fingers and toes. The report showed that there was a high level of paralytics in his system. So you make him sit there while you cut him apart. That’s why there are no defensive wounds. He had to lay there and endure all of that...

Why was Everet presented like this while his wife was a simple throat slit?

You made some notes in your book, making sure to write out questions to ask the team when you met up with them tomorrow. With every note you made, you found yourself going back to the case file and trying to connect dots. You soon realized that you couldn’t begin to connect those dots until you looked at the other files.

Without much thinking, you opened all three files, quickly skimming over each of them and writing out the main points that stood out. You were supposed to be at Hannibal’s at 7 o’clock and it was only 5:45. It didn’t take that long to get to his place.

All of the murders happened 2 weeks after the other, starting 5 and a half weeks ago. Dr. Everet was about 6 weeks ago, Dr. Chaseten was about 4 weeks ago, and Dr. Loriet was about 2 weeks ago. Which means this killer is bound to strike again soon if this time frame is important to him.

They all have at least one victim that is treated like a paralyzed piece of artwork like Dr.Everet and at least one victim thrown to the side and killed quickly. The ‘pieces of art’ were all doctors, the others were their husbands or wives.

They all were in different cities in Virginia but close enough to make a solid assumption that this is the same killer.

You were scribbling out a note to ask about if there were any particulates found in any of the bodies when your phone buzzed on the table next to you. You didn’t even look at the screen, you just hit the answer button and put whoever was calling on speakerphone.

“(Y/N) speaking.”

“Good evening, (Y/N).” The thickly accented voice rang through your speaker and stopped your writing mid-word as you looked from your phone to the files that were now spread out across your small tablespace.

“Dr. Lecter! Hi! Good evening! Sorry, I was um... caught up in something and didn’t even register who was calling!”

“No need to apologize. I was just wondering if I should still expect you tonight?” You dropped your pen as you frantically looked at the time on your phone. It was 6:15PM. You quickly started to shut the files and stand up muttering a few curse words as you did. “I take it you got distracted?

“Yes! I’m sorry! But I am still coming over as long as the invitation is still good.” You picked up your phone and walked to your room to start to quickly figure out a nice outfit that didn’t look too much like a work outfit or too fancy. “I am getting ready now!”

“As I can hear.” You could almost hear the slight smirk he most likely had on his lips from hearing you fumble around your small space.

“I should be there right around 7 and I’ll explain myself, I promise.”

“I will see you then, my dear.” Hannibal hung up while you were slinging your work shirt into your laundry bin. You couldn’t help the smile that spread as you thought about how he called you ‘my dear.’ You know it's probably nothing more than a common nickname for any woman in Hannibal’s life, but it still felt good to be called something other than your real name.

~~~~~~~~

Somehow you had managed to avoid a lot of major traffic and pull up to Hannibal’s home right at 7 o’clock. He must have heard your engine or seen your headlights because as you got out of your car and made your way to his front door, it was already open with him waiting for you with a small smile on his lips.

“Right on time.”

“Did you doubt me?”

“Never.” Hannibal moved to the side to let you in. You were instantly hit with the scents of whatever he was whipping up in his kitchen.

“One day you’ll have to teach me how to make something really fancy just so I can show off next time I have someone over.” You shrugged off your bag and went to hang it up in the closet, but Hannibal beat you to it.

“Someone like a partner?” He was so good at hiding any sort of inflection in his voice, but you could have sworn that you detected a bit of jealousy. You slightly laughed at the idea of having any sort of romantic partner right now.

“I was thinking more along the lines of my brother. You know I don’t have much of a social life outside work.

Hannibal motioned for you to walk towards the kitchen, you did so and he was right behind you.

This was normal for the two of you. You tried to have a meal or at least coffee together once or twice a week to give both of you a break from whatever the world was dishing out to you that week. You had met as colleagues when you worked together on a project for the FBI. But now you both were in a comfortable friendship. There was a pang in your heart that wanted to explore the idea of being more than friends or coworkers with him, but you doubted Hannibal felt the same. If he did, he wouldn’t show it due to his connection with your brother and out of respect for you. So the two of you continued this dance of being extremely friendly but too scared to make a move or speak up.

You poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter as Hannibal reached into the refrigerator for lemon juice and finished up cooking.

“How was your day today?” You ask him, as you take a sip.

“It was alright. Met with patients, got further in a drawing, figured out what to cook for a beautiful lady as a congratulation of sorts.” Hannibal quickly looked up at you as he said the last half of that before turning to the stovetop. You felt a very small blush creep on your neck, but tried to play it cool.

“Congratulations?”

“On your new position. I hope you don’t mind that Will shared that with me today.”

“Did he now?” You couldn’t help the slight negativity in your voice as you looked away and played with your ring. “He is definitely not as happy for me as you are. I’m sure you’re aware that he did not want me to accept Jack’s offer.”

“I cannot tell what he said, but I can tell you that he was rather upset when he came in today.”

“Sounds like my brother.” You took another drink of water, not even noticing that Hannibal had plated dinner until he spoke up.

“Now, if you’d please.” You quickly looked up and saw that he was gesturing to the dining room. You tried to help by grabbing a plate or his cup or something to bring to the table but he just gently ushered you into the next room. He never let you help out when you were over as a dinner guest, but you tried every time.

The two of you sat and began eating. It was a good minute or two of silence before someone spoke up.

“This is delicious, Hannibal! I don’t know what vegetable this is exactly,” you help up a swirly looking green piece on your fork, “but it is amazing with this sauce you’ve made.”

“That is romanesco broccoli. I thought you might like it. It looks intimidating but tastes like the typical broccoli that you normally eat. It's just a bit… Artistic.” He slightly smiled, happy that he could amuse you with new food. You took another bite as Hannibal reached for his wine. Before he took a sip, he asked something that had been on his mind.

“May I ask what grabbed your focus so much that you almost missed out on dinner tonight?”

“Oh, right! Jack apparently already has a killer he wants me to start profiling. He gave me copies of the reports to read up on before I have my first official day tomorrow. I told myself I was just going to read the first one, but then got carried away.”

“Is this the killer that has been targeting doctors?” You gave him a questioning look, unsure of how he knew about the case. “Jack asked for my opinion at the crime scene for Dr.Chaseten a few weeks ago. Considering they haven’t caught anyone, I’m assuming that is what he has you working on.”

“Then you would be correct. There are now three mutilated doctors that have no obvious correlation to each other other than the cause of death and the fact that they are doctors.” You sipped your drink and continued. “I know I’ve only been Jack’s official profiler for less than a day, but it's still biting at me that I don’t see anything yet.”

Hannibal reached over and put a hand on yours to try to rein you back in before you thought too much about the case.

“I’m sure you will have more answers tomorrow.” You smiled and patted his hand, ignoring the slight butterflies you got from the contact. You took a deep breath.

“I know. I shouldn’t get this deep yet. That insanity will hit me tomorrow when I have to brainstorm with Jack.” You smiled even though it didn’t fully reach your eyes. You knew Hannibal would pick up on it.

“I think it was Oscar Levant that said that ‘there’s a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line.’ Let’s just hope Jack Crawford won’t erase his line.” Hannibal gave your hand a small squeeze before removing his hand, causing you both to return your attention to your meal.

“You know, we could have rescheduled this dinner if you felt the need to finish your work.” Hannibal was sincere. He understood your work was a major part of your life, but he did like to see you outside the halls of the FBI.

“No! I wanted to come by tonight! Honestly, I needed a mood lifter after today.”

“Oh? How come?” You finished chewing and then spoke your mind. You knew Hannibal was a therapist, but he wasn’t your therapist. So you tried to keep it friendly.

“I should be excited and happy to be starting this new position, but I’m more worried about Will. I don’t want this job to be what divides us, you know? We’re so close, and I am one of the few people that he can be comfortable around. I don’t want to take that from him.” You pause, unconsciously bouncing your leg and fidgeting with your ring slightly. You shook your head as if that would temporarily erase the thought. “I just hope that if I keep working cases, he will get more and more okay with it.” You cut off a piece of fish and ate, letting Hannibal know that you were done speaking.

“I’m sure he will be fine.” You look up to find him staring at you. More like watching you, hyper-aware of your movements that show your anxiety. “But enough about Will.” Hannibal held up his glass towards you. “Here’s to you and your new path in the FBI. May they see you as valuable and wonderful as I do.”

You patted your lips with your napkin and smiled as you clinked your glass with his. Your heart swelled at his words. Why do you do this to me?

The rest of the evening was spent finishing your meal and forcing Hannibal to let you help with the dishes. Afterward, he walked you to your car, as usual, opening the door for you like a true gentleman.

Your drive home was peaceful and you found yourself smiling, thankful for your evening with Hannibal. It was nice to know that someone you cared about was happy for you.

#hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fandom #hannibal imagine #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter / reader

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viking-raider · 5 years ago

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The Bat’s Sister *Fic Request*

Summary: You’re Bruce Wayne’s little sister, and after meeting at a Charity Gala, you and Clark Kent kept running into each other. So much so, that the pair of you fall in love, much to Bruce’s annoyance and attempts to stop it. But, both Clark and Bruce would do anything to keep you safe.

Pairing: Clark Kent/Reader

Word Count: 14,274

Rating: Superman/Batman AU, Fluff, Violence, overprotective superheros

Inspiration: Request by @jessevans (x)

Author’s Note: This is my first Clark Kent/DC story! I had a lot of fun writing it too!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans @MITZWINCHESTER @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @hm-fck, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog

Clark first met you at one of Bruce's Charity Galas. He was there to write an article on the event for the Daily Planet, when he noticed Bruce pull you aside into a corner as you entered the venue, handing you a glass of champagne. Clark let the rumble of the hundred plus people in the room around him fade away and honed in on the conversation between the two of you.

“You're late, y/n.” Bruce told you in a concerned voice, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I thought...”

“Bruce, just because someone is running late, doesn't always mean something happened to them.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at your older brother. “You know what the traffic from Metropolis is like at this hour trying to get into Gotham. Especially, when the great and mighty Bruce Wayne is throwing the gala of the century.”

“If you'd called me, I could have gotten you a helicopter in.”

“Dear God, Bruce.” You laughed, sipping your champagne.

“What's the point of being so rich, if you don't enjoy it?” Bruce teased you, grinning.

“Being rich is your thing, Ru.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I am more than content on living in my flat in Central Metropolis, and doing my simple nine to five job.”

“A flat the our inheritance pays for, and a nine to five that's at Wayne Biotech.” Bruce rolled his eyes back.

“I pay my own bills,” You defended yourself. “Our inheritance only pays for the rent and whatnot. As for Biotech, I enjoy it, helping the world invent and discover new vaccines and medical treatments. You know as well as I do, I can't sit around a multi-million dollar mansion, while servants take care of literally every whim and fantasy I may or may not have. I'd lose my mind.” You sighed, setting your glass down on the table behind you. “It's not like I can run around the city in a rubber suit.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you, you'd been the first person he told about being Batman. “You're the only family I have left, y/n. I don't want to lose you, like we lost our parents.” He told you, taking your hand in his. “You know, that's the main reason I do, what I do at night.”

“I know it is, Bruce.” You told him, resting your hand on his cheek. “But, I can take care of myself as well, you know.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Clark beamed, stepping up to you and your brother. “Ma'am.” He smiled, sweetly at you.

“Mr. Kent.” Bruce replied, turning to the reporter. “How can I help you?”

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at your brother, seeing his shoulders tense as he looked up at Clark, giving you the odd feeling that the two knew each other.

“I'm well.” Clark replied, his smile smug, but familiar. “It's an amazing party you have going on here.” He said, gesturing around to the rest of the room, like he was reminding him that there was more than just the three of you in the room. “Can I get a statement about it?” He asked, pulling out a pen and small notepad.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but something else caught his attention and he patted Clark on the shoulder. “You know what, I forgot to check on something downstairs. But, I'm sure my sister, y/n, here would gladly give you a statement about it. It was her idea to throw this gala to raise money for a wonderful cause.” He grinned at you, chuckling seeing the utter look of horror in your face as he walked away.

“Oh, I hate him.” You sighed, picking your glass back up and downing it.

“Would you like that to be your official statement?” Clark asked, grinning amused.

“I wish.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “But, no. Of course not.”

“So, tell me, what it is that the gala is about?” He asked, poising himself to write down your answer.

“Um,” You glanced around the room, hugely uncomfortable about being in the spot light, you never liked being the center of attention.

Clark watched and listened to your heart beat become erratic with panic and tucked his pen back into his front pocket and his notebook in his back pocket. He turned around as a waiter walked behind him and picked up two glasses of wine, holding one out to you. “How about we go somewhere quieter, that way you're more comfortable answering any questions?” He suggested, your fingers brushing as you took the glass from him.

You took a deep breath and a gulp of the wine. “Sure.” You nodded, looking around and then motioned for him to follow you out of the main room of the event and down the hall to one of the empty offices. “Ask your questions, Mr. Kent.” You told him, sitting down across from him.

“Right.” He smiled at you, pulling out his pen and pad again, setting it on the desk next to him. “You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“Little sister, yes.” You nodded, turning your wine glass between your hands. “I was two, when our parents were killed.”

“How old was Bruce?” Clark asked, scribbling in his pad.

“Sixteen.” You replied, shifting in your seat, neither you or Bruce liked talking about the death of your parents.

“I'm guessing, he took care of you, after that?” He inquired, tilting his head at you and pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Sorta.” You shrugged, taking another gulp of wine. “Between him, our butler, Alfred, and nannies. All rather lonely, really. But, you have to make the best out of what life gives you.”

“And being a Wayne, that's pretty much everything you want, since your family as huge chunk of the world's wealth.” Clark chuckled, smiling at you, but his smile faded see you didn't find it funny. “I'm sorry, that...what is this gala about?” he asked, shaking his head and changing the subject.

“The Gala is to raise awareness about the hunger crisis in third world countries.” You explained to him. “Wayne Industries started a food supply market in the 1910's, that helps feed low income families and homeless in Metropolis and Gotham.” You continued, crossing your ankles.

“What made you want to throw the Gala for it?” Clark asked, intrigued.

“I spent a year in Africa helping try and treat a disease outbreak, then helped develop a vaccine for it with my position in the Wayne Biotech labs. While I was there, I noticed how so many villages struggle to keep themselves fed, and figured that Wayne Industries had more than enough money to help, as would many of the other rich socialites over here. But, rich people don't generally like donating money, unless they get to dress up and mingle with other rich people.” You chuckled, finishing off the rest of your wine. “and yeah, you can put that down as my official statement.” You added, seeing Clark's eyebrow raise as he finished writing down what you said.

“That'll make for some scandal.” He giggled, setting his pen down. “A rich woman calling out other rich people.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just because you're rich, doesn't mean you get to think you're above everyone else in the world. Besides, I'm not into being rich. It doesn't really give me what I want out of life.”

“And what do you want out of life, Ms. Wayne?” He asked you, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Something quiet and simple.” You sighed, looking out the open windows to the bright and dark night of Gotham. “I've lived in the city for ninety percent of my life, and I've never felt more one with the world, than when I'm somewhere quiet, where I can look up and see the stars, and not the lights of a million buildings, airplanes and satellite dishes.”

“Why don't you move out somewhere in the country?” Clark asked, he could relate to how you felt, he'd been a small town boy, and coming to Metropolis the first time was overwhelming, especially with his Kryptonian powers.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Bruce got me a house out in the country for my birthday a couple years back, but I don't get to spend too much time there. I'm the head Biochemist at Biotech, so I work a lot and when I'm not working a lot, I'm traveling for other Wayne industry responsibilities.”

“You're quite the busy young lady.” He complimented, taking a sip of his forgotten wine.

“Indeed, I am.” You smiled at him. “Tell me, how do you and Bruce know each other?”

“What makes you think we know each other?” Clark asked, smoothly. “We've met at several events I was writing a article on for the Daily Planet.”

“I know my brother, Mr. Kent.” You told him, smirking and crossing your arms. “I know, when my brother is acquainted with a reporter, and when he knows someone.”

“Well, I guess when you run into someone as often as he and I do,” He told you, acting cool. “You just start becoming very familiar with each other.” He explained, dancing around the fact, he and your brother had met each other two years before, and ended up leveling most of Metropolis and Gotham, as Superman and Batman. “I end up attending nearly all of your brother's events for Wayne Industries.” He added, pressing his lips together.

“Hm.” You hummed, knowing he was hiding something. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

There was a knock on the office door and one of Bruce's assistants stuck her head into the room. “The silent auction is starting, Ms. Wayne.” She informed you, looking between you and Clark.

“Thank you, Felicia.” You told her, standing up and smoothing your dress down. “Mr. Kent, it was a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for the interview.” You said, extending your hand to him.

“The pleasure was all mine, Ms. Wayne.” He told you, standing up and shaking your hand, gently. He moved out of your way and held the door open for you, smiling sweetly as you nodded your head to him, and walked out.

Clark ran down the street, in a complete rush to get his latest article into Perry White before his deadline. All he needed was to have Perry chewing him out again for being late, and holding up the printer. But, he couldn't help the detour to rescue people from a major apartment fire. He turned the corner and collided straight into someone, knocking them over and his glasses off.

“Oh, gosh!” He exclaimed, shifting the strap of his shoulder bag. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention.”

“That's quite alright, Mr. Kent.” You told him, picking up your bag and grabbing his black framed glasses off the sidewalk.

Clark blinked several times, looking down at you. “Ms. Wayne.” He grinned, helping you up. “Are you all right?” He asked, looking you over.

“Other than feeling like, I ran into a bull made out of a brick wall?” You chuckled, holding out his glasses to him. “The only injury is to my pride.” You assured him, readjusting your jacket and backpack.

“Well,” He sighed, biting his lip. “Is there anything I can do, to ease that for you?” He asked, tilting his head at you.

“Not unless you can get me across town in,” You glanced down at your watch, and groaned. “an hour.” You sighed, your shoulders dropping. “I'm running late for my flight to Jordan.”

“I could get you to Jordan in less than an hour.” Clark commented, licking his lips.

Laughter bubbled out of you at his comment, your hand resting on his upper arm. “If only.” You giggled, looking up at him.

He raised his eyebrows at you, pressing his lips together to keep himself from making another comment. “I should let you get to your flight, I'm sorry about being a brick bull.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“No harm, no foul.” You assured him, going on tiptoe and giving him a hug, surprising him into hugging you back.

“Tell your brother, I said hello.” He called after you, as you rushed into awaiting car.

“I will!” You called, slipping into the car and your driver closed the door.

Clark watched your car pull away and disappear in the traffic, running his hand through his hair again and then turning on his heels and continued to rush down the street and into the Daily Planet. He managed to get his article in on time, but he ended up spending the rest of the day thinking about your body hugged around his. By the time he clocked out and started his walk back home, Clark had already settled it in his mind that he was going to try and get his hands on your phone number and ask you out to dinner, for an interview, of course. Perry had asked him to do a follow up on the Wayne Charity Gala he'd attend the month and a half before, so it was the perfect reason to ask you out. He just needed to find out when you'd be back from your trip.

“Yes, Hello,” Clark said, when someone from Wayne Industry Headquarters finally answered the phone. “I'm Clark Kent, a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I did an interview with Ms. Y/n Wayne, and I need to schedule a follow up interview with her.”

“Ms. Wayne is out of the country, at the moment, Mr. Kent.” the Secretary informed him.

“I am aware of that.” He said, running his hand through his hair as he paced his small flat. “Can you tell me when she'll be back, and how to contact her when she returns?”

“Um...” The Secretary groaned, typing quickly on her computer and shaking her head. “Ms. Wayne is due back into Gotham in two weeks. If you'd like, Mr. Kent, I can pass on a message to her assistant, Felicia, and have her call you when Ms. Wayne returns.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Clark replied, it wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but it was better than her telling him to fuck off and hanging up on him. Clark wasn't off the phone with the woman when his phone rang again, with a private number. “Clark Kent?” He answered, pathetically hoping it was you.

“Why are you asking about my sister, Superboy?” Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair as he sat in his office.

“Bruce.” Clark smiled, tightly, dropping onto his couch.

“Answer the question, Clark.”

“I was asked to do a follow up interview with her, after the one I did with her at the Gala. Where you ditched her, to go play Batman.” Clark told him, giving into the older man's protective banter. “How did you know I called about her?”

“Clark, y/n is the only blood family I have left in this universe.” Bruce told him, rotating in his chair to look out over Gotham. “I know, if someone three countries away, breaths in her direction. I especially know if someone is inquiring after her in my own company, or any company.”

“Don't you worry about smothering her?” Clark asked, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She knows, I do it, for her own good.” Bruce growled, squeezing his phone a bit tighter.

“I'm not going to do anything to your sister, Bruce.” Clark sighed, picking up on the edge in his voice. “I just need a follow interview with her.”

“Then, why didn't you call me?”

“People don't usually call the owner of a company to ask for an interview with one of their employees. They usually call the front desk and ask for one to be scheduled.” Clark countered, dropping his head back.

“Y/n isn't one of my employees, she's my sister, and I'm her guardian.”

“She's a grown woman, Wayne.” Clark shook his head. “She doesn't need you acting like her father, or her personal Batman. She needs you to be her brother, and let her live her own life.”

“Coming from the alien, that's an only child.” Bruce snapped, hanging up on him.

Clark dropped his phone on the couch beside him and sighed, heavily, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. He got up, stripping his clothes off as he made his way into the bathroom and cranking the hot water tap all the way on and stepped into the spray, groaning as the hot water soaked into his skin and muscles. He leaned on his arms against the shower wall, letting the water rain over his head, and watched as it swirled down the drain.

“Just an only alien child,” he groaned, tilting his head back to let the water hit his face. “That might be in love.”You were on the jet on the way back from Jordan, when Felicia sat down across from you. You cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing by the look on her face, she had news to tell you.

“We had a request come into headquarters for you.” She told you, scrolling through her phone.

“Oh?” You sighed, you really weren't in the mood for people requesting you. You just wanted to get home and sleep for a week. “What do they want?”

“An interview.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I don't do interviews, everyone knows that.”

“Well, it was an ask for a follow up, to one you've already done.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then it dawned on you. “Clark Kent.” You nodded, it made sense now.

“Do you want me to contact him, and tell him, you'll be denying his request?” She asked, glancing up at you from her phone.

“No.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “I'll do the follow up, just make it a point to tell him, I'm not answering an personal questions.” You told her, getting up and going to the back of the jet, to lay down.

Felicia called Clark as soon as the jet landed back in Metropolis. “Mr. Kent, I'm Felicia Davis.” She introduced herself.

“How can I help you, Ms. Davis?” Clark replied, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he sat at his desk in the Daily Planet.

“I'm Ms. Wayne's assistant.” She explained, sliding into the car beside you. “I'm calling in answer to your request for a follow up interview with her, about the Charity Gala.”

“Oh, yes, right!” Clark grinned, ear to ear. “Is there a good time for Ms. Wayne to meet me? I was thinking over dinner, if that's alright with her.”

“Ms. Wayne just arrived home from two weeks in Jordan, and is rather exhausted.” Felicia told him, opening a personal planner she carried around for you. “So, she'll need a couple of days to recover from her work trip.”

“Of course.”

“How does Saturday night sound to you, Mr. Kent?” She asked, tapping the date with her finger and looking at you, to confirm you're all right with it as well. “Excellent. Ms. Wayne will meet you at 7 pm, Saturday night. Do you need us to make the arrangements?”

“No, no.” Clark shook his head, like she could see him as he rummaged around his desk for a sticky note to write on. “I can make a reservation at a restaurant in down town Metropolis, and then send you the details.” he told her, finding what he was looking for.

“Very well, you can contact me with this phone number.” Felicia told him, penning it into the planner.

“Thank you, Ms. Davis.” Clark said, leaning back in his chair, with relief.

“You're welcome, and have a good day, Mr. Kent.” She replied, hanging up with him. “He'll be making a reservation for dinner this Saturday at 7pm. He'll call me with the name of the restaurant.”

“Strange for a man to pick the restaurant, we usually do.” You chuckled, glancing out the window.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Bruce had caught wind of you going to dinner with Clark, and in his typical fashion as your overprotective brother, he completely blew it out of proportions. You both spent that Friday in his office at Wayne Industries arguing about it, and most of the morning and afternoon Saturday doing the same.

“Oh, for the love of Superman, Ru!” You snapped as you stood in your closet, trying to pick out a pair of shoes to go with your outfit.

“Don't say that name!” Bruce barked over the speaker of your phone.

“What name?” You quipped, picking up a pair of black flats. “Ru or Superman?”

“Superman.” Bruce sighed, he'd stopped trying to prevent you from calling him, Ru, decades ago.

“Good Lord, Bruce.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your shoes on. “You still feel threatened by Superman? Ye ol' Batman's jealous.” You teased him, knowing it get under his skin.

“I'm not threatened or jealous of him, y/n.” He told you, rolling his eyes. “Not like that anymore, at least.”

“Then, enlighten your dear sister, and tell me how you are threatened and jealous of him?” You kept teasing him, checking yourself out in the mirror.

“It's complicated.”

“Well, uncomplicate it.” You pressed, going to your jewelry box for a pair of earrings.

“There's not enough time to do that, your date is in twenty minutes.”

“It's not a date, Ru!” You snapped, turning to look at your phone. “It's business. Business, you got me stuck in, when you left me at the Gala with Clark, so you could go play rescuer.”

“Don't remind me.” He groaned, still feeling the deep bruise on his side.

“All right, I'm going.” You told him, picking your phone up off the bed.

“Call me, if anything happens.” Bruce told you, quickly. “Or if you need an alibi to call it short.”

“I will, bro.” You told him, going out the front door. “And, Bruce, don't fucking stalk me. You, Alfred or anyone else, for that matter.” You warned him, hanging up before he could protest. “Off we go, Hector.” You said, as your driver opened the car door for you.

Clark stood out front the restaurant waiting for you to arrive, and smiled brightly, seeing your car pull up and your driver open the door for you. He offered you his arm as you got out of the car. “How was your trip to Jordan?” He asked, leading you inside.

“It was very good, thanks.” You told him, smiling softly. “How's work going for you?” You asked as the waiter showed the pair of you to your table.

“It's never a dull moment for a reporter, especially in this world.” He teased, pulling your chair out for you, then moving to his. “Your assistant, Felicia, made it clear I wasn't supposed to ask you any personal questions.” He said, setting his pen and notepad on the table by his menu.

“Well, if you do, they're to be off the record.” You explained, picking up your menu and browsing the selection of food and wine.

“Of course.” Clark nodded, following your lead. “What was your business in Jordan about?” He asked, looking at you over his menu.

“It was a Biotechnology convention.” You explained, turning the menu page. “Biochemists and the like gather every few years to discuss their research, breakthroughs and such with each other. Swap what info we can to help each other out, typical boring Scientist mambo jumbo.” You chuckled, looking over your menu at him.

“What made you become a Scientist?” He asked, picking what he wanted and setting his menu aside, but didn't bother with his notebook.

You shrugged, setting your menu down. “I enjoy helping people. I'm no Superhero, so I help in the ways and places I can.”

“You don't need to have super powers, to be a Superhero.” Clark said, looking at you, softly.

“That's possibly true.” You nodded, agreeing with him.

The waiter came over and took your dinner and drink orders, and you and Clark chatted away through two glasses of wine and most of your food, before you really realized that Clark hadn't written a single line in his notepad.

“Isn't this an interview, Mr. Kent?” You asked him, as dessert was set in front of you.

“You can call me, Clark.” He smiled at you, picking up his spoon to dig into his ice cream.

“Clark,” You grinned, taking a bite of your chocolate lava cake. “aren't you supposed to be interviewing me?” You repeated your question, smirking at him, impishly.

“I am supposed to be interviewing you, Ms. Wayne.” He nodded.

“Y/n.” You told him, staring at him across the table. “You can call me, y/n.”

Clark blushed and took another bite of his ice cream. “Admittedly, y/n, this is an interview with a motive.”

“Typical reporters.” You teased him, rolling your eyes playfully.

“My Boss, Mr White, asked me to do a follow up interview on your Charity Gala, but I really just wanted to ask you out to dinner..”

“So, you used the interview as an excuse.” You chuckled, nodding your head and amused that Bruce was mostly right.

“I am sorry.” He told you, abashed.

“That's quite all right, Clark.” You assured him, you really didn't mind at all. “But, won't you get in trouble with your boss for not doing the interview?”

“Yes, probably.” Clark nodded, worried at that prospect, he'd been on thin ice with Perry for several months.

“Well, how about we finish our desserts, and we take the actual interview on a walk around the park?” You suggested, setting your attention back on your cake, hoping to hide your blush.

“I rather like that idea.” Clark said, seeing your blush, easily, and blushing a bit, himself.

Clark paid the bill and you both left the restaurant, stopping long enough for you to tell Hector the change in plans. You took Clark's offered arm, resting your hand in the nook of his elbow as you strolled through the gates of the local park. The sound of late night birds, other pedestrians and the gurgling of the various fountain filled the cool night air, making it feel like You and Clark were blanketed in another world altogether. Clark took out his notebook and pen, and started funneling out all the questions he had to ask you for the interview and you answered them with a calm ease. It took no time for you and Clark to knock out the interview, and get to spend the rest of the time making several rounds around the park, oblivious of time and space. You were laughing at a joke Clark had made about himself being a small town, country boy, when you suddenly felt the cords of his muscles under your hand turn into steel, cutting off your laugh and glancing up at him.

“Clark?” You frowned at him, as he pulled you both to a stop and he looked around the dimly lit darkness around you, his head tilting slight side to side as he scanned around. “What is it?” You whispered, looking around with him.

“Stay calm.” He told you, softly, taking your hand from his forearm and carefully pulling you behind him, as three guys came out of the dark treeline, beside the sidewalk. “Evening, gentlemen.” He greeted them, every muscle in his body tensing, making Clark come off even bigger than he already was.

“Jesus Christ.” You panted, pressing one hand to your stomach and resting the other one on Clark's hip as you peeked around his arm.

“Hand over the jewelry and cash, and you and your sweetheart over there,” one of the men said, winking at you. “have to get hurt.” He said, the unmistakable click of a knife opening muted out everything else around you.

You looked up at Clark as he slowly shook his head.

“Not going to happen.” He told them, licking his lips. “I'll give you this one warning, to walk away.”

“I don't think, you understand your situation.” Another of the three said, taking a step forward.

“Clark.” You whispered, squeezing his hip.

“It's alright, y/n.” He told you, his eyes still glued to the men. “They're not going to hurt us.” He assured you, grabbing the arm of the guy as he shot forward, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him to the side.

The one with the knife came at Clark next, raising the knife high. But, Clark easily grabbed him by the wrist, wrenching the weapon out of his hand and punched him across the face, forcing him back into his friends.

“I suggest you leave.” He threatened them, tossing the knife aside and giving them an expression that sucked all the courage out of them. “Now.” He snapped, rolling his jaw as they scrambled to their feet and haul themselves out of the park. “Are you all right?” Clark asked, his body relaxing as he turned around to you, cupping your face in his hands.

“I'm fine.” You told him, looking in his eyes, utterly shocked. “You could've gotten hurt!”

A smile broke out over Clark's face, and his hands dropped from your face. “I'm all right.” He assured you. “I'm use to people trying to fight me, I was bullied as a kid.” He explained, looking back to where the would-be robbers disappeared. “I should get you back to your car,” he added, looking up. “It is getting rather dark.” He offered you his arm again, and you slowly took it, still in shock.

“Of course.” You nodded, letting him lead you back the way you'd come.

“Good night, y/n.” Clark smiled as you stopped by your car.

“Good night, Clark.” You smiled back, still in a bit of a daze over what happened.

He blushed, slightly and started to walk away. “Do you think I could see you again?” He asked, turning back around, spurred by a bit of courage.

“Uh,” You blinked at him. “Sure.” You nodded, ducking into the back of the car and pulling out a card from your bag. “This is my private number.” You told him, holding it out to him. “Just so you don't have to go through headquarters or Felicia, to get a hold of me.”

Clark looked down at the card, then back up at you, spinning the little card around his fingers, nervously. “I'll give you a call, some time soon.” He promised, then wished you good night again, before turning himself towards home.

“Mr. Wayne called, while you were on your little walk.” Hector told you, as he pulled the car away from the curb.

“Of course, he did.” You rolled your eyes.

“He wants you to call him.”

“I'll call him in the morning.” You told Hector, rubbing your neck. “I just wanna go home and sleep, right now.”

Clark was staring at the card with your number on it as he sat at his desk at work, trying to work up the courage to call you, when one of the secretaries for the newspaper came over and told him, he had someone waiting for him in one of the conference rooms. Sighing and slipping the card into his pocket, Clark got up and found the conference room his visitor was waiting for him in.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?” He snapped, closing the door behind him.

“You took my sister on a date last night, disguised as an interview.” Bruce told him, clearly fuming already. “And you almost get fucking mugged in the process.” He snapped, slamming his hand down on the conference table.

“First of all, it wasn't a disguise.” Clark barked back, his anger flaring. “I do admit that when Perry told me to get a follow up interview with her, I also used it as an opportunity to take her out to dinner, I wouldn't call it a date though. Secondly, She was in no danger of those three punks, with me there with her, and you know that.”

“That doesn't fucking change the fact, she could have gotten hurt, Clark!” Bruce yelled, not even bothering to keep his voice low.

“I wouldn't have allowed it, Bruce!” Clark yelled back, moving closer to the table that thankfully separated them. “I would have protected her. I did protect her. They never got within two feet of her.”

“Oh, but they got within three feet of her.” Bruce snapped, mocking him. “Mighty Superman only have a detection range of two feet.”

“I knew they were there, I didn't fucking know they were going to try and mug us.” Clark countered, glancing behind his shoulder, to the door. “There were dozens of people in that park with us,” he told him, calming down. “Not every person that comes within range of her, is going to try and harm her. I certainly never would, and would never, allow anyone else to either. Y/n is as safe with me, if not safer, than she is with you.”

“Oh, you thinks so?”

“I know so.” Clark answered, a sharp tone in his voice. “You're just a mortal human. You get stabbed with a knife and you're fucked.”

“You think since you can take the hit of a bomb, you're better than me at protecting my baby sister.”

“She's not a baby anymore, Bruce.” Clark snapped, that upset him more than anything else in this conversation. “She's an adult, and you need to start treating her like one. You're not pissed off about what happened last night, you're afraid that she might fall in love me.”

“I'm not afraid she might fall in love with you.” He growled, raking a hand over his face and turning away from him.

“Then, what are you afraid of?” He demanded, leaning against the table.

“I'm afraid of her getting hurt.” Bruce said, quietly. “Especially, because I know she's already in love with you.”

“She is?” Clark asked, shocked and staring wide eyed at Bruce's back.

“Yes.” He sighed. “But, I can't allow that.”

“Why?” Clark groaned, rolling his eyes. “Cause I'm an alien.”

“Because, you're Superman.” He answered, spinning back around to look Clark in the face. “How many enemies do you have, that are looking for you to have a weak point? She would be that weak point, Clark.”

“She's your weak point as Batman.” Clark argued, sitting down at the table. “She's your weak point as normal Bruce Wayne, richest man in the world.”

Bruce huffed, sitting down at the table across from him. “I know she is, that's why I go so far out of my way, to protect her.”

“And you don't think, I can do the same?”

“I know you can,” Bruce sighed, feeling older than he really was. “I'm just not use to having to share her, is all.”

Clark laughed and shook his head at that. “We can protect her together, Bruce.” He told him, leaning over the table to him. “It doesn't have to be one or the other of us. It doesn't have to be Clark Kent vs Bruce Wayne, or Batman vs Superman, all the time. We found our common ground on protecting Earth in the Justice League, and we can find the common ground of protecting y/n.”

“I don't want you to tell her, you're Superman.”

“Does she know you're Batman?”

“She does.” Bruce nodded, checking his watch.

“But, you want me to lie to her about who I am?” Clark narrowed his eyes at him.

“She found out about me being Batman on accident.” Bruce told him, meeting his eye. “She found Alfred tending to one of the injuries I sustained after our battle with Steppenwolf. Wasn't like I could exactly lie to her after that.” He ran a hand through his hair, remembering the look on your face when you walked in on them. “But, you're Superman, you won't have that issue.”

“You do recall my dying?” Clark asked, cocking an eyebrow at Bruce.

“The kryptonite was destroyed when you killed that monster, Clark. There's no more of it on Earth, and probably the universe. It's nothing you have to concern yourself with anymore. What you do need to concern yourself with now, if you choice to pursue my sister, is her safety and keeping her in the dark about who you are. We both know the more she knows about who we are, and what we do, is more a danger to her life.”

You sat, cross legged, on Clark's couch with a bowl of cereal balanced in your lap as you watched the news, in one of Clark's plaid shirts. You spent more time in Clark's flat now-a-days then you did your own, and were content to do so. Clark appeared in the door way of his bedroom, watching you as you ate, momentarily oblivious to his presence. He grinned seeing you in his shirt, only three of the center buttons closed to keep the over-sized garment on your small frame, even then it slipped down one of your shoulders. He could still smell the lingering scent of sex from the night before and earlier in that morning.

“You sleep well?” He asked, stepping into the living room.

“I always manage to sleep like a baby, with you.” You told him, looking up at him as you took another bite of your coco puffs.

“That makes me feel good.” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, then padded into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. “What's your day looking like?” He asked, glancing around the corner to look at the tv.

“I have to go into work at the lab in an hour or so, then two board meetings.” You answered, setting your bowl on the coffee table, and grabbing the remote to turn up the news. “I do have another conference in Jordan in two days, some issue going on with one of Wayne labs there. Bruce is sending me over to deal with it, since the rep that's there now, is doing fuck all.” You explained, frowning at the news.

“How long will you be gone?” Clark asked, his own eyes glued to the tv as he made his breakfast.

“Shouldn't be more than a week,” You replied, absentmindedly. “With any luck of them being competent.”

“Well, if they're not competent enough to listen to you, they're in real trouble.” Clark joked, reassuring himself that what was happening on the news, wasn't something he needed to rush out and present Superman too.

“I'll fire every last one of the idiots, if they fucking try me.” You said, rolling your eyes at the thought of them giving you issues, which you knew, with men of their caliber and brains, they most certainly would.

“Well, it gives us enough time.” Clark told you, coming to sit down beside you on the couch.

“Enough time for what?” You frowned, turning your head to look at him.

“I wanted to ask you something.” He told you, resting his plate on his thigh.

“Oh, god.” You moaned, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. “Perry didn't fire you, did he?”

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “No, I'm still a reporter at the Daily Planet.” He assured you, with a blush. “We've been dating for a year now...”

“Yeeah..”

“I was going to ask, if you wanted to move in with me...” He said it slowly and quietly, not quite meeting your eyes. “You practically live here anyway.” He added, with a nervous laugh and looking around his flat, he could identify more of your things than his own, in the living room alone.

“That's a serious commitment, Clark. “ You said, just as slowly.

“I know it is.” He told you, pushing the food on his plate around with his fork. “I thought, maybe, we were at that point...”

“Bruce would have a heart attack.” You chuckled, at the thought.

Bruce didn't like the thought of you dating Clark, he didn't like you spent so much time with him, especially in between the sheets. But, he'd stopped nagging you about being with him, almost a year ago. He still gave you disgruntled remarks when you spoke about Clark in his presence, and he always seemed a tiny bit on edge, when the three of you were in the same room together. You didn't care what Bruce thought or felt on the subject, you were happy and content with Clark, the relationship the two of you had together. You'd also never been in such a serious relationship with someone, that you moved in with them, either.

“Does his opinion, matter so much, that it would make an impact on our relationship?” Clark asked, concerned it would, Bruce had promised to ease up on his attitude towards him and his love for you, but, Clark also knew, that what Bruce thought and said mattered to you.

“No.” You shook your head, resting your hand on his arm. “No, Clark, it wouldn't.” You tried to sound as convincing as possible, but could tell by his expression, it wasn't enough. “Just...give me until I come back from my trip, to decide?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Take all the time you need.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss you.

You smiled at him and kissed him back, before getting up to get dressed and rush off to work. You left on your business trip two days later, and both you and Clark called it, when the people in charge of the Wayne Biotech lab in Jordan would give you trouble and annoy the hell out of you. Your temples throbbed as you fell back on your hotel room bed, staring up at the ceiling, the arguments you had with the board still bouncing around your brain, making the migraine you had worse.

“Bunch of brain dead morons.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A loud crash from outside your room door startled you up out of bed, you stumbled away as the door flew open, your back hitting the wall behind you as a disguised man stepped through the opening. The only thing you could see on him, was his eyes, and you didn't like what you saw in them. He advanced towards you, putting you into instant fight or flight mode, and decided to do both. Picking up the closest thing to you, the lamp on your bedside table, and launched it at him, before scurrying over your bed and making for the door. You'd almost made it down to the lift, when he caught up with you, grabbing you by the back of your hair and painfully yanking you backwards against him.

“Hello, Ms. Wayne.” A woman called stepping into the hall from another room.

“Who the fuck are you?” You panted, struggling against your captor. “What do you want?”

“I'm Pamela Evans.” She grinned at you, giving you a once over. “And I want to know about the advanced gene development project you and your brother are working on.”

“We're not working on gene development.” You growled, bearing your teeth at her.

“My sources say otherwise.” Pamela said, grabbing you by the jaw.

“Your sources are fucking brain dead.” You snapped, jerking your head out of her hand.

“I don't believe you.” She growled, giving you a super dirty look.

“That's your issue.” You growled back. “Wayne labs and Industries have never, and will never, do research on the type gene development, you're apparently going on about. Whoever is doing it, is a mad scientist asking for trouble.”

“You see,” Pamela brought her face inches from yours. “I've seen the files on your and Bruce's computers. So, you're going to tell me all about it.”

“You're delusional.” You shook your head the little you could with the man's hand still tight in your hair. “Fuck.” You gasped suddenly, feeling a cold tingle in your thigh and glanced down to see her pull a small pocket knife out. “You don't understand we're no....”

“No, sweetheart, it's you that doesn't understand.” Pamela mocked you, pulling something out of her shoulder purse. “We're going to get that research out of you, one way or another.” She pressed something to your neck and you felt a sharp pain. “I'll give you long enough to sleep off your nap, to tell me.” She said, as the black fog around the edges of your eyes grew and your body went limp.

You woke up God knows how long later, shackled to a concrete wall in a dimly lit room. There were no windows in the square concrete room, a single light set deep into the center of the ceiling and a metal table and a single chair below that. There was a thick metal door opposite of you with a slot window set in it. You were drawn to the sound of that opening, a pair of eyes looking in on you, then slamming shut again. It was several minutes before the actual door itself opened, and in walked Pamela and a man, the man from the hotel. Even with him out of his disguised, you could identify those eyes from a mile away.

“Good morning, Ms. Wayne.” Pamela smiled, giving you a smile that would have made Mary Poppins sick. “Or is it night, Eli?” She asked, turning to the man, who just shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't matter, have you decided to give me the information I've asked for?” She asked, turning back to you.

“I told you, it doesn't exist.” You told her, groggy and fearful, your thigh throbbed and you could feel a small steady stream of blood ooze from it, leaving a puddle around your foot. “Messing with human genes is dangerous, and ridiculous.” You tried to reason with her.

“Then, what's this?” Pamela asked, pulling a sheet of paper from the table and bring it closer for you to see. “That's an email, from you to your brother on the subject. Telling him, that it was possible for such advancement.”

“It's opinion, not research.” You panted, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. “Someone at one of my brother's many business ventures wanted to know if he thought it was possible to do so, and my brother asked me.” You explained to her. “While, I think it might be possible for such development and advancement, neither of us are conducting research to find out. It's purely academic.”

“Why do you think it's possible?” Pamela questioned, turning her back to you and setting the paper back down on the table.

“I believe anything is possible, with the right circumstances and factors.” You told her, focusing on her back.

“Do you think you could achieve it, if you were to try it?”

“I don't know, and I wouldn't try.” You told her, honestly and shook your head at the thought.

“Even if, your life depended on it?” Pamela asked, smirking at you as she leaned back against the table, to look at you.

“My life, for the lives of all the failed test subjects it would more than likely take to prefect it?” You summed up her thoughts, you knew the math on how many people would be needed to be experimented on, and the decades it would take to achieve on top of that. “Yes, then I'd die, to prevent you and anyone else from trying it.” You nodded, confident in that choice.

“Well, let's see if we could,” She shrugged her shoulders, glancing at Eli. “persuade you.”

Eli dropped a rolled up bag onto the table with a emphasized thump, and rolled it open, revealing several instruments, you didn't need to be a Scientist to know were about to be used to torture and, likely, kill you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart and make peace with your choice. Eli removed something from one of the pockets, it looked like an ice pick or something, and moved over to you, running the sharp tip down your chest, between your breasts and down your stomach.

“Change your mind now, or I'll let Eli have his fun.” Pamela tried to give you a chance.

“No.” You said in a small, but steady voice.

Pamela waved her hand at Eli, and he easily sank the object into your stomach next to your belly button. You howled in pain, yanking on your bonds as Eli slowly removed it, grinning at you like a little boy on Christmas morning. Eli, luckily, didn't get far in the quest to torture you to death, as serious commotion sounded from the other side of the closed steel door, catching the attention of all three of you. Pamela looked to Eli, then hesitated for a moment, but she moved to the door, she'd just rested her hand on it, when it blew off the hinges, launching her halfway across the room. Eli dropped his weapon and moved away from you, as a figure stepped through the dusty doorway.

“Superman!” He snapped, jaw falling open.

Superman looked from Pamela under the heavy steel door, Eli backing up into a corner and You chained to the wall, head lulling and struggling to keep your heavy eyelids open to stay conscious. He wasted no time dispatching Eli, throwing him across the room as another figure stepped through the doorway and made for you, cupping your head in their hands.

“Y/n?”

You blinked several times, shaking your head and trying to clear way the heaviness in your mind. “Bruce?” You panted, recognizing your brother's voice through the fog.

“It's alright, sis.” Bruce reassured you, taking something out of the utility belt of his Batman suit and cutting you free. “We've got you now. You're safe.” He supported your weight against his body and turned to Clark, standing above Eli's lifeless body, in all his Superman glory.

Clark looked at the pair of you and the pure anger on his face melted, seeing you. “She's hurt.” He said, crossing the room to you, cupping your face in his hands. “She's bleeding internally, whatever they stabbed her with, nicked her intestines. If we don't stop the blood now, she'll bleed to death.”

“I have something on the plane.” Bruce said, lifting your shirt and grimacing at the wound to your stomach.

“It'll take too long.” Clark said, shoving everything off the metal table. “Lay her down, I'll cauterize the wound.”

“I'm not letting you heat vision my sister.” Bruce snapped, shaking his head and shifting your weight against him, to support you as you grew limper against him.

“Bruce, she's going to die, if I don't!” Clark barked, impatiently, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I know what I'm doing, I've done it before.” He tried to reassure him.

“Trust me.” He added, quietly.

Bruce sighed, and let Clark lift you up and lay you down carefully on the table. Clark peeled up your bloody shirt, biting his lip as he saw the wound to your stomach and noticed the one to your thigh. He glanced up through the opening and pressed his lips together, hearing more people coming.

“We've got more guests on the way.” He told Bruce, over his shoulder, trying to keep his focus on you.

“I'll deal with them.” Bruce said, moving around the table and out of the room.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, resting his hand on your cheek. “Y/n, look at me.”

You blinked hard and groaned as Clark put pressure to your wound, you looked up at the blurry double face hovering above you. “Clark?” You whined, blinking repeatedly trying to clear the strange look your boyfriend had. “Clark?” You repeated his name, stronger this time, but no less confused by what you saw.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He forced a smile, brushing your hair out of your sweaty and grimy face. “I'm going to stop the bleeding, but it's going to hurt, a lot.” He warned you, with a pained expression. “But, you have to hold still and trust me.”

“I've always trusted you, Clark.” You groaned, wincing.

“Good.” He panted, sounding relieved. “Take my hand.” He told you, slipping his hand into yours. “And squeeze as hard as you have too, baby.” He instructed you, his eyes turning red.

You screamed at the top of your lungs at the excruciating burn to your already agonizing wound, squeezing Clark's hand so tight, it felt like the bones of your hand were going to shatter. You'd passed out from the pain and came to sometime later, finding yourself in bed on one of the family jets and Clark sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, holding your hand in his.

“Clark?” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut at the bright lights.

“You're all right, y/n.” He told you, letting your hand go to turn off the lights, and pull down the window covering. “You're safe now, love.” He promised, sitting back down next to you, and brushing his fingers through your hair.

“How?” You moaned, opening your eyes to look at him.

Clark blushed, looking away from you and biting into his lip.

“You're-” You blinked up at him, your mind finally connecting. “Superman.”

He nodded his head, taking your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“That's why Bruce was so set against us.” You nodded, regretting it. “He didn't want me dating you because you're Superman, and you two are practically enemies.”

“We're not enemies anymore, y/n.” Bruce said, appearing in the room. “Clark and I are in Justice League together.”

“Jesus.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The two most important people in my life, have lied to me, to such a degree.”

“We were trying to protect you.” Bruce tried to reason with you.

“Protect me?” You snapped, turning your head towards him. “That bitch kidnapped and tried torturing me, because she thought we were trying to do research on advanced gene development, Bruce. I can imagine what she'd have done if she knew by brother, is Batman, and my boyfriend, is Superman.” You looked at both of them, angrily.

“Advanced Gene Development?” Clark frowned at you. “Why would she think that?”

“Someone contacted Bruce about the possibility of it, and he and I discussed it.” You explained, no less angry. “She got a hold of the emails we exchanged on the subject, thinking we were actually doing it.”

“But, we're not.” Bruce frowned at you, as well. “I wonder how she got those emails as well, they're supposed to be secure.”

“Well, she's got people in a high enough place in the company to get a hand on them.” You snapped at him, annoyed. “Were you ever going to tell me, you're Superman?” You asked, turning your attention to Clark.

“I wanted too.” He whispered, dropping his eyes to your hand.

You rolled your eyes over to Bruce, narrowing them as he refused to look at you. “The fuck of men.” You growled, looking away from both of them.

“He's an alien.” Bruce mumbled, fidgeting with his watch.

“He's got a dick. I know, I've seen it.” You snapped at him, eye twitching. “He's a man. A man from another planet, but a man, nonetheless.”

“I didn't want to know that.” Bruce groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“And, it's not your business what Clark decides to tell me.” You told him, sharply. “Especially, in reference to my and his relationship, Bruce.” You winced, pushing yourself up more against the pillows piled behind your back.

“You are my wa...”

“I haven't been your god damn ward for over ten years, Bruce!” You shouted at him. “That ended the hour I became eighteen, and you know it! Stop trying to be dad, you're not dad and you never fucking will be! He'd have let me be a long time ago, he'd let me be my own woman, instead of trying to control what I do with my life and who I see, whether they're from this planet or not.”

“I'm your brother, it's my job to protect you.” He shouted back, turning to you.

“Protect me!” You yelled, your voice cracking. “Not keep me prisoner and suffocate me!”

“Let's calm down.” Clark said in a calm voice, squeezing your leg.

“NO!” Both you and Bruce yelled at him at the same time, and making his sensitive ears twitch with the volume.

“You're staying home with me.” Bruce seethed at you, but his tone was quieter.

“Fuck you!” You barked, your voice still loud.

“You're not safe on your own, y/n.” He tried to reason with you, again. “Whoever these people are, who think we're doing advanced gene development, are going to try and get their hands on you again.”

“And you're safe, cause you're fucking Batman.” You mocked him, rudely.

“That,” Bruce snapped back at you, snarky. “and I'm not the head Scientist at the biggest Biotech laboratory, and company, in the world. You, out of anyone on this planet, can make that advanced development happen, and these people know this.”

“As I told that bitch,” You told him, crossing your arms. “I'd rather die. The decades it would take to perfect the genes for testing. Then, the number of lives, the trials would claim to attune the genes for the subject, is astronomical. If, I was the person that could manage to pull this off, perfect the genes, and find the correct subject for them; there's between a five to ten percent chance, it would even work.”

“What would such an advancement even be used for?” Clark asked, leveling an eyebrow at you.

“Anything.” You shrugged, looking at him, brows creased. “You could edit a person's genes for anything, from preventing certain illnesses. Body characteristics, like if you wanted them to be tall and muscular. You could delete genes, so they felt no pain or be more aware of it. You could engineer super soldiers, or make it possible for people to have a long life span. There's so many options, and they're only limited by imagination and technology.” You rubbed the crease between your brows, feeling a stress and tension migraine forming.

“You could create the Earth equivalent of me.” Clark summed it up, a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Yes.” You nodded, that thought hadn't occurred to you. “Pretty much.”

“So, do you understand, why you're not safe?” Bruce sighed, feeling the tension knot up his shoulders. “You need to be somewhere safe, until we get this sorted out.”

“They'll look for her anywhere Wayne Industries is affiliated.” Clark said, softly, rubbing at his neck and looking at Bruce.

“I can have Alfred find us a safe house for her.” Bruce agreed, nodding his head.

“I'll take her home with me.” Clark said, smiling gently at you.

“Your flat isn't safe.” Bruce stated, looking between the two of you.

“I know, it's not.” He answered, still watching you. “I mean, I'll take her to my mom's, in Smallville. No one's going to look for her in Kansas, it's such a small and middle of nowhere town. I'll take time off from the Daily Planet, and stay there with her to make sure she's looked after. My mother could use my help on the farm, anyway.”

“Is this your way of introducing me to your mother?” You grinned, teasingly.

Clark laughed, blushing and nodded his head. “I guess, it is a way to think of it.”

“I like his idea.” You told Bruce, looking at your brother. “He's got a point.”

Bruce sighed, his shoulders slumping, he was begrudged to agree with both of you on the subject. “I'll have the pilot redirect us towards Smallville.”

“You shouldn't.” Clark said, stopping Bruce as he headed out. “If anyone notices a Wayne plane landing at the airport in Great Bend, it'll be a dead giveaway, that's something's going on.”

“Then, how do you propose on getting y/n to your mother's farm?” Bruce asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

A lopsided smirk pulled on one corner of Clark's mouth as he looked at you, eyes sparkling. A slow grin pulled across your lips as you caught on to what Clark was suggesting, and you were more than cool with Superman flying you to his parent's farm. Bruce groaned as he figured out the same thing, rolling his eyes and throwing up his arms, he couldn't fight you two being together and he couldn't fight doing what he had to do, so you were safe.

“Fine.” He sighed, deflated. “We'll land in G.I. Airport as scheduled, and you can take y/n to Smallville from there.”

Clark nodded, pressing your knuckles to his lips. “We'll stop by my place, so we can get a couple changes of clothes before we go.”

“You have clothes at his place?” Bruce asked, looking at you, surprised.

“I've been staying at Clark's a lot the last couple of months, so it's just easier to keep some clothing there.” You answered, blushing at Clark. “He also asked me to move in with him.” You added.

“You never did get the chance to answer me.” He reminded you, glancing up at you.

“I know.” You replied, nodding and biting your lip.

Bruce looked at the two of you, then quietly excused himself and gave the pair of you space and privacy.

“I think, I'd like to move in with you, Clark.” You told him, carefully leaning forward and brushing your fingers through his short curly hair. “I want to take us more seriously.” You admitted, smiling sweetly at him.

“I'd love nothing less, than the same.” He smiled back at you, leaning in and kissing you, tenderly, on the lips.

You rested back, wincing that the discomfort of your stomach. You peeled back your shirt and grimaced at it, even though Clark had cauterized the wound, it still hurt and was tender as hell. Clark gently traced the tips of his fingers around the wound, mindful of sensitive areas and looked up at you, sadness in his blue eyes. You reached out and cupped his cheek in your hand, caressing his skin with your thumb and gave him back a similar sad expression, but one tinged with love and trust.

“It's going to take a bit of time for you to heal.” He told you, his fingers moving down to your torn and stained jeans, where Pamela stabbed you in the thigh. “You'll have scars...”

“I'm use to having scars.” You told him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Inside and outside.”

The jet landed in Gotham International Airport, Clark easily carried you off the plane and to the car Bruce had waiting for the three of you. You rested your head on Clark's shoulder, you'd tried to sleep on the plane, but you couldn't get comfortable enough. Clark wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his cheek on top of your head. The chauffeur dropped the both of you off at Clark's flat, you said good-bye to Bruce, who promised to keep in touch and visit, if he could. You managed for first stairwell and a half up to Clark's flat before the pain in your leg became too much, and Clark carried you the last of the way up. He set you down on the couch and went into the bedroom, dumping his gym bag on his bed, then shoved yours and his clothes into it.

“Okay, I think that should tide us over.” He said, slinging the bag over his shoulders. “If not, I still have clothing at my mother's...”

“And I can always buy some.” You chuckled, smiling up at him. “So, how do we do this, Superman?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Let's go up to the roof.” He told you, going around the coffee table and picking you up into his arms. “It's a good launching pad, since this is the tallest building in a decent radius.” He explained, taking you up the stairs to the roof.

“I'm guessing that was a factor in your renting the place.” You teased him, hugging your arms around his neck.

Clark blushed at you, smiling guiltily. “It was.” He admitted, standing in the middle of the roof. “Hold on really tight and take a deep breath, hold it and I'll let you know, when to let it out, okay?” He explained to you, shifting your weight comfortably.

You nodded, hugging your arms tighter around his neck and took a few breaths, then held it. Giving you a nod of warning, Clark flexed and both of you rocketed into the clouds with an insane speed. What would have taken almost four hours, nonstop, on a normal flight, took less than twenty minutes for Clark to achieve. You panted as he carefully set you down on the dirt driveway of his childhood home. You heard the screen door open and saw a beautiful, older woman step out onto the porch, shading her eyes from the mid afternoon sun.

“Clark?” She called, taking a step down off the porch.

“Hey, Mom.” Clark grinned at her, his hand slipping into yours. “Mom, this is y/n.” He introduced you as she came closer to you both.

“She's the one you've been telling me about?” She asked, grinning at you, brightly. “It's so nice to finally meet you.” She said, giving you a hug.

“It's nice to finally meet you as well, Mrs. Kent.” You smiled, hugging her back.

“Oh, please, call me Martha.” She told you, holding you at arm's length, making your heart skip a beat, finding out the Clark's mother's name was the same as your own mother. “What are you two doing here?”

“Um,” Clark blushed, looking down at Hank as he sniffed around his feet. “There was a bit of trouble, and I need somewhere safe to keep y/n, until her brother and I figure it out.” He told his mother, patting the dog on the head.

“What kind of trouble?” Martha asked, looking between the two of you, and noticed the blood on your jeans and shirt. “Good lord.” She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Mom, it'll be all right.” Clark said, resting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her into a hug. “I'm staying here with you guys, I'll help you around the farm. I know there's a few projects dad started and that I promised to finish.” He pulled back, smiling at her encouragingly.

She stood there, quietly looking up at her son, worried and concerned, but you could see that hint of relief on her face, as well. “Why don't we get you two inside.” She said finally, turning and motioning to the house.

Relieved himself, Clark picked you back up and carried you up onto the porch, stopping as he caught the look on your face. “What is it?”

“I feel like you're carrying me over the threshold, on our wedding night.” You chuckled, resting your hand on his cheek as he blushed.

“I'd be a lucky man, to have you as my wife.” He smiled, teasing you and kissing you softly on the lips as he walked into the house.

Clark carried you upstairs to his bedroom, flicking the light on and setting you down on the double bed. He dropped the bag on the floor and pushed open the window, letting in the cool late summer breeze into the room. with the sound of the wind ruffling the corn stalks, tree branches and tall grass. It felt surreal to you, even the few times you stayed at the country cottage Bruce bought you, there was a busy road not far from it, so you never completely lost the busy city feel. But, here in Smallville, there was none of that, you were literally miles from the busiest road, just endless farm fields, nature and the occasional bark from Hank down in the yard.

“It's so quiet.” You commented, laying back in his bed and grinning at the hanging planets above it.

“Is that going to bother you, city girl?” Clark teased, sitting next to you on the bed, looking up at the planets with you, and tenderly rubbing your good thigh.

“I find it disconcerting, that I can hear my own thoughts without them being interrupted by a car horn, siren or someone yelling a rude comment at someone else.” You teased back, with a giggle. “But, I love how peaceful it is.” You added, in a softer tone, eyes flicker back to his.

“That's one of the things I love about being raised here.” He told you, shifting to lay down on his back, beside you. “It took me a long time to hone my powers, so I didn't hear every huge and microscopic thing. I would sit in the corn field, and just zone everything out, except the sound the stalks made when the wind rustled them, or fixate on a bird, singing in its nearby nest.”

“Are they hard to deal with in a city like Metropolis?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, slipping your hand into his.

“At first it was, cause there's so much sound and its so quick, if that makes sense.” He answered, still looking at the planets. “But, over time, I fine tuned it, and I'm able to control it now, no matter where I am.” He explained, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“That's good.” You smiled, shifting uncomfortably.

Clark turned his head towards you, sensing your pain. “Can I do anything?” He asked, brushing his fingertips over your cheek.

“Not unless one of your super powers, is relieving pain.” You quipped, weakly.

“Sadly, I don't have that super power.” He frowned, sympathetically. “How about a bath instead?” He offered. “Get you cleaned up and into clean clothes, the hot water might even help.”

You let your eyes drift shut at the thought of a nice hot bath, washing off all the grim, dry sweat and blood off your body. “Join me?” You asked, tilting your face towards him, hopeful.

A grin pulled across his lips, and he sat up on the edge of the bed. “Can you make it that far?” He asked, motion to the bathroom door on the other side of the room with a raise of an eyebrow.

“If I can't limp three hops to the bathroom.” You said, sitting up beside him. “You might as well put me down.” You chuckled, but the glint in Clark's eye told you, he didn't find it funny. “I can make it.” You told him, kissing his cheek and propelling yourself up and hopped into the bathroom. “Tah-dah!”

That did make Clark smile, getting up to join you. He helped you peel off your shirt, unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, carefully tugging them down over your wound. He hadn't cauterized the wound there, Pamela had managed to miss any major or troublesome veins, so it had stopped bleeding sometime ago. It still cut through muscle and nerves, making it hard and largely uncomfortable to walk, or limp for that matter. Letting you lean back against the sink, Clark drew the bath and helped ease you into, before taking off his own clothing. You slid forward, letting him slip in behind you and then eased back, resting against his broad and strong chest, melting as his arms locked around you, his chin resting on top of your head. You both just rested in the hot bath, eyes closed and enjoying the safe and peaceful tranquility of the moment. You could hear Clark's mom bumping around downstairs, humming to herself.

“She's making dinner.” Clark suddenly said, as he read your mind.

“Hm.” You hummed, feeling your stomach growl as the mention of food. “It sounds, and smells, amazing.” You commented back, resting your hands on his as they rested on your waist.

“You want some help, cleaning up?” He asked, tilting his head to look at you.

“How can I say no, to a handsome man, offering to wash me?” You laughed, nodding your head.

“You can't.” Clark laughed, softly, into your ear, pressing his lips to your neck.

Clark let you sit up, between his legs, and picked up the soap and a wash cloth. It felt incredible to have his strong hands on your body, rubbing the soapy cloth into your skin and massaging the tight and stressed knots of muscle in your back. He was mindful of your wounds, rinsing away the soap, before letting your hair down, attentively pouring water over your head to wet your hair, then gently working the shampoo into your hair and scalp, making you moan at the amazing feel. Hair and body washed, Clark helped you out of the tub and dry off, you limped back into his bedroom, picking the bag up off the floor and digging through it for your clothes, while Clark took a shower. You limped downstairs, looking at all the family photos that lined the wall going down the steps, smiling at the younger Clark. You found Martha in the kitchen, stirring something that was in the pot on the stove.

“See you got cleaned up.” She said, smiling as she noticed you standing in the kitchen doorway. “Must feel nice after what you've been through.”

“Incredibly so.” You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. “Dinner smells good.” You complimented her.

“Thank you.” She answered, giving you another smile. “So, tell me, how did you and Clark meet?” She asked, putting a lid on the pot and turning to you.

You blushed, brushing your wet hair behind your ear. “I met him, when he was doing an article on the Charity Gala my brother, Bruce and I, were hosting. He interviewed me at it, and we just kept running into each other, until we fell in love.” You told her, smiling.

“Your brother, Bruce?” Martha asked, brow slowly creasing. “Bruce Wayne? You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“I am.” You nodded, frowning back at her.

“He's the one that helped Clark and I get the house back.” She told you, her eyes a bit glassy at the memory.

“Get your house back, how did he do that?”

“Clark was...gone for a while, and while he was away I fell behind in the bank payments, and they foreclosed on the house.” She explained to you, turning back to the stove, needing a psychical distraction. “Your brother and Clark are friends, and he helped us get the house back from the bank.”

“The Smallville Union Bank?” You asked, lifting an eyebrow at her back.

“Yes, you know it?” Martha asked, looking at you over her shoulder.

“Yeah...” You nodded slowly, shocked. “My brother, he bought the bank, out right...” You told her, glancing around as it struck you why Bruce had bought the bank.

“He did it,” Clark's voice came suddenly. “as a gift to me.” he explained, sliding into the seat beside you.

“That's so incredibly sweet of him.” Martha beamed at the two of you, touched.

“It really is.” You agreed, dumbstruck, and looking at Clark, who offered you a small smile, his hand squeezing your knee.

You'd stayed on the Kent farm for nearly two months before Bruce finally did come to visit. He hadn't even so much as call, or send any other type of communication to you, while you were there. He feared that if he did, the people that hurt you would pick up where you were and come after you. So, when he showed up on the porch early one morning, you knew it was because he'd found something out about the people wanting to know about the Advanced Gene Development.

“Bruce?” You said, stepping out on to the porch with him, you'd healed well enough by now that you only had a minor limp. “Did you find out anything?” You asked, feeling your anxiety rise.

Clark had been asleep upstairs, and sensed the rise in your anxiety, he'd become quite attuned to you in the past two months, even more so than he had the year you two spent together back in Metropolis. He figured it was because you two spent every waking moment together, from sun up to sun down, you'd just become synced to him. You also found you really liked the small life of Smallville, quiet and not many people, helping Martha in her garden, and Clark on various of the farm projects; he'd even taught you how to fix the tractor in the barn. So, when he sensed your anxiety, even while dead asleep, he was up and at the screen door in a microsecond.

“Clark.” Bruce greeted him, lifting an eyebrow at the fact Clark was only in his boxers.

“Bruce.” He greeted him back, unbothered.

“I came with news.” Bruce said, turning his eyes back to you.

“Well?” You pressed, sitting down on the porch swing.

“Seems three of the CEOs in the company were working for Pamela Evans, she'd corrupted them.” he started to explain, pacing the length of the porch, which gave you an even more unsettled feeling. “They, ironically, call themselves, the Council,”

“How ominous.” You rolled your eyes, rocking back and forth on the swing.

“It was a rogue group, trying to reproduce and enhance humans,” He looked at Clark, and sighed. “to try and fight any more aliens that might try and take over the planet.”

“Such as Superman.” You understood, glancing at Clark yourself.

“Luckily, they're a small group and easily taken care of.” Bruce went on, leaning back against the porch railing. “I've tracked down most of them, and dispatched them. But, there's one person left, the leader of the group.”

“Pamela wasn't?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” Bruce shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then, who is?” Clark asked, moving to sit on the swing with you.

“His name is Oliver Maddox.” He sighed, rubbing his scruffy face. “He has a very small and faint paper trail, a trail that leaves behind a lot of bodies.” He pressed his lips together, looking at you with a down turned face.

“So, where is Maddox?” Clark asked, on edge.

“I was hoping, you'd help me find him, Clark.” Bruce told him, lifting his head. “If we can eliminate him, then the group will fall apart, and y/n will be safe again.”

“Give me everything you have on him,” Clark told him, adamant. “And I'll take care of him.”

The tone of Clark's voice worried you, but you trusted him. Bruce gave Clark the file on Oliver Maddox, but declined to stay at the farm, even for breakfast, saying he had pressing matters to deal with inside Wayne Industries. You understood that with the corrupted CEOs he had to get rid of, there would be a lot of paperwork and damage control to take of. You sat on Clark's bed after breakfast, worried over the prospect of Clark going after Oliver Maddox, and potentially killing him.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, leaning against the door jam, and frowned when you didn't answer him. He pushed off the door frame and moved to you, cupping your face in his hands. “Y/n.” He said your name, even softer this time.

You blinked up at him. “You're going to kill him, aren't you?” you asked, quietly.

Clark sank to his knees, moving his hands to hold both of your in his, pressing his lips to your fingers. “If I have to, then, I will.” He whispered, against your knuckles. “But, I will bring him to justice, and keep you safe, y/n.”

You leaned forward and kissed him, deeply, holding his head in your hands. Clark slipped his hands up your arms, gripping your shoulders for a moment, before his hands glided down your back and his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him, so your legs wrapped around him. He stood up, supporting you with one arm under your butt, turning long enough to close the bedroom door, and lay you back down on the bed. He pulled your sweats and panties off, shoving down his boxers enough to get himself free. You ran your fingers through his hair, fingertips caressing his neck and shoulders, nails racking, harshly, down his lean back and dug into his round ass, making him moan and growl into your neck as he sucked on it. His hands went behind your knees, pushing them farther up and rubbing himself against you, causing you to moan around your trapped lip as you bit into it, and you felt his cock grow and harden against your wet core.

“Clark.” You mewled, breathless, using the advantage of your hands grasping his plentiful ass to jerk his hips against you.

“Y/n.” He groaned back, his eyes squeezing shut at the feel of you.

Sex between the two of you had always been balanced and gentle, but this time it wasn't, it felt desperate and rough, like you needed to keep each other grounded by pure force. Clark rocked his hips into you, driving himself deeper into you each time, your hands moved up his back, hooked under his arms and around to his shoulders, nails breaking the skin at the top of his shoulders and making Clark hiss. The headboard knocked against the bedroom wall to the uneven and hard thrusts, catching Martha's attention as she walked into the house from picking vegetables from the garden, for that night's dinner. She looked up at the ceiling, hearing the faint noises the two of you were making, even above the banging headboard, blushed and shook her head.

“Let's go take a walk, Hank.” She called to the border collie, setting the vegetable basket on the counter. “Give the kids some space.” She chuckled, holding open the back door for the dog and following him out.

“I love you.” You moaned, pulling Clark into a kiss as you both came, needing the taste of him on your lips.

“I love you too, y/n.” Clark moaned into your mouth, brushing your hair out of your face.

It was the screen door slamming that woke you up an hour later, you found yourself alone and knew what was going on. You yanked on your sweats and ran down the stairs, your thigh throbbing from the excretion. Clark was standing a few feet away from the porch, long red cape blowing in the gentle breeze, he turned to you, the breath and words you were starting to form stuck in your throat, seeing him fully decked out in his Superman suit. It defined every muscle you worshiped and hugged the amazing curve of his ass. But, it made a huge swelling of pride burst from inside your chest, and a smile crossed your lips. You looked him in the eye, both of you smiling, both of you knowing what he was going to do, and why. Your feet didn't even touch the porch steps as your ran for him and found yourself wrapped up in his arms, his lips on yours.

“Go get them, Superman.” You whispered against his lips. “And don't be late for dinner, Clark.” You added, chuckling as you stepped back.

“I will, and I won't be.” He grinned, then shot up into the sky, a sonic boom punctuating his ascent, before he vanished into the clouds.

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curiosity-killed · 4 years ago

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#ShowYourProcess

From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content!

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES — When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

ty for the tag @sketchyscribbles ! and also ajksdh props for picking the hardest pic I could do this for lmao

tagging (if you want to but no pressure ofc!)

@tricksterkat209 with this piece

@lookforanewangle with this piece

@littlewhitetie with this piece

Process for this yanqing piece under the cut bc whoo boy we wordy

Planning:

In general, except for bigger pieces, there isn’t...a whole lot of planning....ever. This one was a break from working on a large, detailed painting and the result of talking with @apaladinagain about yanqing AU thoughts so it was pretty quick and mostly just a kind of visual note-taking for myself.

I don’t have any of the WIP files/layers because I clean out my WIP folder at the end of each year but based on memory and knowing myself, the initial sketch would’ve looked something like this (this is done with my trackpad and a sore wrist but honestly...probably not that far off. my sketches are uh rough):

Creating:

I work in Paint Tool SAI (but like. a slightly fucked up version. idk why but it’s been janky since I got it ANYWAY) with a Huion tablet. My usual process is a little weird but goes:

rough sketch — usually a very rough scribble of where heads are and other important features (in this case, the lotus and fire) on a canvas around ~1500 px on the short side

clean sketch — the actual base of the piece, where I fully draw out all elements of it (except fingernails lol) and also set the composition. On this one, the original sketch was flipped, which felt much more stagnant, so I flipped the canvas in order to have more visual interest/direction. I also wanted to be more intentional about placement of hands so that each of them should roughly correspond to the upper dantian (Wen Qing’s right hand), middle (Wen Qing’s left, with the flame), and lower dantian (Yanli’s hands with the lotus). I don’t totally remember the thought process behind this but I do remember looking at a lot of pixelated diagrams. as u do. this part’s usually on a slightly larger canvas (~2500 px short side)

lines — I use a custom brush I made a long time back but it’s basically set up to emulate like...a micron pen? might be the closest feel to it so smooth, slightly softer edgers, etc., and I always size up the canvas so that the shortest side is at least 6000 px so that I can downsize and have extra crisp lines

colors — block in colors roughly to get a sense of color composition (for bigger pieces, I often do a rough version of this before I go into lining it), then clean them up so they’re all within the lines. Once all the main color bodies (so like: skin, base color of each set of robes, etc.) are in, I always go in and add facial details first (blush, nail colors, eyes, lips, etc.) mostly out of habit and also as a treat to myself bc it’s one of the easiest ways to start seeing the piece come together

details — after that, it is clipping layer central! in this one, I think (based on squinting at it lol) each robe has at least 2 clipping layers for details such as the difference colored collars on Jiang Yanli’s and the pattern on Wen Qing’s sleeves. I tend to organize layers by color so like the dark red on Wen Qing’s robes would be one layer and the ombre pattern would be a separate one. This is also when I do any rendering, usually, which there isn’t much of here but would include the details on the lotus

shading — pretty basic multiple layer here. I p much always use desaturated blues and purples for shading unless it’s for effect.

effects — glow baby glow! this is where i had to google “How to Paint Fire” bc it’s been 8 million years and then spent forever airbrushing on luminosity and overlay layers. also added a luminosity effect to the lotus for the shigs. Also added an overlay layer for the highlights from the fire here

signature — pls don’t ask me how many times i redraw my signature for each picture. it’s embarrassing. i’ve had the same signature, with slight variation, for like 10 years and yet. orz

fussing — on very rare occasions, this translates to me actually checking for errors and making sure I haven’t forgotten anything but most generally, this involves me staring unblinking at my screen as I slide the saturation and hue bars back and forth and contemplate whether I should start exclusively drawing at 100% saturation. in this piece, the background was originally a lovely deep blue but at this stage I decided to turn it green both for the contrast with all the red and for a hint of unease/eeriness coming from a highly saturated green + the donghua’s use of green ghost fires for yllz!wwx — basically hinting at Bad Shit Comin’. I have regretted that decision every time I’ve seen this piece since then :| it was such a nice blue...

Sharing:

At this point, I spend 15 minutes staring into the middle distance trying to come up with any sort of caption and then just throw down whatever I think of and post it on tumblr. titling fics? easy peesy lemon squeezy. captioning art? terrible death suffering time.

if i think abt it, i’ll post to instagram (unless i am defeated by the cropping curse) but i didn’t with this one...presumably bc I am p meh about it (the blue!! the blue ;____;)? but also possibly bc i just forgot

#long post #tag meme #showyourprocess #ty for the tag!#also akjsdl sort of forgot this piece existed #orz #wish i had any actual process pics for it but alas #just a million words of explanation and rambling instead

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serasvictoria · 4 years ago

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Hoya kerrii

So me and @basilone have a shared headcanon that Chuck loves gardening and somewhere in between that and me watching a couple of episodes of Gardener's World that I had DVR'ed, I somehow ended up with another AU.

In this one Chuck basically ended up with a tv show at one point or another and since Tab is his publicist, I'd like to think that he played a very active role in making that happen. While Chuck is out in a garden center one day, he runs into someone that has no idea who he is and that needs his help making a particularly tough decision which is where this particular story starts.

“How do I improve my soil?”

“When should I plant out my tomatoes?”

“How do you prune your roses?”

“What flowers work best in a shaded garden?”

Chuck kept smiling and politely answered every single question that he got. He had long since learned that it was the best way to treat the attention that he inevitably got. All that people wanted was advice and sometimes a picture or an autograph, that was about it. As long as he made sure that everyone got an equal amount of time, they would simply fan out and leave him be. Sure, he’d still get stares and the occasional “Isn’t that…?” but people generally left him alone after a while.

It took about ten minutes for the small crowd to disperse. In the end the only one left was a very animated older lady who was very eager to talk to him. She spoke an equal amount about how she applied his advice to her garden and about her single granddaughter who was apparently around his age. He didn’t inquire any further about the latter. He’d heard that kind of thing many times before and ignoring those kinds of offers always worked for the best. At the start of his career, he hadn’t wanted to be impolite so he had ended up with many hastily scribbled phone numbers that he never did anything with. It was all far too embarrassing if you asked him. When he hadn’t commented on the granddaughter even after he had been shown her picture (cute, but not his type), the woman eventually took the hint, thanked him for his time and left him to his own devices.

He walked towards the plants, which had been his main objective after all, and checked out what they had on offer. He needed new ideas so he was on the lookout for something that he could write or talk about. New trends such as colours or decor, that sort of thing. And then there were the continuing improvements to his own outdoor space. Whenever he walked through his garden in the early morning hours, he usually managed to find some tiny little corner that he wasn’t completely satisfied with or plants that simply hadn’t thrived. There was always some kind of project to keep him occupied, which was exactly how he liked it.

From the corner of his eye he could see that a young woman was looking at him and he was already mentally preparing himself for questions about which plants would compliment each other or which seeds worked best in which soil. The usual. It took her another minute to finally approach him and he produced the most friendly smile that he could muster, but when she finally opened her mouth, he realised that she hadn’t recognised him at all.

“Excuse me,” she began and the first thing that he noticed was her pink sparkly lipgloss when she talked. “Can you help me?”

“Um.” Oh. She thinks I work here. “Sure thing. What do you need help with?”

“I’m a bit out of my depth I’m afraid.” She smiled apologetically as her eyes darted from plant to plant. “I don’t know anything about plants.”

“Well, you’ve asked the right person.” He couldn’t help but smile at himself over that particular comment. “Garden? Balcony?”

“Apartment.”

“Flowers or green?”

“Green.”

“See? We’re getting somewhere.” She started laughing and didn’t look quite so nervous anymore. “Follow me.”

When they walked over to the section where the green house plants were, he took another chance to look at her. Her dark hair was short and messy and he couldn’t quite figure out whether the messiness was accidental or intentional. She was wearing a denim jacket that was emblazoned with various pins (the one that instantly stood out was one that said “send nudes”). Her jeans stood out because of the various flecks of paint on them, same as the Converse sneakers that she wore. Her tote bag declared that “art makes everything awesome” and that, paired with the paint, made it pretty obvious what she did when she wasn’t hanging around in gardening centers. Another thing that he noticed was that every time that she took a sip of her water bottle, he caught glimpses of her stomach, because her faded black shirt kept riding up.

“I take it you want something that’s easy to look after?”

“Yes. The last plant that I had was a cactus when I was a teenager,” she cringed visibly, so whatever was going to come next probably wasn’t good. “I thought it was doing really well. Flowered and everything. And then one day when I tried to move it, the top just snapped off.”

“Snapped off?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened.”

“Probably overwatered it.” It was a very common problem. People either gave a cactus too much water or not enough water. “So no cactus this time.”

“Oh god no. The cactus incident has left me traumatised.”

“Nightmares?” She started giggling. “About cacti hunting you down to avenge their fallen friend?”

“Something like that.”

“I hate it when that happens.” He nudged his elbow against her arm in a gesture that was probably a bit too familiar, but she didn’t comment on it. He merely got a smile in return. “Wasn’t your fault. To put it simply, you just loved that plant to death.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Sadly, they haven’t invented a plant that can’t be killed yet and if they did, they certainly haven’t told me about it,” he said as he pointed out a few plants to her. “But these don’t need a lot of water so maybe they’re your best bet.”

“Which one would you go for?”

“Hmm. Rubber plants are nice,” he pointed one out to her, “But they can get quite big and I don’t know how big your apartment is.”

“I don’t really fancy ending up with something that’s as massive as a giant redwood tree.”

“And what if I were to guarantee you that they won’t get that big when they’re houseplants?”

“You’ve already put me off them now. You could just be trying to sell me a plant that gets massive just because I know jackshit about them.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he replied with a laugh. “That would just be cruel.”

“But I don’t know that, do I?”

“Okay, okay. Fair enough.” His eyes fell on a snake plant. “Any pets?”

“A cat.”

“Me too,” he said cheerily. “So no snake plant then.”

“Will it constrict the cat?”

“Not that kind of plant. They’re toxic to dogs and cats.”

“What about that one?” His eyes followed her finger to a small rather unassuming plant. “It’s cute.”

“Hoya Kerrii.” He picked one up and held it up in front of her. “Sweetheart plant. Some people give them to loved ones at Valentines and paint messages on them.”

“Tacky,” she wrinkled her nose at that particular piece of information, obviously not agreeing with that at all. “It’s adorable. Is that one easy to take care of?”

“Very. It likes the sunshine and you water it when the soil goes dry, but don’t let it stand in water. They don’t like that.”

“Sounds like my kind of plant.” He could hear the excitement in her voice. “Which one would you buy?”

“Let me see.”

He looked at the various plants and tried to pick out the one that looked best in his opinion. He felt her eyes on him which made him want to try harder for some reason, already wanting to impress her even if he barely knew her. When he had finally selected one, he picked it up and upon turning to hand it to her, he noticed that she was looking at something else entirely. When he followed her eyes, he saw that she was looking at a genuine store employee. They were quite easy to spot because of their green and yellow uniforms and their big name tags which were quite noticeable. So she’d finally figured it out. When he looked back at her, he noticed that her eyes were focused on his chest and his missing name tag. Her cheeks flushed pink when she noticed that his eyes were on her, because he had quite obviously seen that she had been looking straight at his chest.

“You…” Her voice was hushed and the embarrassment was quite plain to see on her face. “You don’t work here.”

“No.” He leaned in somewhat conspiratorially and with a low voice added, “I don’t.”

Before he got a chance to make light of the situation, to say that he didn’t mind that she had mistaken him for a store employee and that he had genuinely enjoyed helping her. The plan had been that when the slight uneasiness from her side had ended, he could offer to buy her a drink or something like that. That had been the idea anyway right before he heard a voice behind him.

“Jesus Christ. We’re supposed to be here for work and you’re using it to hit on women.”

“Tab.” He straightened himself out and turned to face his friend, his entire expression spelling out that he was busy, but that wasn’t going to deter Tab one bit. “I was helping this young lady out…”

“Sure you were. You like helping the ladies, don’t you Chuck?” Tab flashed the absolutely bewildered woman one of his winning smiles. “Can’t help yourself. So just ask her for her number and then we can go.”

“Fuck, Tab. Really?” Chuck turned back to her with an apologetic look on his face. So now she probably thought that he came to places like this just so he could pick up women. Great. “I’m so sorry about my friend. He’s being a complete dick as usual. Literally can’t help himself.”

“I um… I won’t interrupt you any further. Sorry to bother you.” She turned to leave and he cleared his throat which made her turn her head back in his direction. “Yes?”

“You forgot this.” He held out the plant, that she had seemingly forgotten in her eagerness to get away from him. “Hope it does well with you, but I have no doubt that it will.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” She took it from him and added a quick, “Would have been a shame if I forgot all about this little guy.” There was something almost reverential in how she handled the plant, as if it were to die on her if she didn’t treat it with respect which Chuck found incredibly endearing. “Little thing,” she murmured those words exclusively to the plant with a smile, but Chuck was standing so close that he could hear everything. “You’re coming home with me.”

“Miss?” He had to ask this now before she left. “You know, maybe I should give you my number so you can send me some pictures.” He moved to stand in front of Tab, completely blocking him out of her line of vision. Because he knew Tab. He’d probably pull a face or make some choice remarks about seeing this scene play out right in front of him. “Of the plant. Obviously.” To his relief, she instantly reached a hand into her pocket and produced her mobile. “Great!” He mentally slapped himself for sounding a little bit too enthusiastic and he knew that Tab would never let him forget about this. “I mean… I’ll just…”

He grabbed his phone as well and they exchanged numbers, tapping them into their devices as the other called out the digits. She looked up at him, a bit unsure over the next question that she was going to ask and said, “What should I… I mean, your name…”

Tab laughed and Chuck could see the confusion lining her face when she looked around him so she could look at Tab. His friend pointed towards the wall. When she noticed what was hanging there, her cheeks turned about as red as a tomato, because there was an advertisement on the wall for Chuck's latest book that was pretty hard not to miss. Chuck ran his hand down his face and groaned inwardly when he saw the poster with himself on it staring right back at him.

“Oh fuck.” She tapped on her screen again and it took her a few times to spell his name right since she was so nervous. “I swear I didn’t know that you were famous or anything…”

“It’s okay. Not like I’m Tom Hanks or anything.”

“You might as well be to people that are into gardening.” She’d obviously noticed the “best selling author” bit on the poster.

“I guess,” he said with a shrug. “And you? What should I call you? It would be a bit weird if I listed you as ‘sweetheart plant girl’, right?”

“Cat,” she blurted out suddenly. “My name’s Cat.”

“Chuck.” He held his free hand out to her when she had put her phone away. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You too.” Cat took his hand and hazarded a glance back up at his face with a slight smile playing on her lips. “I um… it sounded like you were busy, so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Not that busy. My friend’s just being an asshole.” He heard Tab huff in protest, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge his presence just yet. Upon looking down, he only seemed to realise that he was still holding her hand when she gave him a slight squeeze. In a move that was probably entirely alien for most men but one that made perfect sense to him, he dipped his head down, brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Looking up at her through his eyelashes, he said, “You have a very nice day, Cat.”

“I’m sure I will,” she replied with a slightly nervous giggle. “Bye.”

She was barely even out of hearing range before Tab said, “You just can’t help yourself.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’ll have you know that I wasn’t chatting up women for once.” Chuck snorted derisively in reply. “It’s true! Anyway, she’s your type so I get it.”

“No, she isn’t.” Tab barked a laugh and Chuck turned around to look at him. “Oh come on. Since you’re such an expert, what’s my type?”

“You know,” his friend waved his hand in front of him as if that explained anything. “Vaguely artsy.”

“Artsy? That’s not a thing!”

“Yeah, it is. It’s your thing, that’s what it is.�� Chuck took a swipe at him and Tab stepped back, just out of his reach. “Okay, alternative then.” “Since when?”

“Since college! As long as they wore shirts of vague bands, you were into them. And need I remind you that you dated that goth chick.”

For as long as Chuck could remember Tab had teased him about his preferences in women. Chuck was widely considered to have a very positive and sunny personality so whenever he introduced his latest girlfriend, who was usually dressed head to toe in black, people were always understandably taken aback.

“She was not a goth.”

“Chuck, her eyes were so black, she looked like a fucking raccoon.” Chuck rolled his eyes even though he couldn’t deny it. “I had to listen to her ramble on and on about how she was convinced that Robert Smith was God every time that she was stoned. She was awful.”

“She was alright.”

“Whatever. I’m pretty sure that you only liked her because of those tight leather pants she always wore and because her bottom lip was pierced. I know you. You were probably wondering if she had more of those on parts of her body that you couldn’t see.” Chuck shook his head with a laugh. It had definitely been one of the reasons why he was interested in her. “And you never told me if she had any other ones.”

“A gentleman never tells.”

“Fuck off.” Tab jerked his head towards the exit and patted the breast pocket of his dark blue button down shirt, indicating that he needed a smoke. “You’re a naughty boy, Chuck. If only those bored suburban housewives knew about that.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Don’t you bullshit me. I just caught you putting the moves on some poor unsuspecting woman.” Tab knocked his shoulder against Chuck’s. “Maybe you should send her one of those pictures I keep posting on your Instagram.”

“One of those… what do you call them again?”

“Thirst traps.”

“Yeah, those. Ridiculous things.” Tab always took pictures when Chuck wasn’t looking. When he’d just wiped a dirt caked hand on his shirt or something like that, because apparently that was what women wanted to see. “Just ‘cause you send pictures to women with your shirt off doesn’t mean I have to.”

“They work a fucking charm. I’m just saying.” Several eyes were on them as they finally made their way outside with Tab leaning into a group of young women to whisper “Yes, it is him” which made some of them squeal with delight.

“Wish you’d stop doing that.”

“Fuck you. Helps sell the brand.”

“Just me walking by helps sell stuff?”

“DVDs, books, calendars, gardening tools… you name it, baby, and I’ll fucking sell it. It’s what you hired me for, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Don’t make me regret my stupid decisions now.”

“Whatever.” When they’d reached Tab’s car, he leaned against it while he smoked his cigarette. “You do what you love. What could be better than that? So what if I post a couple of pictures of your big dumb face when you’re repotting a plant. Chicks love that shit. Millions of ‘em follow you on Instagram for that crap.”

“Yeah well, I can still think that it’s weird, right?” Chuck dropped what remained of his cigarette on the tarmac and ground his boot down on it. “Besides, she had absolutely no fucking idea who the hell I was. It was refreshing.”

“I’m sure it was.” Tab flicked his cigarette away, unlocked the car and got in. “All those women throwing themselves at you and trying to fuck you all the time. Must be exhausting.”

“You’re exhausting,” Chuck retorted when he got in on the passenger side. “It’s not like I have a different girl in my bed every night. I’m not like you.”

“Trust me, I am well aware of that.” He pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed back to Chuck’s place so they could get back to work. “So. When are you going to send this girl a text then?”

“Don’t know yet.” Chuck didn’t really know what was acceptable in regards to that. He didn’t want to do it too soon and he didn’t want to wait too long either. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah right. You’ll send her a text the minute I’m not looking.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You almost jumped through the damn roof when she agreed to exchange numbers with you.” Before Chuck got a chance to disagree with that statement, Tab poked a finger into his side. “Sometimes I get the impression that you never talk to women at all. You need to play hard to get, dude. Not act like an overexcited puppy. Which is basically what you are anyway. A goddamn labrador.”

“The fuck! Am not.” Chuck knocked Tab’s finger away and laughed. “Just because you’re a silver tongued bastard doesn’t mean I have to be.”

“Do me a favour. If this girl doesn’t text you first, wait until tomorrow evening or something. Please. For the love of god.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and keep driving.”

“Chuck, promise me.”

“Okay, dad! Jesus Christ. I promise.”

“Give it to me.” Tab held his hand out and Chuck sighed deeply before handing over his phone. “I’m hanging onto this, because I know you, Grant. You can’t fucking help yourself. You’ll be texting her within the hour to let her know what a great time you had or some dumb shit like that.”

“I just promised you that I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah and then as soon as we get to your house, you’ll tell me that you need a piss and then you’ll text her from the bathroom. Not fucking happening. Not on my watch.” He stuck the mobile in his pocket and wagged his finger at him. “And you’re not getting it back until I leave. Alright?”

“You’ve made your point.” Chuck folded his arms and stared out the window. “You do realise that I’m an adult, right?”

“You can’t be trusted. No self control.” Tab reached over and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay though. That’s why you have me.”

“Scariest part is that you’re supposed to work for me.”

“Which is what I’m doing now.”

“Taking my phone is your job now?”

“It is on this particular occasion,” he replied with a big grin. “Anway! We were there for work! Did you get any ideas or were you too busy staring into that girl’s big brown eyes?”

“I got plenty of ideas. Trust me.”

“Good. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can have your phone back. Deal?” Tab held his hand out to Chuck which he shook almost instantly. “See, I’m not such a bad guy after all now, am I?”

“You’re an asshole, Tab.”

“You know you love me.” They finally pulled into the driveway and when they walked up to the front door, he still felt the need to add, “So stop thinking about that girl’s ass and the things you’d like to do to it for five seconds and focus on your job.”

“Tab, I swear to god, if you don’t give it a rest…”

As soon as he opened the door, Tab slapped the back of Chuck’s head and before he managed to do anything back, Tab had already disappeared into the house. He fought the urge to tackle him and instead leisurely followed him in, fully determined by now to end this as soon as possible so he could get his damn phone back. He followed Tab out into the kitchen and naturally two bottles of beer had already been produced. Tab was just about to open them when Chuck heard a pinging noise that he recognised all too well.

“Give it to me.”

“Jesus Christ, you are desperate.” Tab dug the mobile out of his pocket and frowned when he looked down at the screen. “Fuck’s sake. This had better not be a picture of a goddamn plant.” He held the phone out to him and when Chuck reached for it, he pulled his hand away. “On second thought, I’d better look at the picture first. Wouldn’t want you to get a heart attack if she actually sent you a selfie of herself in her underwear.”

“Come on, man.”

Tab rolled his eyes and handed it back to him without paying him anymore attention. Chuck swiped his thumb over the screen and looked at what she’d sent him. It was a picture of the small plant standing on what he assumed was the windowsill surrounded by painting materials and other items. The accompanying message read “Too much sun?” and he couldn’t help but grin to himself when he saw it.

“You’re pathetic.”

“Fuck you.”

Chuck texted back a split second later with a “Not at all. Looks fine to me.” He waited about another minute before sending another quick “You free tomorrow?” He saw the tell tale sign that she was typing back not too long after and his face lit up when he saw what she had sent back.

“I am. What did you have in mind?”

#band of brothers au #chuck grant #floyd talbert #catherine taylor #my fic

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five-hxrgreeves · 4 years ago

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I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 1,385

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

1 | 2 | 3 |

Pt. 2- The Last 6 Days Until Apocalypse II, 2019

The next few days passed much the same as they always did. School was indeterminable boredom and after was a blur of time. It was nights that Lola really lived for. She wasn’t sure why but the dark, mysterious blackness that covered everything was so much more intriguing than the bright daylight. It helped spur her mind into its most aggressive thinking, it sped her heart up as she made her daily route to the large, unused library, it made her eyes strain to the best of their ability to see outlines in the blackness.

Now, don’t get her wrong- she was a fan of the light. She needed it to write, to see distinctly, but the quiet calm that came with the night was something so few people experienced in a world of billions that it made it more special to her. She didn’t think she’d ever like complete blackness, though.

The dark of night allowed her some cover as she slipped quietly into the Umbrella Academy’s library, her feet soft and quiet on the wooden floor. By now, she knew the layout by heart and made her way easily to the last place she’d taken books from and zipped open her bag carefully, extracting both volumes. While they hadn’t been extremely interesting, she’d liked learning from them as much as all the other books she’d borrowed from the library.

Lola quietly slid out the next two. One was a thick, bound leather book and she could feel the embossed gold on the cover as she slid it gently into her bag. The books on the shelf fell with a muted thump as the space became available and she winced but no one came, as usual. She moved to the next one, which was slimmer and a regular hardcover, its contents remaining a mystery until she could read them in the light.

After zipping her bag back up, she crept back down the stairs and made her way towards her usual escape except- she bumped into a soft-bodied figure and nearly screamed.

“Who-who’s there?” a light, airy voice called out, “are you a ghost?”

Her pulse picked up and Lola’s voice came out in a stutter as she said, “y-yes. O-of course,” then, feeling the need to be more ghost-like, she gave a fake, quiet moan, “wwoooohhh, my spirit is restless,” she sang in whisper.

A hand gently hit her face and brushed up and down as if petting her, “there, there, ghostie. Don’t bother me now.”

She leaned away from the man’s touch and scrambled for what to do next, but then the man seemed to freeze, “why’re you solid, ghost?”

“Uh- I’m special?” she tried, wincing at the lame answer. Luckily, the man seemed accept this and nodded, “okay, well, don’t follow me to bed. I’m open to many things but ghost sex is stretching it,” he gave an exaggerated shudder and stumbled past her, clumsily patting her on the shoulder.

Lola’s face burned bright red and she was glad it was too dark to see. After he left, she hastily made her way to the open window and slipped out, breathing a sigh of relief when her feet landed on the grass. His kids must have come back for the funeral, she thought as she made her way home. He’d spoken about ghosts, so it- it must’ve been The Séance.

She hoped he wouldn’t tell his siblings what had happened- that wouldn’t bode well for her. Luckily, he hadn’t seen her face and he also hadn’t seemed to be completely there, so he probably wouldn’t remember.

After school on Friday found Lola walking down the main street towards her father’s store. Now that it was the weekend, she didn’t need to be picked up and hurried home from school so she could start her homework. The local bookstore caught her eye and her father’s words echoed in her ears about the Hargreeves’ autobiography.

The bell jingled as she entered the shop and a female assistant made her way to the dark-haired girl to greet her, “good afternoon! Is there anything in particular you need help finding today?”

Lola gave her a smile and nodded, “yes, actually. I’m looking for an autobiography. Its, um, by someone of the last name Hargreeves.”

The woman’s smile flickered for a moment before broadening, “of course, right this way! We’ve moved them towards the back now that they’re not popular sellers. I think we still have a few copies, though.”

Sure enough, in the back of the non-fiction section the name Hargreeves stood out like a sore thumb, at least in Lola’s opinion. The book was titled Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven. The brunette slid a copy off the shelf and turned it over to read the summary on the back. There seemed to be a surprising amount about the woman’s- Vanya’s- family contained in the book.

“Will that be all?” the attendant asked.

She gave a nod, “yes, thank you.”

“Alright, dear, I can check you out at the counter.”

Lola followed the employee back to the front and made her purchase using her saved-up allowance money. Most of it was used for notebooks, writing utensils or additional book-buying so she had enough saved to purchase Vanya’s book. After leaving the shop, she made her way to the local diner, Griddy’s, texting her uncle of her change of plans.

Once there, she sat at the bar where an elderly woman came to greet her, “hello, dear, what can I get for you?”

Lola eyed the treats behind the counter thoughtfully, “classic glazed, please, Agnes,” she added her name after reading the woman’s tag.

“Of course, one moment,” Agnes said cheerfully and turned to complete her order.

She set the doughnut down in front of the girl, “if you need anything else just give a holler.”

Lola nodded in thanks and cracked open her new book, eager to read a professional autobiography. While she had studied some for research it had been awhile since she’d seriously read one.

My name is Vanya Hargreeves and this is my story it started out and the brunette smiled slightly at the similar openings. Pulling her pencil from behind her ear, she jotted down a note in the margin before continuing.

We were never a real family. We were our father’s creation, family in name, but not in fact. In the end, after our brother Ben had died, there was really nothing connecting us. We were just strangers living under the same roof, destined to be alone, starved for attention, damaged by our upbringing, and haunted by what might-have-been. We all wanted to be loved by a man incapable of giving love. Our father never missed the opportunity to remind me that I was ordinary, a hard thing for a little girl to hear. If you’re raised to believe that nothing about you is special, if the benchmark is extraordinary, what do you do if you’re not?

Lola sat at the counter as minutes slipped passed, slowly eating away at her doughnut and reading Vanya’s book, occasionally scribbling between the lines as she wrote notes for herself. As she read, she realized she liked Vanya’s writing style. The woman didn’t write daily stories and chronicle her life as if everything was significant but she also didn’t write the major events like they were items on a grocery list to be ticked off once they were written. Instead, she wrote in a way that made the objective viewer feel as if they were actually there, experiencing Vanya’s life. The brunette supposed that this is why the book lost popularity; some of the moments were too raw, too painful, to want to go back and reread and live through again.

Sometime later, her phone buzzed in her pocket, causing her to jump in surprise. The book lay before her more than half-read, pages wrinkled and dirty from pencil smudges and sugar from her sticky fingers as she’d turned the pages, hardly looking like a newly-bought book. Reaching into her pocket, the girl checked her text which was her uncle wondering where she was. Looking outside in surprise, she realized the sun was setting.

“Shit,” she breathed, hurriedly packing up her things. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get too much of an earful.

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

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north commentary//chapter one

it’s finally here!! I apologize for the time it took for me to actually get this posted but it’s finally here. I didn’t edit any of the actually commentary so if there’s mistakes then I’m very sorry. also, I’m not going to tag anyone on the tag list for north, but if I do more of these in the future then maybe I will.

I’m going to begin editing chapter two immediately after posting this and it will be up probably sometime tomorrow night, so look out for that! enjoy my commentary. hopefully you find it insightful in some way and you get a deeper understanding for my oc and for my interpretation of spencer.

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Hello lovely followers and readers!! Thank you for spending your time reading this commentary and for getting involved and being interested in the way that my brain works while writing this fic. If you like commentary like this then I’ll definitely do more in the future!! There’s future chapters that I would absolutely kill to do commentary on and would love to explain my thought process on. This commentary is mainly about why I choose to make Spencer and my OC act certain ways because this is only the first chapter and there aren’t plot points to dissect, but if I do more in the future then I’ll definitely talk about plot points and such. Enjoy!!

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

We all know that Spencer lives his life on coffee and would probably fall asleep standing up if he didn’t have coffee every morning and at multiple points throughout the day. There’s quite a lot of mentions throughout the show that coffee in police stations is really bad, so I wouldn’t imagine the coffee in the BAU is much better. So in my mind, Spencer would search for a coffee shop that he liked and one that he thought was cozy and peaceful. He doesn’t strike me as a fast paced person in his personal life. What I mean by that is I don’t think he would be the person to only allot himself just five minutes to get his coffee, catch his train, and get to work. He strikes me as someone who wants to take his time and be able to sit down and read his book. Thus, this scene was born.

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too.

Spencer is clumsy, we all know this. He’s not just clumsy when he meets girls and is flustered by their attention/affection but he’s clumsy in these types of social situations where he has to rush to stand and grab his cup of coffee. There’s a lot of times in the show where you can see him struggling to put his messenger bag on because it gets stuck in his hair. He’s just not too swift. But we all love him unconditionally.

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

Spencer doesn’t feel like the kind of guy who would judge a book by its cover. He doesn’t seem like he would take one look at a person and decide the type of person they would be. I don’t even think he would necessarily abuse his profiling skills in his everyday life and with the strangers he meets. But if he managed to stumble upon a girl that he really liked and had an instant attraction to, like what happens right here with Amelia, I really think that he would want to know everything about her. He would scramble to collect information about her, based on her appearance and just the sound of her voice and off of what she ordered. So not only do these last two paragraphs serve as me being able to be outright about who Amelia is and what my OC looks like (because I always have a really specific look for my OC’s) but it also serves as Spencer collecting as much information this girl he just met and that he finds much more than intriguing.

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak.

Spencer doesn’t get a lot of girls, and when he does, he doesn’t generally have good luck with them (Lila, Maeve- lol). But I truly believe that when he catches feelings, he falls so hard. He doesn’t fall too fast, and this is explored in upcoming chapters, but he falls really hard and he treats his girlfriend/crush like an absolute queen. He worships to ground she walks on and thinks she put the moon and the sun and the stars in the sky. This is just how I imagine how Spencer would see and treat his SO in a relationship. He would really love them with all of his heart and dote on them endlessly and give them his whole heart.

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista.

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

I wish I could say more about Amelia’s character right now because she is so beautifully complex and so confusingly real, if that makes sense. She appears to be so put together, as Spencer so aptly observes, but as time goes on, she really starts to fall apart at the seams. But every person is like this. Nobody is truly ‘put together’ no matter how hard they try. That’s what makes us human. We all fall apart eventually. There’s a little glimpse into the future for you.

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

More of Spencer being adorably confused when it comes to girls. How can you not love him??

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else.

Amelia is very much so an extrovert and it’s obvious in the way that she has no problem participating in this conversation (and how she has no problems remembering how to breathe like Spencer does), but she’s not bouncing off the walls and screaming and grabbing at Spencer. He wouldn’t gel with someone like that, in my opinion, because they would overwhelm him. I wanted Amelia to be like a breath of fresh air for Spencer, or the feeling of the sun on your skin, or how the relief you get when you lay in bed after a long day (I don’t like that last comparison but just bear with me). I wanted her to, right off the bat, being a calming presence to him. If you notice, Spencer points out that he expects her to speak but she doesn’t. She waits until he speaks and in my mind, I envisioned that as Amelia reading the situation and recognizing Spencer’s slight anxiety and waiting until he was comfortable speaking. She didn’t want to push him and cause more anxiety. Do with that information what you will. Let us continue reading.

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

Remember when I said he was trying to collect as much information on Amelia as possible?? He notices she’s drinking tea instead of coffee.

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

The show is very inconsistent with Spencer’s hand shaking because sometimes he’s giving out handshakes like it’s candy but other times he’s waving. So fuck the cm writers. In my head, Spencer rarely shakes hands with people other than those on the team and those he really trusts. So the sheer fact that he’s even considering shaking Amelia’s hand is a huge deal. He wants to make a good impression on her and he’s just hoping that he doesn’t look stupid in front of her. He’s even willing to shake her hand to make a good impression. He’s willing to do something that he absolutely hates, and to me, that’s a huge deal.

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

Guys, I love Amelia so much. I know that my .2 brain cells created her, but I really love her. She doesn’t cut of Spencer when he gives her a fact about germs and she goes along with his aversion to handshaking without a second thought. There’s no interruption or eye-rolling or sass. She listens to him and accepts him and then offers to sit down with him. I think that Amelia found Spencer attractive at first, and now that they have been conversing for just a few moments, she finds him much more intriguing, and that’s why she asks him to sit. She wants to know what this guy’s deal is.

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

I’m trying to imagine Spencer trying to implement Morgan’s advice on picking up girls and it’s. Wow.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight.

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

I’m not sure why but I feel like Spencer would really meld well with someone very artsy. He’s not necessarily an artistically driven person, so I think he would need someone who could open his eyes to a new world. I think that’s why I didn’t like Maeve. She was basically the female version of Spencer and it just wasn’t really an interesting thing to see two identical people get together. But if Spencer could have his eyes opened to the world of art, it would be a magnificent thing.

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

I like adding in these little moments, like having Spencer getting lost in the way Amelia says his name. I think it takes a scene or an encounter from just being superficial and takes it a little further. Instead of them sitting at a table, he’s sinking further into the reality that the two of them are creating through their conversation, even if it’s just because Amelia is saying his name in a way that sounds like liquid gold.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop.

Guys!!!! Spencer loves his job!! As much trauma as it’s caused him, I really think he loves helping people immensely and he loves going to his job every day (apart from the times he’s being kidnapped and tortured haahahahaha moving on). How often does he not want to go because he would rather socialize? Amelia must mean a lot. Wink, wink.

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

I also really love the idea of Spencer immediately feeling the loss of Amelia around him. Like I said, she’s meant to be like the sun shining on his face. Spencer doesn’t get to experience warmth, love, and comfort much and I really wanted to douse him in that.

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. "Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”

I had another paragraph written after this sentence that I wound up deleting because I thought that this was just a better ending than whatever it was that I originally wrote (I literally don’t even remember). I don’t imagine Spencer was too distracted that his work was impacted but I imagine that when he has just a few moments to let his mind wander off, he would allow himself to think of Amelia and how happy she made him feel. I really believe he’s a daydreamer and when he’s given the opportunity to let his mind rest (as in not exert himself as much as he does when he’s working cases) he would let his mind cling to something that brings him comfort and something that would almost lull him into a sense of security and safety, and I think that thing quickly becomes Amelia. At this moment, right after their first meeting, I don’t think Amelia is Spencer’s main daydream just yet, but this will be quick to change.

Here’s the writers commentary for chapter one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Chapter two will be out very soon so keep your eyes open. If you want to be on the tag list for this or for North, let me know and I’ll add you on. Thank you so much for reading <3

#nikos writing #nikos north fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x oc #matthew gray gubler

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gold-from-straw · 4 years ago

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Zero Degrees 2

Read from the beginning on AO3 if you prefer! I’ll also tag anyone from the notes of this chapter in my next post, I hope that’s OK! Otherwise it’s so damn hard to find posts...

"Wow, your car is amazing," Njala said as Mum pressed the key fob.

"Thanks," she laughed. "Get in, then. Bhaya will have to go on her dad's lap, but you guys can all fit in the back. Shopping bags in the boot first."

Even Teli stared around the car when they climbed in and Mum started the engine. Njala was stroking the leather and pulling open every pocket and storage area he could find, chattering away at high speed and pointing them out to his big brother. Teli directed Mum down Parklands Road, just past the giant white model of a lotus flower outside the Raja Yoga centre.

"There it is," he said, pointing to a mustard yellow block of flats. Mum pulled off the road onto the dirt driveway and waited at the black gate for the askari to let them in, while Erika stared open-mouthed and tried very hard not to judge.

The thing was, they went to a private school. Erika's family didn't consider themselves particularly wealthy - comfortably middle class, maybe, but there were other kids in Erika's class who lived in mansions and got five thousand shillings pocket money every month. She wasn't stupid, she didn't think she was that naïve, and she was well aware of the vast inequalities in her country. All Kenyans knew how bad some people had it, and at least this place wasn't one of those shanties the city council would bulldoze and set on fire for kicks like they sometimes did in Kibera, but even so...

The building was seven storeys high, loomed over by skyscrapers, or building sites for skyscrapers. Grey water stains draped down the walls like grasping fingers, TV aerials stood crooked on the roof with wires sagging from them. Every window up to the top floor was barred, and no attempt had been made to twist the iron into something decorative. There was laundry hanging on wires in every balcony.

It was the kind of invisible place she saw every day from the bus window, stared at unseeing when stuck in Nairobi traffic jams. If she ever really thought about it, it was probably the kind of place their maid Florence lived in.

Njala waved to the askari while Teli climbed carefully out of the car with a sleeping Bhaya and beckoned them all upstairs. The stairwell smelled of fried fish and cabbage, and someone was washing the second floor landing with a broom, sluicing water across the concrete so that it dripped down to the steps below and made them precariously slippery.

Their flat was on the third floor, and as Teli juggled the keys into the heavy iron gate in front of the door, a young man opened it from inside and ran out, an apron still round his waist and arms soapy to the elbows. "Father, you're back early."

Of all the Hotokes, he looked the most… well, normal was probably an insulting word. But he was. He had a round, friendly face with the family's high cheekbones, curled black lashes and a warmth to his brown skin that none of the others shared. He really didn't look like Teli much at all. He looked like a younger version of Erika's dad, actually, and she couldn't help smiling back at him when he spied her and Mum behind his dad.

"Hello, new people."

"Hi, I'm Gloria, nice to meet you," Mum said, flashing her white teeth in her standard self-confident grin. "This is my daughter, Erika."

"I'm Ummah," he said, taking half of Mum's bags. "And is this the Erika?" He smirked at Frio, who rolled his eyes and ducked his head again. "Sorry, little brother. Come in, please."

"Is he really your dad?" Erika blurted, unable to stop her bad manners. “Sorry... but you don't really look alike - and Teli looks really young as well."

Teli smiled, a darkly amused thing. "I assure you, I am older than I look."

"What she really means is she thinks I'm old," Mum grumbled, smirking and nudging her.

They crowded into the tiny flat, Njala dumping his bags on the counter of the kitchenette and running off to one of the bedrooms. Erika caught sight of a double and a single mattress on the floor before the door shut. Ummah went back to the washing up. Mum beckoned Erika and Frio over to the kitchenette with her head and they started sorting out the items that had been damaged in the fall while Teli took Bhaya to another bedroom and lowered her onto the double mattress on the floor there. He stroked her curls with a sad little smile, then gathered the mosquito net around her and backed out, closing the door.

"What happened, Father?" asked Ummah.

"Loud noises. Shouting. The usual," he said wearily and joined the pair sorting the shopping out.

Ummah winced, his face scrunched up in pity as he looked over to his little sister. "Did she get far?"

Teli shook his head. "No. But she was distressed when I caught up to her. I… at first I do not think she recognised me."

Ummah turned in the small space and wrapped his wet arms around his father's waist. Teli pressed his nose to his son's hair and hugged him back, a slightly wobbly smile on his face. Erika pretended not to see him wipe his cheeks as they returned to their jobs.

"I do not think much of this flour is salvageable," he said, crinkling his nose up as he lifted a paper bag of Exe out, torn and slimy with egg.

"Have any of the eggs survived?" Mum asked.

"Five are unbroken, another three are cracked. They should be fine if we use them soon."

Ummah checked the clock. "I can buy more on my way back from my shift."

"You should not have to waste your wages on--"

"Shhh!" he said imperiously. "I will help you whenever I please, Father, you are a fool if you think any of us would not." He dried his hands off and leaned close to Mum, lowering his voice to a mock-whisper. "He thinks he does not need any help."

"Ummah!" snapped Teli, and the boy winked at Mum.

"I like this one," she laughed.

"That makes one of us," Teli grumbled.

"Well, I like me too, so I believe you are outvoted, Father. Now, I must go, or I shall be late." He picked up a battered backpack from the corner and threw his apron over the back of a chair.

"Ummah," called Teli as he got to the front door. He turned, eyebrows raised in question. Teli came round the counter and hugged him very tight. "I love you very much. And I like you quite a lot too."

"I love you too, Father," he said, a smile in his voice.

"Be safe."

"Always."

He locked the door as Ummah left, and stood by the window to wave at him. Erika heard the clunk of the main gate, and Teli turned back, pausing for a moment to brush his fingers along a small side table with a collection of odd items. A teddy bear, a long speckled feather and a collection of candles on a white cloth, which formed a U shape around a beautiful glowing crystal ball. It looked a little like one of those plasma balls she'd seen in physics lessons, just smaller, with a soft, almost sleepy light inside. She wished she knew where they'd got it from, it was beautiful.

Teli cleared his throat as he looked up at them, clenching his hand away from the objects. "You do not need to sort the shopping, really, you have been very kind."

"It's no trouble," Mum said cheerfully. "So how long have you guys lived here then?"

"Ah, well, nearly a year."

"Where were you before then, where are you all from?"

"North," he said with a vague smile, and turned around to throw some of the dirty packaging in the bin. Mum raised an eyebrow at him, but left it alone.

"What are we going to do with these eggs, Father?” Frio asked.

"You could make cupcakes," Erika said.

"Ah," Teli frowned. "I'm not sure I have a recipe for those."

"I could write one down for you," Mum offered. "Erika and I make cupcakes every week, practically, don't we?"

"Cupcakes?" Njala squeaked. Erika hadn't even noticed him sneak back in. "Are we having cupcakes?"

Teli sighed. "I suppose just this once..."

"Sorry," Mum grimaced.

"No, that's fine," he said. "They deserve a treat. After all, it has been a while."

"Can we stay and help you guys make them?" Erika asked, looking between the two parents. Frio immediately looked up at his dad as well, and Teli rolled his eyes.

"Very well. It is not as if I know how to make them myself."

Mum grinned at him. "I promise I won't let them make a mess. Where do you keep the sugar?"

"Sugar..." he grimaced. "Ah. Is that a necessity?"

Mum frowned at Erika, then back at him. "Uh, yeah, it's a pretty integral part of it."

"Ah."

"Oh, no," Njala moaned, and leaned his head on the counter. "I'm starving!"

"Well, I was planning to make pancakes."

"That's not the same." The little boy's words were muffled as he pressed his face against the wood.

"Hey, how about this," Mum suggested. "You guys can come over to ours one day and we'll make cupcakes and decorate them, does that sound good?"

Njala leaped up. "Really?"

"Could they come this weekend? On Saturday?" Erika asked, her hands pressed together under her chin. "Please?"

"If you're not busy, we haven't got anything on."

"Really, that is not necessary." Teli looked slightly lost. "Please do not feel obliged--"

"I don't," Mum frowned. "I don't do everything out of some obligation, Teli. I like having other people over. You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I'm genuinely offering." She shook her head. "Come on, Erika, we need to let these guys get on."

"Father," Frio grabbed his dad's wrist, and Teli rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I meant no offence," he said. "If you really don't mind..."

"No," she smiled, her voice still a bit exasperated. "I really don't, I wouldn't offer if I didn't think the kids would have a good time. Here, let me give you my address, we're only on Brookside Drive. Is Saturday OK?"

"I have work," Frio said softly.

"Sunday, then?"

He nodded and smiled through his braids at her. She scribbled their address and her phone number on a notes page in her schedule, then tore it out and handed it to Teli.

"Bye, Frio," Erika said as Teli let them out.

Frio waved at her and pushed the braids out of his face, tucking them behind his ear. "I'll see you tomorrow, Erika."

She followed her mum down the stairs, her shoes clattering on the concrete steps. The banisters were rough and cracked under her hands, shouts and music and a crying baby echoing about the stairwells from the other flats.

She and kept quiet until they were in the Range Rover. "Why do you think Teli's so weird, Mum?"

"I don't think he's weird,” Mum said, frowning a little. "Just awkward. Anyway, we'll see what happens on Sunday."

"How come they're so poor?"

"Erika!"

"No, really, Mum. I think all the boys share a bedroom, how can they even afford the school fees?"

She sighed and tapped her long nails on the steering wheel, but didn't answer. Erika looked out of the window as they pulled onto the Westlands roundabout yet again. "I felt kinda guilty that we've got all that stuff and they don't even have sugar."

"They might not have sugar because Teli's trying to keep them healthy."

"You know what I mean, though."

"Yeah," she said. "I know what you mean."

Thank you to @fullmetalcarer who liked and reblogged last week ^_^

#Zero Degrees #Lyn's writing #original ramblings by lyn h #original novel #kenya #gods #high school

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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

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Return to New York

Part 2

Riley Brooks never returned after being thrown out of the Coronation. Liam cleared her name, and they tried to find her with no luck. One day they returned to New York and by fate she turned up at a cafe due to Daniels ‘meddling’.

Using combined tags for this one shot turned series, if you want to be removed as always let me know 👌

@pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desiree-0816 @twinkle-320 @queenjilian

*****

“The reason myself and Kiara didn’t work was because of you. She knew that I was in love with you.”

Liam, Maxwell and the rest of the restaurant jumped in reaction to the echo of the glass shattering everywhere- the floor now covered in a sticky residue due to the mixture of alcohol. The two men jumped out of their seats, immediately rushing over to a shaking Riley- and witnessing Drake behind the bar stood dormant not knowing what to do.

“What did you do to her?” Maxwell shouted at his friend, assuming it was his fault as he hadn’t rushed over to help her.

“He did nothing, he was helping me with the drinks- you know how much of a klutz I am Max. I got distracted, they just slipped out of my hands.” Riley lied, not knowing if the two men knew the truth about Drakes feelings- his confession was still sinking in, not knowing how to react- not knowing how they would react to her secret, something she lied about a mear few hours previously.

“Lady Riley, you are not clumsy. Are you okay?” Noticing Liam picking up all the broken glass, she began to panic.

“I’m fine Liam. Go and sit down, I’ll clean it up then go on my break.”

“It’s fine, just get us a brush and something to put the broken glass in- I insist. I’m a king but I’m capable of cleaning up a bit of mess.” Riley nodded knowing she couldn’t refuse king’s orders even if he was in her city. Watching her leave, the two men snapped their attention towards Drake as he eventually moved from his position behind the bar.

“What did you do her?” Maxwell repeated his previous question. “Clearly she’s freaked out by something, she isn’t a klutz.”

“I... I told her that... fuck. I told her Kiara knew I was in love with her and that’s why we never worked. She wasn’t lying when she said they slipped out of her hands.”

“So why would she react all shaken up? Surely girls love it when a man tells them that they love her?” Maxwell was confused by her reaction, deep down he knew she had feelings towards Drake also. Everyone could see it, their stolen glances were noticed even if the two of them didn’t realise they were doing it.

*****

Sitting in silence, the three men cleared the glass up as Riley went on her break. Going back to their table, they slowly tucked into their meal- none of them wanting to mention her name. Not realising why they were still lingering in New York- hope. Hope that she would return with them was most likely the reasoning.

“Mommy!” The three men all turned their heads towards the bar, Riley had finished her break and was preparing a milkshake for a little girl sat on the edge of the bar.

Mommy they all said in unison, Maxwell was now wondering if that was the reasoning behind her panicking before. A man in a suit walked up to the bar and kissed Riley on the lips. Briefly focusing her gaze over towards the table- she knew they were going to question her immediately. Max, I don’t know what you’re on about? I’m definitely single, and I’ve definitely not ‘popped’ any kids out- thank you. At that moment in time saying this, she believed that they would be rushing back to Cordonia, she lied about being single because she didn’t want to hurt them all- especially Drake.

“Sorry i keep telling her to not call you mommy.”

“It’s fine, besides I’m going to be her mom soon. Is my ring fixed?” Retrieving the box out of his pocket, Riley grazed her finger over the diamonds.

“Of course it is. Here you go...” The man knelt down on one knee, sliding the elegant ring on to her finger.

“Riley Brooks, when I met you and hired you to look after my daughter- I instantly fell in love with you. I can’t wait to call you my wife.” The three of them all hugged each other- Drake gulped watching the interaction, Liam looked concerned at his friend who was clearly heartbroken. Maxwell on the other hand needed answers. Abruptly standing up, he stormed over interrupting the sweet family moment.

“Hi I’m Maxwell. And you are?” Scrutinising the mans body, Riley could tense that Maxwell was annoyed with her- she decided to begin with the introductions praying that the usual calm yet fun lord wouldn’t cause a scene.

“Erm Harry, this is Maxwell a close friend of mine, practically my brother.”

“Hi Maxwell, I’m Harry- this is my daughter Lissy.” Harry held his hand out towards Maxwell, who rudely ignored the gesture.

“Ah so this is the kid you look after.”

“Yes my soon to be step daughter.” Flaunting the ring in Max’s face, he was happy for her - but he knew she still loved Drake and that this was probably all a facade. It was difficult now a kid was involved. Mouthing I’m so sorry to him, he focused his gaze towards the little girl who was clearly in awe of Riley.

“Nice to meet ya, high five Lissy.” Lissy followed Maxwell’s actions. “Can I borrow you a sec Riley. Please.”

“Sure, I’ll see you two at home in the morning?” Giving then a brief hug, she followed Maxwell away from the bar- still in hearing distance for Liam and Drake to ear wig.

“So this is news..... I thought you was single and you couldn’t tell me?”

“You’ve been out of my life for three years Maxwell. I didn’t want to hurt any of you.”

“Yeah I wonder why you’ve been away for so long? We looked for you... couldn’t find you.... we all care for you.... has he got a big dick or something?”

“Well actually.....”

“Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question. What about Drake? He loves you...” Well actually I’m still madly in love with Drake. Harry doesn’t compare. I can’t break Harry’s heart, he’s done so much for me.

“He got in a relationship with Kiara when I left. I didn’t see him making much of an effort. Then he comes here admitting his feelings for me, the same feelings that I held for him. And only him. I’ve moved on Max, he should do the same. You guys are from Cordonia, I’m stuck here.”

Drake stormed out realising that he had lost her, realising now that she seemed happy- happier than she was during the social season. Liam was debating going after Drake, or speaking to Riley instead- choosing the second option he knew Drake was the type of person who needed to cool off before being confronted.

“I hear congratulations are in order Lady Riley.” Even though you insisted that you was single, he muttered to himself but still was able to wear that infamous stoic expression.

“Thank you your Majesty, I’m sorry for lying to you all.” Maxwell shot Liam a look of disapproval- in his head they needed to get Driley together not congratulate her and push her away from them.

“What time do you finish?” Maxwell asked changing the subject.

“In a couple of hours why?”

“Before you go home, come to my hotel room- I want to spend time with my sister before I leave you again.” Scribbling the hotel name and room number on a napkin, she agreed to see him. Liam shook his head, knowing exactly what his friend had planned- it was a dangerous game that Maxwell was playing.

****

Walking down the road to the Crowne Plaza, she got in the lift to the 30th floor, feeling dizzy in the lift she wasn’t sure if it was due to the lift skipping fifteen levels or nerves about spending time alone with Max. Knocking on the door of 3007, her eyes widened seeing someone other than Max- now realising that the younger Beaumont had set her up.

“Hi... is Max here? He told me to meet him at this room.” Little shit bag.

“You’ve got the wrong room Brooks. He’s on the floor below.”

“Okay, thanks. Have a safe flight back. It’s been good to see you Walker.” Fuck he’s got no shirt on, I need to get out of here quick.

“Riley wait...” Grabbing her hand, she felt that spark as she did all those years ago. “Come in for a drink? A brief catch up? If you... don’t want to .... it’s fine.”

“Whiskey?” She smiled softly at him, avoiding trying to look at his muscled body.

“That’s the most idiotic question you’ve asked. Of course there’s whiskey.” Opening the door wider, he allowed her in. Unknowingly to the two of them, Liam and Maxwell stood in the hallway and both high fived each other before returning to their separate rooms.

*****

“Here.”

“Thank you Drake.”

“So I now know why you freaked out... Congratulations Brooks, you deserve all the happiness in the world.” Not able to look at him in the eyes, she sighed before walking over to the window- looking down onto Times Square. Seeing everyone rushing about, witnessing couples taking selfies and sharing a smooch, watching people dressed in costumes conning people out of money in an instant.

“Thank you. But he’s not you....” Regretting this slip of the tongue, her mind was now confused more than ever.

“As Kiara was never you...” she heard him whimper as he laid on the bed. “I hoped that you would have returned to Cordonia on your own accord after we couldn’t find you. I imagined you coming back, I thought about how to woo you back, treat you like a girlfriend not like a suitor. Funny how things change.” Noticing her fidget with her engagement ring, he was jealous of her fiancé immediately. “Nice rock ya got there Brooks.”

“It’s too big and heavy, it slipped off my finger when we first became engaged and it became damaged. It feels weird wearing it again. It’s not me at all, I’d much prefer a simple ring- something that had a sentimental meaning.” Something like my grandmothers ring then, Drake thought before shaking his head.

“What happened to the little girl’s Mom?”

“She tragically passed away. I will never be her mom. I will never replace her mom, she just calls me it.”

“You’d make a brilliant mom Riley, she’s lucky to have you, as is he.” Standing up he poured himself another whiskey, staring deep into the brown liquid she joined him. Placing her hand over his, she took the tumbler away from him- placing it gently on the table along with her engagement ring that she had removed from her finger.

“Drake... there’s something you should know... I couldn’t let you return to Cordonia without you understanding something..” Keeping her hand resting over his, she turned to face him- sorrow in her eyes.

“Riley it’s fine, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m fine. As I said twice before you deserve happiness.”

“I do though, because you are acting as if I never loved you the way you stormed out of the restaurant.”

“I did that because I couldn’t see you with him. I blame myself for letting you go. Loving you in secret throughout the social season kept me sane, made me look forward to attending events for once in my whole life- I could have died saving Liam and Kiara from the assassins. All I thought about was you...I was thankful that you wasn’t there.”

“I heard that you was quite the hero huh?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Sure it isn’t, many people don’t jump in front of a bullet risking their own life.” Hovering her hand over his chest, she placed a gentle kiss on his scar. The only reason she knew the exact location was because of Hana and Olivia informing her of his injuries. Riley had insisted on returning, but they advised against it as he was in an rocky relationship with Kiara at the time.

“I lost you, maybe I thought that the risk was worth taking- I had nothing left.” He whispered in her ear- his hot whiskey breath lingered around her neck. Moving a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, they both stood frozen, fixated on each other. Seeing him gulp as he admired her, she wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him closer. Their foreheads brushing, neither wanting to regret what could potentially happen. His hands went around her petite frame, effortlessly lifting her on to the mahogany desk. Caressing her cheeks, his gentle touch was deja vu from the night of the Coronation. Leaning down he had nothing to lose, if she wanted to punch him she could, if she wanted to kiss him back- this complicated things. Moaning into the kiss, it felt as if the world around them had melted immediately- nothing like when she kissed Harry. In the back of her mind, she felt guilty as she was engaged, but in this moment in time she felt lust towards the man who instantly stole her heart in Cordonia. Breaking the kiss, she looked at him feeling breathless- as she did that last time she saw him all those years ago.

“Please don’t marry him.”

#trr #trr fanfic #trr returntonyc #drake x mc #drake x riley #drake walker #riley brooks #liam rhys #maxwell beaumont

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years ago

Text

Before This Dance Is Through VI

Chapter: 6/16

Rating: M (Smut Warning)

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo found himself getting excited for the following Tuesday, he'd be sitting at home watching the television and suddenly the image of Spike in a short skirt or wearing makeup would flash into his mind and he'd have to consciously calm himself. John tried to get him to go along to the club in the meantime, but Ringo refused for a multitude of reasons, although he wasn't sure which was the genuine one. Part of him was still a little nervous about facing Spike again, especially after how much alone time he'd been spending with his pictures. Another simply told him that he wanted to wait, it'd be more special that way, and he didn't really have the primal urge that John seemed to have that resulted in him ending up at the club almost every night.

In the days leading up to the event Ringo spent most of his time working. The school year was coming to an end which meant he was being called in for a mass amount of activity days. They weren't Ringo's favourite thing in the world, he much preferred earning his money by teaching students one-on-one but it definitely mixed things up a little. The day would mostly consist of younger children coming into a large hall where Ringo would talk for a little bit about drumming before the students got a chance to try it out themselves. It got a little chaotic at times, and Ringo felt relieved that he didn't have to bring his own kit in because these children were anything but predictable. Sometimes they'd result in one or two students expressing a real interest in drumming and so Ringo would give them one of his business cards to pass along to their parents; more often than not it wouldn't result in anything at all but on occasion he could get several new students from participating in a few of these activity days.

One aspect of these events that Ringo never enjoyed was the attention he got from the teachers. He'd gotten used to it by now: one of the younger female teachers asking to try it out and for Ringo to show them how to play - just an excuse to get him stood over them with a chance of their hands touching - but no matter how often it happened it didn't make it any less aggravating. While the children busied themselves with the array of instruments set out, Ringo often had no choice but to stand at the back and talk to whichever teacher was meant to be supervising them. The smalltalk wasn't the problem, usually it was quite refreshing to talk to someone else who worked with children, it was the awkward flirting that drove him up the wall. The worst was when they'd pretend to have a child interested in learning how to drum, or that they themselves were, but when Ringo would actually press for details it would amount to nothing. It was never the men that flirted with him, Ringo had started to think he was the only gay teacher in the area, and there had certainly been times he'd wished they had.

"You need to look gayer." John had pointed out.

"I'm going into a school, John, I can't rock up in a rainbow tank top covered in glitter." Ringo chuckled.

"Why not? Kids love glitter."

There was one male teacher in particular that Ringo had liked the look of, but he'd only met him the once; he taught English, or had it been art? The problem was that the female teachers would be so desperate to volunteer to stand in for Ringo's lesson with the students, even if they seemed to be aware there was no chance of anything actually happening, that he rarely got to see another man. Every time he went back to that same school he'd hoped to see that particular teacher again, yet he was always disappointed.

He was heading back home after completing a session at the local secondary school, the one he'd actually attended when he was younger, fairly exhausted from the energy of the children and massively exhausted from the persistency of the women. As he sank into the driver's seat of his car with a sigh, he swore he was going to buy a rainbow pin to attach to his jacket to ward off anything in the future. On his way home he stopped off at the record shop, partly to pick up something that'd improve his mood but mostly in the hopes that he'd see Spike again. He'd rather see him in an ordinary setting, without the dynamic that existed in the club, as strange as it had been at first. But luck was apparently not on his side today as there was no sign of Spike anywhere in the shop, he'd even browsed the clothes in the basement, which he'd never done before, just to increase the chances of bumping into him.

When Tuesday finally came around Ringo was in dire need of some intoxication, so much so that he went along with John's idea of beginning the drinking before they'd even sat down to eat dinner. Ringo cooked for the two of them while John sat in the kitchen waffling on about some new idea he was having for a story. It was unusual for them to be eating dinner over at John's place, but it was far closer to the club and Ringo definitely wasn't going to risk driving with how much alcohol he was planning on drinking.

"I'm surprised your oven isn't covered in cobwebs considering how little you use it." Ringo stated as he fried up some bacon.

"Why would I use the oven when I have a perfectly good microwave?" John mumbled in response, he was scrawling down ideas messily in a notebook.

"This is not a perfectly good microwave." Ringo chuckled as he gestured with the spatula.

"Calm down, Gordon Ramsay." John quipped.

"What are you even writing?" Ringo asked as he walked away from the oven.

"My mate's putting together some gay poetry book and asked me to write something for it." John explained without looking up "I should've finished it two days ago but I forgot."

"Maybe tonight will give you some inspiration." Ringo tried to read what John had already scribbled down but his handwriting was fairly intelligible.

"Don't tempt me. Paul's already said he won't accept any more poems as payment." John chuckled to himself.

"Any more?" Ringo raised his eyebrows.

"Long story." John finally looked up then and flashed Ringo a grin.

By the time they'd finished eating they were already quite drunk, John had begun blasting music from one of his many playlists.

"Sooooo." John leaned over the table slightly "How's Spike been treating you these last few days?"

Ringo felt his face reddening and he tried to tell himself it was just the alcohol "No complaints from me."

"Can I have a look?" John tilted his head and smiled.

"Er-" Ringo hesitated "I dunno."

"Oh come on!" John reached his hand forward teasingly "I'll give you the 20p or however much a day costs, if that's what you're so worried about."

Ringo didn't budge "Pay for it yourself if you wanna see."

"I'm the one who bloody told you about it in the first place, you twat." John huffed but he was still smiling "Is there something you're not telling me, Ringo?"

"What do you mean?" Ringo shuffled in his seat.

John's smile widened then he casually picked up his drink to take a sip "Nothing. Don't mind me."

The two of them managed to get over to the club in one piece, although John did stumble into the road a couple of times. It was considerably more busy than a normal Tuesday night, or so John claimed, and there were far more people clamoured outside smoking than there usually was. Ringo felt like he had to brace himself before stepping inside, closing his eyes for a second and taking in a deep breath. The amount of people inside was astounding and Ringo began to worry that this had been a bad idea after all. Music was blaring as loud as always, it was difficult to even think but luckily Ringo didn't really need to think when he had John by his side, pulling him over to the nearest bar. As they moved further into the club Ringo could finally see what all the fuss about, one of the strippers was walking around in tall heels with a transparent platform - the kind Ringo had seen in films - paired with a lilac skirt and a white bra. Ringo recognised the man under the makeup from when he'd been here before, he never found him particularly attractive but the sight of him like this definitely interested him at least a little.

"This is gonna be well confusing for my sexuality." Ringo stated as they moved away from the bar with their drinks in hand.

"Best of both worlds for me." John replied with a grin as he looked out amongst the crowd of people.

"So you're into girls again now, are you?" Ringo nudged John lightly.

John paused for a second then turned his head to face Ringo "What are you drinking?"

"Vodka coke, why?" Ringo furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Well you were drinking beers back at my place. You're into drinking vodka now?" John raised his eyebrows in turn.

"I don- Oh, I see. Point made." Ringo punctuated his sentence with a sip of his drink.

It was difficult to get a decent view of the main stage on which someone dressed as Madonna was doing a very graphic dance to 'Like a Prayer', Ringo had never really thought about the double meaning of that song until this moment, but considering it was neither Paul nor Spike they weren't entirely interested. Both of them were scoping around for any sign of their 'preferred' man but it was almost impossible to pinpoint anyone in such a mass of people, particularly when none of the dancers were particularly looking like themselves. John grabbed Ringo around the wrist and pulled him through the crowds until they were heading down to the back room, Ringo could recognise the rhythm of the distant song as Queen's 'I Want to Break Free'.

"I should've worn my Freddie outfit." John commented as they descended the stairs.

"Someone might've beaten you to it." Ringo chuckled.

"This is a strip club not a drag show, don't get it twisted." John shouted over the music as they walked through the door.

Ringo realised very quickly how very 'twisted' his expectations of tonight really had been when he caught a glimpse of what was happening on the stage. Upon hearing the song, Ringo had expected some crude recreation of the music video complete with fake moustaches and enormously large, and clearly fake, breasts. But no, he couldn't have been more wrong. Ringo stopped in his tracks in the doorway, his eyes widening and his throat feeling suddenly dry; John had to pull him forward with great force just to get them over to what few empty seats were left around the edge of the room.

"I told you this was the more alternative stuff." John said excitedly but it wasn't until he settled down on a stool that he realised "Wait... Is that-"

"Yes." Ringo replied bluntly, his mouth remaining slightly open after he'd finished speaking.

It was Spike. Of course it was Spike. Handcuffs were around his slim wrists, chaining him around the pole in the centre of the stage with his arms raised above his head. He wasn't wearing a wig but his face was painted quite beautifully, purple eye-shadow merged with dark eyeliner and a light peach lipstick, somehow he looked even more breathtaking than usual. The makeup was the least startling aspect of the whole thing, even the outfit wasn't what had stunned Ringo, although it was a definite contender; he wore a black laced-up corset which was pulled tightly around his slim frame connected to which were his stockings, on his feet he wore a velvet heel which buckled over his ankle. The sight was simply diabolical, the way his flat chest was still exposed and the hair of his underarms clearly visible alongside the femininity of his face and body. Even that wasn't the issue. The issue was that he wasn't alone on the stage, someone from the audience had stepped up and was slowly unlacing one of the threads of his corset. Ringo could see that a black skirt, almost a tutu, was lying discarded on the edge of the stage. When the realisation sunk in of exactly what was going on, Ringo wasn't sure he'd be able to get up again.

Spike had his characteristic grin on his painted lips as the man slowly pulled at the fabric keeping his corset in place, they were close enough that they easily could've kissed - and for a long time Ringo feared that they would. The man soon lost interest with the corset, giving Ringo a second to breathe in which he hoped the man was going to turn and leave, then moved his hand to run up Spike's clothed leg. He brushed his fingers over the thin material, gripping the back of Spike's thigh and lifting the leg up to wrap around his own waist. Ringo felt sick. If this had been anyone else, anyone else in the world, he wouldn't have cared, hell he probably would've been aroused by the whole thing. But it wasn't just anyone, it was Spike. The worst part was that he had no reason at all to be getting upset, this was his job and Ringo certainly wouldn't have been complaining had he been in the man's position.

"Is this even legal?" Ringo mumbled to John.

"Fuck knows." John's eyes were wide with excitement "Are you gonna go up there?"

"Me?" Ringo scoffed "Not very likely."

The man had continued running his hands over Spike's body, but as soon as his fingers crept up towards his crotch he was pushed away; it was light, clearly wanting to appear playful, but the man quickly got the message and hurried back to his seat somewhat embarrassed as though he'd fallen into some kind of trance. Now alone on the stage, Spike began scanning the audience - who were watching very intently - for someone else to help him 'break free'. While he waited he made a very enticing show of how bound to the pole he was, sinking down almost to the floor with his hands still raised high as he spread his knees out to draw attention to prominence lying in his tight underwear.

"I like this. Very clever. Why do the stripping when they can do it for you?" John was talking more to himself than to Ringo, who was barely listening.

Spike's eyes moved over to where the two of them were sitting and Ringo thought time must've stopped for at least a second. John took a moment or two to realise the eye contact but as soon as he did he was quick to move, shoving Ringo off of the stool and luckily onto his feet. Ringo was surprised his knees didn't give out immediately, but he was stable enough to turn around to glare at John who looked at him smugly.

"You can thank me later." John winked and then nudged Ringo towards the stage with his foot.

Fuck. Ringo prayed for the floor to swallow him up in that moment, it almost felt like it had when he saw Spike's expectant gaze looking directly at him. He wished he could've just sat back down but not only did he not want to make a fool of himself, but also he knew John wasn't going to allow that. Slowly he made his way over to the stage, fortunately the room was so small so it didn't take him long, meaning he didn't have to be so conscious of not only Spike's but also the whole room's eyes on him. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears, his breath was uneven and he had to consciously stop his hands from shaking. Spike's grin had grown, his eyes slightly squinting as Ringo approached him sheepishly. John had begun whooping from where he sat which spurred on a few others in the audience. The whole thing felt like some strange fever dream, perhaps even a nightmare.

Spike had gotten back up to his full height, usually he was only slightly taller than Ringo but now with the added platform of the heels he practically towered over him. Even in this submissive position, with his arms helplessly chained above him, Spike still oozed dominant energy as he watched Ringo fumble where he stood in front of him. Ringo had no idea what to do, his hands felt heavy and almost impossible to lift; watching someone strip was one thing, but actually stripping someone was something else entirely. Up close he looked even more stunning, a faint blush lying on his cheeks which accentuated his high cheekbones perfectly, his dark eyelashes elongated with mascara and sparse glitter dotted across his fair skin. Ringo never considered himself as someone particularly kinky, but he was feeling a rush he'd never felt before. He had no idea how long he'd been stood there, how long he'd been staring up at Spike who's teeth were beginning to show past his curled lips. It must've been long enough for Spike to worry that it would start getting awkward if he didn't do something, and do something he did.

It all seemed to happen in a heartbeat, Spike turning himself around and bending downwards so that his bare arse - he was wearing yet another thong, which Ringo had quickly noticed - grazed against Ringo's crotch. Ringo let out a small gasp, bordering on a moan, as he watched Spike's tongue dart over his sharp tooth. He hadn't realised that an erection had already been growing since he'd laid eyes on Spike like this, but the sudden contact make him very aware of how hard he was getting. It sent a bolt of adrenaline through Ringo's body and he was sure to make use of it, he didn't want to stand there like an idiot as much as it would've been the easiest thing to do, so began imitating what he'd seen the previous man doing and started unlacing the ribbon of Spike's corset. While he did this, or attempted to at least, Spike continued to move his hips and dip down slightly on the pole but never quite made contact. Both the ribbon and Spike's skin were soft to the touch, the silky feeling of the material put Ringo at ease somewhat. His fingers must've been quite cold because every time they brushed against Spike's skin he let out a quiet noise, Ringo didn't think he was aware he was even doing it. The unravelling had been far easier than Ringo had expected it to be, his desperation in the moment probably helped considerably, and soon the corset fell off of Spike's chest with ease. Ringo held it in his hand for a second and wasn't sure what to do with it: the skirt had clearly been tossed aside without much care but Ringo really didn't want to look inconsiderate like the previous man had. Spike seemed to notice Ringo's momentary dilemma and gestured slightly with his head for Ringo to throw it, which he did quite erratically. John let out a loud cheer at this and Ringo was suddenly very aware of his presence on the stage; had John been silent this entire time or had his brain just blocked it all out? It was enough of a falter in his mindset that Ringo decided it was best he got back to his seat. As much as he'd love to pick off each item of clothing piece by piece until there was nothing left, this alone had almost been overwhelming and he didn't want to risk looking like an idiot.

Ringo flashed a nervous smile to Spike who was still watching him with that same intense gaze, then hurried off the stage to clutch his drink eagerly. For a moment Ringo thought he saw a hint of disappointment in Spike's eyes as he turned away, and that when he got back to his seat Spike had been looking at him while he'd been walking, but he wasn't sure. John gripped Ringo with both hands and shook him excitedly, a massive grin on his face.

"I told you tonight was going to be the one! And it's only just getting started." John giggled as he finally let go of Ringo.

As much as Ringo didn't like to admit when John was right, though it happened far more than anyone would've expected, his words in that moment couldn't have been truer. The night was only getting started, what followed was nothing Ringo could've anticipated.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #ringo starr/george harrison #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #starrison

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