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deniigi · 4 years

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So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

------

Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

--------

He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

--------

He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

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It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

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Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

-------

The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

--------

He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

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There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

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#dinluke #luke skywalker #ficlet #fic #I can't take any trope seriously it turns out #perhaps I am simply too old now to appreciate them #the mandalorian

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calpops · 4 years

Text

midnight into morning | c.h.

You and Calum spend your first night and morning at home with your newborn daughter and she meets her uncles along the way.

3k words

dates with cal masterlist

<< >>

Midnight quickly turns into morning, Calum is tired but every time he closes his eyes fear strikes through him. You’re at his side, tucked under the covers but unable to sleep for all the same reasons. Your daughter Mila is quiet in her bassinet and from the slight glow of the moon peeking through the curtains Calum can see that her eyes are closed. It’s the first night she’s home from the hospital after seven days in the neonatal intensive care unit, only a week old and so precious and small it worries Calum to take his eyes off of her, to lose her for even a moment. He sighs and a sigh from you follows.

“Have you slept at all?” you ask in a thick and tried whisper.

“Maybe for a few minutes,” Calum responds but can’t be sure of it. The night is getting hazy as time passes.

“I can’t sleep either,” you admit.

It’s the first night back at home, the first night in your own bed and not an uncomfortable plastic chair and yet rest doesn’t come any easier than all of the nights in the hospital. Calum nods at your words, understanding without explanation why sleep evades you. It’s the same for him.

“I’m just so worried,” you continue and Calum knows you need to talk about it, to get some weight off of your chest. “What if something happens? What if we’re asleep and she’s not okay?”

Calum doesn’t have answers to those questions and they only present thoughts he’d much rather never have to consider. He feels himself getting choked up but he shakes his head and shakes away the fear as best as he can. He trails his fingers along your jaw, soft and reassuring. A thousand thoughts spin through his mind and rocks the foundation of the world he shares with you and Mila. He comes to an answer though he knows it’s not a solution that is feasible long term.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Last I looked it was almost four,” you answer and bite your lip, Calum catching the motion of worry from moonlight.

“You get some sleep. I’ll stay up with her,” he offers and not only sees but feels the disapproving shake of your head. “Sweetheart, one of us has to sleep. Your body’s been through so much. Mila needs you to be rested,” he adds on and knows the tactic is a little low but if you won’t sleep for yourself or for him the only other person you would do anything for is her. “Sleep. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

You give him a pout but he sees that you’re relenting from the tired look in your eyes and the way they can’t stay open any longer. You nod, beg for a kiss with a small noise and puckered lips and finally settle in to attempt to sleep when he gives you a peck. Calum stays by your side while you war with slumber, keeps a hand trailing up and down your back in a soothing rhythm and has his gaze pinned on the bassinet at the bedside. Mila has only stirred a few times during the night, to be fed and changed and soothed. Otherwise she’s slept and been sound. Once Calum is sure that you’ve finally drifted and the clock reads five he slips out of bed and rounds the corner to get to Mila.

Just the sight of her makes him smile, brings tears to his eyes and has him at peace with the restless nights. He would give up anything for her. Sleep. Time. The rest of the world. He wants more than anything to hold her but he doesn’t want to wake her.

He settles for something familiar, a soft fingertip trailing over her small hand. For seven days it was the only form of contact he had with her. She doesn’t flinch or react in any way, she stays still and calm. After a moment eyes that mirror his own open but she doesn’t cry. She’s secure with his touch and it warms Calum to know his presence keeps her calm. He looks over at you, finally burrowed under the covers and asleep, then looks back at her and reaches into the bassinet slowly and carefully and quietly. She fits so perfectly in his arms, her small body tucked into his hold with ease.

“We’re gonna let mommy sleep,” he whispers and presses a kiss to the top of her head as he strides out the door and for the nursery across the hall. “Would you like a good morning story, lovebug?” Calum asks as he settles into the rocker near the crib. He borrows your term of endearment for her, having heard you call her lovebug in the hospital.

Mila stays quiet and Calum takes that as a yes. As the sun comes up he reads to her about a bunny and once the pages come to an end he proceeds to talk to her instead.

“Your mommy and I used to read each other to sleep,” he says with a fond and far off smile as he recalls the gentle nights of whispered words. It was a tradition created when sleepless nights after breaking up and getting back together ensued. He sits and rocks Mila, tells her stories about you and revels in the warmth of her and the sun coming in through the window.

Just as the story of meeting you enters his mind and sits on his tongue your voice breaks the thought away.

“Good morning.”

Calum’s eyes dart up and find you standing in the hallway, pajamas a rumpled mess and hair in disarray but a more restful look in your eyes. He smiles, unable to stop himself, the mere sight of you enough to make him happy.

“How is she?” you ask when Calum stays quiet.

“Perfect,” he answers without hesitation, wanting to put any fears or questions at bay for you. “You could go back to sleep if you want. We’re good right here.”

You shake your head. “I’m awake now, I should probably feed her.”

Calum agrees with a head nod and laughs when you enter the room with outstretched arms and wiggling fingers in your anticipation to hold her. Calum understands the feeling of wanting her in your arms. Seven days without her makes every moment that much more important. He gives Mila one last kiss on the cheek before standing and gently handing her to you. He watches with caution and admiration as you settle into his place in the rocker with her in your arms. Mila makes the transition from him to you with such ease it’s almost startling how easy she is after so much turmoil.

“Do my sweethearts need anything?” Calum asks and plants one knee on the ground to be level with you and Mila and darts his gaze from you to her.

“Breakfast?” you ask with a little smirk and raised eyebrows. “If it’s not too much?”

“Nothing ever is, I’m on it,” Calum promises and rises from his one knee position.

He doesn’t forget to give you a parting kiss before heading for the kitchen. The house is quiet and calm and it’s such a striking contrast to the constant activity and anxiety of the hospital that it nearly winds Calum. He doesn’t even have time to get a pan out before a soft knock on the front door has him running off.

“I brought breakfast,” Luke says as a greeting when the door swings open. “Thought you guys could use a break, make things a little easier for you.”

“Thanks,” Calum says and means it, nothing but appreciation coursing through him at the thoughtful gesture. Calum takes the bag of takeout from his best friend and a sudden realization hits him. “How’s Duke? Do you want us to come get him?”

Luke waves off Calum’s question. “He’s fine. He can stay a while longer if you guys want time to get Mila settled.”

“That might be good,” Calum says and contemplates. He’s not sure how introducing Duke to Mila will go over but from his protective nature of you during pregnancy Calum has a feeling Duke will be nothing but a guard dog to Mila. When Luke lingers, eyes darting into the house Calum smirks. “Anything else?”

“Can I see her?” Luke finally asks and Calum huffs out a laugh as he expected that question as soon as their eyes met. Calum steps aside so the entrance is wide open for Luke.

“Come on in. She’s being fed right now,” he explains and sets the bag of food on the counter. “Want any?” he asks as he starts to unpack the near buffet Luke brought for only two.

Luke waves off the offer as Calum sets to plating the food and waiting for you to come out with Mila. When you do, with slow footsteps and an easy smile at the sight of Luke he lights up at the baby in your arms. Calum watches as his eyes soften and his lower lip juts out in awe. Mila is small in your arms, face buried against you with her eyes closed, tiny hand curled into a fist. Luke immediately stands from his seat and suppresses a gasp, or that’s what Calum believes the chortled noise is.

“Is that her?” Luke asks in a breathy and unbelieving whisper.

“No, it’s some other baby,” you retort with a laugh. Calum chuckles and grins when Luke falters for just a moment and then joins the laughter.

“She’s so tiny,” Luke comments as he stands from his position on the barstool. “Can I hold her?”

There’s a tense moment of pause where Calum watches your body language. You turn at an angle so Mila is slightly away from Luke. Your eyes skirt to Calum and show fears and anxieties as clear as day. You bite your lip and then frown.

“Do you have even a slight sniffle or sore throat?” you question, worries born of getting Mila sick and another hospital stay lingering deep inside.

Luke quickly shakes his head as he picks up on the meaning of the question. “I’m the pinnacle of health. I promise.”

Calum gazes at you as you begin to let your guard down and slowly nod. “Okay, but sit on the couch,” you suggest and Calum smirks at the momma bear protective instincts already coursing through you.

Luke agrees to that plan and Calum walks over to the living room with you and Luke. He settles on the couch and reaches out for Mila. You hesitate for a moment, needing to give her one last little squeeze and kiss before giving her up and it makes Calum smile as he’s already prone to doing the same thing. Mila stirs when handed to Luke, tiny cries falling from her as she makes the adjustment into a stranger’s arms. Calum flocks to Luke’s side, the one you’re not already on, and gently takes her hand.

“Hey lovebug, it’s okay, this is your uncle Luke, he just wants to hold you, it’s okay,” Calum whispers in as soothing of a voice as he can amongst her small cries. His heart hurts with every little noise that escapes her, his hand is soft on hers and his words are even softer. “It’s okay, we like uncle Luke, he’s big and goofy and loves you.”

You follow suit and whisper soothing words to Mila who’s cries begin to taper off. It takes another moment for her to become comfortable and trusting in Luke’s hold. Calum isn’t sure if he can attribute it to Mila trusting Luke or Mila trusting your presence and comfort. Either way he’s overjoyed that she settles in.

“We’re good now right?” Luke asks as he looks down at Mila, finally quiet and content. “You guys go eat, I’ve got her.”

You both hesitate as if waiting for Mila to decide she’s no longer okay but she stays calm and soothed as Luke rubs her back and coos to her. Calum releases a breath and heads for the kitchen with you but keeps his eyes trained on Luke and Mila. You eat breakfast in silence, merely observing and listening as Luke acquaints himself with your daughter. Calum can’t hold back his grins and snorts at Luke’s antics.

“Hi, how are you?” Luke asks in a baby voice as he shifts Mila so he can cradle her in his arms instead of against his chest. Calum gazes at the two with just as much fondness in his eyes as Luke has in his for Mila. “You know, I built your nursery and put your car seat in the car and even helped your auntie Mali pick out those cute little pajamas you’re wearing. And we got your things you’ll grow into; pretty dresses and cute little bunny slippers,” Luke continues, his words like business but his voice is higher pitched and more gentle than usual.

“What are you doing?” Calum asks around a bite of muffin.

Luke looks over at Calum from his position on the couch and Calum arches an eyebrow.

“Just pitching to her why I should be the favorite uncle,” he explains and doesn’t hesitate to turn back to Mila to continue talking to her as if she understands.

The interaction and explanation make both you and Calum laugh. You’re both hasty in eating the breakfast Luke brought for you, wanting nothing more than to get back to your daughter though with the way Luke holds her and speaks to her you’re not sure he’ll give her up any more willingly than either of you would. You end up back in the living room after eating and sit on either side of Luke and Mila, letting him have a little more time with her before swooping in to take her back.

“I can’t get over how small she is,” Luke says when you both join him. He has a light hold on her hand and smiles when her eyes meet his. “My pinky finger is bigger than her hand. Look at her. She’s tiny.”

Luke continues to fawn over Mila while you and Calum watch from your perches on the couch and while both of you would rather have her in your arms you don’t rob Luke of time with her. Only another knock on the door rouses both of you from watching them.

“I’ll get it, you make sure Luke doesn’t run away with her,” you offer and Calum laughs but sweeps a skeptical eye to Luke. There’s only a moment before Michael walks into the living room escorted by you and awe at your baby in Luke’s arms.

Michael voices his awe and Calum grins at the softness of his voice and eyes and picks up on the flinch of his arms as he also desperately wants to hold Mila. Luke doesn’t seem to get the memo, or completely ignores it in any case, and continues to hold her.

“Alright, my turn,” Michael finally announces minutes after taking a seat and trying to be patient, not one to hold onto subtleties for too long.

Luke shakes his head. “Get your own baby.”

“You get your own baby,” Michael says around a laugh at the staunch look of not giving up on Luke’s face.

“Maybe someday I will,” Luke mumbles and sighs, gives Mila one last little coo and finally relents.

The transition from Luke to Michael comes with a small fuss but you and Calum stay by her side until she’s settled. Calum watches his lifelong friend hold his daughter and feels overwhelming warmth and happiness radiate through him. Calum concludes Michael must be feeling the same as he gazes down at Mila with watery eyes and a gentle smile.

“I love her so much,” Michael says and a crack in his voice alludes to the emotion his words promise. “But I am disappointed I was the last one to hold her,” he adds on with a pointed and somewhat joking look to you and Calum.

Calum throws his hands up in the air in surrender and defense. “Shoulda brought us breakfast like Luke,” he jokes and shrugs, to which Michael narrows his eyes but laughs along. “Besides, my parents haven’t even met her yet. They’re catching a flight out tomorrow.”

Michael concedes his argument and jokes and settles into gently rocking Mila, holding her hand and getting himself wrapped her tiniest finger.

“You guys gonna get any rest until then?” Luke questions in the vein of mentioning how tired you and Calum look but it’s only asked in concern.

“Maybe,” you answer and Calum catches the slight frown on your face.

“It’ll be easier when they’re here,” Calum says and rubs your back soothingly. “It’ll be nice to have them around during the nights.”

“Well, if you need any help you know we’re here,” Michael offers.

“I’ll take her anytime. Can’t promise I’ll give her back though,” Luke pipes in and smirks. “I am her favorite uncle after all.”

“Says who?” Michael asks and gives Mila a little tickle as if to earn affection and the coveted spot of favorite uncle.

“She did. We had a little talk before you got here,” Luke says casually.

You and Calum both laugh at the little argument that ensues and in the distraction swoop in and take Mila from Michael. You hold her and Calum holds you. Ashton and Mali let themselves in through the front door and as they join the group you both know your family will always be there for you and for your daughter.

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

tea parties | dad!mitch rapp

word count; 14,990

summary; emma rapp loves her dad, and she admires the badass CIA agent that he’s trying to suppress his feelings for, so she does a little meddling.

notes; this is a dad mitch fic, featuring the little girl I made up so long ago, and she is a little miss emma rapp. I adore her, she’s fantastic, and you’re going to love her too.

warnings; reference to injury, reference to death, reference to PTSD.

Mitch’s feet were taking slow and steady steps along the corridor, as a pair of irrationally matched footsteps skipped, walked and jumped along beside him, a small hand wrapped tightly around his own as the nerves in his stomach went haywire over the briefing he had up ahead of him, and the hope that it was nothing too dangerous. He knew he never got called in to talk to Irene unless he was going away to do something big, but he was hoping it wasn't the kind of assignment that made him wonder whether he’d be returning on his own two feet, or in a body bag.

Crouching down before the elevator doors, the room he needed to be in only a few metres away, he faced the little girl before him, tucking some of the small wisps of hair away behind her ear, fishing around in his pocket for one of the glittery snap-clips he made an effort to always have on him, and internally cheering in victory when he found one.

Sliding it into her hair to keep the shorter pieces out of her face, he brushed the tip of his finger along the bridge of a familiar nose, one she’d inherited from him, and grinning when her face scrunched up in distaste at the ticklish feeling the action gave her.

“You gonna’ be good for me?”

“I’ll be on my bestest behaviour, daddy, I promise.” She adjusted the bag on her arm, pulling it down for only a second and placing it on the floor, unzipping the little backpack to root through it, before pulling out the item so wanted, brandishing it to him proudly. A plastic ‘nerf’ gun, loaded with foam bullets as at least three dozen more sat loose and rolling around the bottom of the bag, bright orange foam to match the neon green plastic of the toy, and she waved it excitedly in his face. “Mr Stan say’d that he’d help me practice to shoot things.”

“How very exciting.” He teased sweetly, zipping the bag back up and pulling it onto her arms, letting her push her arms through the straps and hold onto the fake gun in her hands with both hands. “Do you know where Stan is?”

“In the gym.”

He nodded, licking over his lips, checking the time on his watch and hurrying himself along. “And how do you get to the gym?”

“Press the button with ‘three’ on and run all the way to the end of the corridor when the door opens.” He scooped her up, standing up to his full height, balancing his daughter on his hip and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She took his face in her hands, his face crushing a little when plastic pressed into one side, but she pulled his head forwards enough to press a kiss to his forehead, seemingly sensing his nerves and returning the gesture he always gave her when she had nightmares or fears. Tipping his head back up, he dropped her down, pushing the button for the elevator and waiting patiently. “How long is your meeting, daddy?”

“Not long, princess, I’ll be there to get you real soon. We’ll have ice cream tonight, yeah?”

She cheered, her hand held out to him and he tapped his palm against hers in a high five, ruffling her hair as the doors dinged open and he was able to push her instead gently, watching as she pushed the button for the right floor and waved to him as she disappeared from sight.

Mitch paused for a second once she was gone, choking down the fear about what may happen to his daughter, reminding himself that she was wandering around the CIA main building, and that his little girl owned the hearts of almost everyone in the building, so there wasn’t a soul that would let anything happen to him.

Spinning on his heel before he could change his mind and call the elevator back, and instead pacing the few large strides it took him to reach the meeting room, everyone else seemingly gathered, preparing themselves around the table, and he let out a huff at all of them, not even glancing up at the screens housing the powerpoints and presentations he was going to be seeing. Instead, he got himself a coffee, stirring the wooden stick aggressively through the shitty paper cup that did nothing to stop his hand getting burned if he held it too long, and picking up one of the pastries, squeezing it a little in his fingers to test the softness of it, before placing it into his mouth and holding it there with his teeth as he moved over to the seat reserved for him.

There was already a brown manilla folder laid out for him, his name on top, and he took the pastry from his mouth, tearing off a chunk and chewing it quickly, before taking a swig of his coffee to wash it down with, wincing when the cheap liquid burned his throat.

“Okay, Mitch, let's just jump right in.”

He looked up, huffing out as he did and wiping flaky crumbs from his shirt, before opening the first page of the folder and almost gagging at what he saw before him. Piles of bodies, all burned, the photograph clearly showing the smoke coming off of the stack of bodies, charred and fleshy, some dismembered and torn apart, battered and bruised, and he pushed the remainder of the croissant away from his as his stomach churned at the sight.

“Underground ring of paid fighters, human trafficking, drug empire, it’s all rolled into one. Goods are being traded for bets, every single person so far identified from this pile is a missing person, some going as far back as four years, and there were two more piles.” Turning over the following page, Mitch let out a low whistle as he ran his eyes over the list of names attached to people he’d already They’re working through people quickly, missing people coming up from all over the world, and he sighed out at the thought. “You’re going in undercover, obviously. We know that there must be a huge list of people adding to this web, with such a quick growth rate and being so well known, word of mouth is travelling fast in a criminal chain, and we need to know who the king-pins are. The next event is tomorrow night.”

“You need me to get kidnapped and put into the next fight by tomorrow night?”

Irene scowled at him, motioning for him to turn over the page, his eyes widened as he took in pictures of all the items that had been traded, everything from raw diamond extracts to people, kidnapped children holding the same worth as the deed rights to mansions, bile once again rising up in his throat, paternal possessiveness crawling in his chest and scratching to be released as he ran his fingers gently over the photograph of a young toddler whom he desperately wished was still alive and well.

Flipping over the next page, he was equally as shocked to find a new set of false identities to add to his collection placed neatly within the pockets of the folder. A passport, a driving licence, a rendered photo of the look he was going for as well as a basic list of everything his new personality would entail. Picking up the piece of plastic that allowed him to drive a car, he scoffed at the name. “How the fuck do I even pronounce this?”

“It’s Polish. You won’t be doing much talking, if any, you just need to listen and place bets. Observe, photograph, be discreet, and find out who our big bosses are here.”

“So, I’m not fighting?”

“In a gladiator-style ring, fighting to the death with opponents who have probably won a lot of matches already? No, Rapp, you’re not a fighter. You’re a buyer.” She insisted, already sounding fed up with him, and he sneered a little at her, before nodding.

“What am I supposed to take that’s of such high value?” She nodded to one of the interns beside her, a large cardboard box being lifted that he seemed to struggle to pick up, before he was tipping it out across the table, at least twenty neatly wrapped plastic packages spilling out before him, and he couldn't help the laugh that left his lips, before he was looking towards the other three boxes that she was gesturing to. “Where the fuck did you get that much cocaine?”

“Evidence lock up. A truly useful resource.”

He nodded a little, letting her run through the fact that he’d need to be at the runway for six sharp tomorrow morning, and that everything he needed would already be packed, an agent set to sort his outfit and help test him on everything he needed to know would fly over with him, but other than that, he was running solo. It was no more than a few days worth of work, tops, but he still didn’t like the idea of being away from his daughter for almost a week, and so he couldn't stop his moody huffing and puffing to himself once he’d left the room.

The journey to finding his daughter was short, and yet he was still equally as irritated when he arrived there, searching for the little girl that ever failed to brighten his day, peering into the room through the windows, and spotting her standing beside his mentor in front of the bullet-riddled targets, as promised, her toy gun in her hands as little orange pellets littering the floor.

Their focus wasn’t on the targets, however, it was a little further off, in the direction of the boxing bags and the sparring rings, but despite how much he craned his head, he couldn't see what they could, and so he was resigned to simply entering the room to actually find out. Pushing the button on the door to release the magnetic locking, the sounds of punching bags being battered, machines running and several voices in different areas field his ears, the room much cooler than the corridor, the air conditioning keeping it so, and a shiver ran down his spine.

The high-pitched cheering that he recognised as his daughter’s voice called out, and he followed the sound of it, making his way over to where the two people he recognised where standing, watching a lesson go down in the boxing ring, and his breath hitched, feeling as though his soul had physically left his body as his daughter stared up at you with rapt awe. For well over a year now, Mitch had cursed the slight trembles that went along his body and the butterflies that filled his stomach when you were around, because he had bigger responsibilities in his world than dealing with the fact that you somehow managed to render him back to being the same nervous wreck he was in high school as soon as a pretty girl walked past, the same Mitch he’d been in sophomore year before getting his braces off and growing out his buzzcut.

He was used to pretty girls in little clothing, from high school until now, Mitch has been on various sports teams, and while being a glorified killer for hire now was a little different to playing college lacrosse, he was used to cheerleaders and gymnasts and dancers surrounding him, tight yoga pants and sports bras and pretty eyes with a firm as and a smirk that made his legs weak. He was used to it, and yet somehow, you had more of an effect on him than the others. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that you were by far his superior in the field, or maybe that you were also a terrifying killer that turned him on in some sick way, or maybe it was his lover-boy paternal instinct that flared up every time, because much like everyone else, Emma had you wrapped around her little finger.

His daughter had spoken to you more than he had, his mind seeming to go blank every time he tried to talk to you, and so he often opted to just ignore you, a trait he was grateful that he could disguise behind the moody and darkened persona he’d built up. It was hard to keep that up, though, when he had to remind himself to close his mouth and stop staring at the way your body moves with grace and elegance in every single extremely well-executed move you used as you continued to take down the two other agents in the out-manned battle while barely breaking a sweat.

You were incredible. Talented and funny and sweet, while also managing to be brutal and vicious and always successful in a field, every characteristic you had made you perfectly suited for this job, and he was half-convinced Irene had just made you in a lab to work for the CIA.

The first time he’d met you, you were wearing a black tank top and some tight leggings, a look that vaguely reminded him of the Black Widow, and so he’d pegged you as CIA eye-candy, before ever getting a look at your file, and feeling all bt blown away as your record made his look like child's play, his work held up next to your own was the equivalent of holding up one of his daughter's drawings from the fridge door up beside the ‘Mona Lisa’ or ‘Starry Night’.

He was absolutely certain that you owned a little bit of his heart, even though he refused to acknowledge the jumps in his pulse when you caught his eye, or the way he wanted to reach out and hold your hand every time you got a little too close to him, because he was a grown-ass man, and a father at that, a would have been widower in addition, the little girl he had, having barely even reached the age of one when her mother had died on the holiday Mitch had taken her on to propose, never having gotten to see the event.

His heart had healed since then, he’d been forced to for his job and for the baby he loved more than anything, but having someone else around to project his feelings onto certainly hadn't hurt. He wasn’t the same man he had been five years ago, though. He was covered with scars and trauma, inside and out, with a chaotic and unpredictable job that many wouldn't understand and he was unable to disclose, and so finding someone else to be with was a hard task that he hadn't had any luck in.

He leaned up against the doorway, watching as his daughter cheered on, grunting a little as she threw her own fists in fake punches, before pulling out his phone for only a moment, taking a short video and catching the sweet moment to save forever, before calling out her name, and watching as her little head whipped around to give him her attention instead.

Little feet were dashing over to him, toy gun discarded with her bag as they leaned against the steps of leading up to the ring, and she launched herself up into the air, faithfully believing he would catch her, barely giving him time to swoop down and grab her, but he managed to. She was energetic and enthusiastic, a trait he recognised from himself, and he adjusted her in his arms, allowing her to crawl across his body like a climbing frame, until he had clambered up onto his shoulders, legs dangling down onto his chest as she held fistfuls of hair he needed or get cut, balancing carefully as he held onto her ankles, a giggle on her lips as he looked out from her new height.

“I’m bigger than everyone else now.”

“Yes, you are, Em. Are you ready to go?” She gave him a hum in reply, and he crossed the room to his mentor, who was now leaning with his arm folded on the edge of the ring and cheering everyone on, excitedly invested in the match that he was pointedly trying not to look at. Lifting her down from his shoulders, he crouched down to pick up the sparkly unicorn rucksack, putting the gun inside and handing it to her. “Go pick up all your bullets, princess, I’m not buying any more this month if you lose them all.”

“It’s not my fault I can’t find them in the street when we go out!” Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, and he tapped her nose with the tip of his finger gently.

“Shouldn’t shoot them out of the window then, should you?” She pouted, grumbling to herself as she made her way over to perform her cleanup duties, and he stood up to his full height, Stan facing him now. “Should only be gone about a week, not too bad, but I hate leaving Em for more than a few nights.”

“If you give me the number of your sitter, I can check in a few times with them.”

“I don’t have one anymore, she quit after the last one, saying Emma was too much for her’ with all the shit she does.” He frowned, remembering the summary that the nanny he’d had previously, saying that she was far too aggressive and imaginative, and that the girl never calmed down for even a second, and that she was simply too much for a person to handle.

He refused to dampen her spirit, and if nobody else would nurture her than he sure would, because whatever Emma wanted to be then that was her call, she didn’t need to be tamed. She was wild, and enthusiastic, and her mind never stopped working. She was an intelligent girl for her age, and Mitch kept intending to have her tested, but that came right behind getting a new nanny, which he still hadn't had time to do between trying to help her learn to read and write, find a good online school for her to attend, and keep up with his job to pay the bills.

Nobody said being a single dad was going to be easy.

“What about her grandparents?” Hurley mumbled, eyes flicking up to the sparring match taking place, before back to him, and Mitch felt his own face screw up.

“Katrina’s parents haven’t spoken to me since the funeral. They love her, and they send a letter once a year on her birthday that I’m collecting for when she’s old enough to understand them, but that can’t look at her without crying, and they can’t look at me.” Mitch shrugged, the pain of the event that had changed his life feeling nowhere near as aggressive as it once had, no longer ripping agony through his body like searing heat burning him from the inside out, but he still felt a little saddened at the thought of himself being the only family Emma ever had. “I have until tomorrow morning to find someone to look after her, and that doesn’t’ exactly inspire much confidence in my focus if I’m worried about the stranger caring for my baby girl.”

“I’ll do it.”

Mitch felt his breath hitch in his throat, a shadow falling over both of the men, before you were dropping down and feeding your legs through the elastic bands, leaning against them and reaching for your water bottle. You were panting front he exertion, skin shining a little from sweat, and somehow you still managed to look radiant, rendering Mitch barely able to catch his breath as you licked a stray drop of water from your lower lip and smiled at him.

“You need someone to look after Emma, right?”

“Uh, yeah.. that’s, um, yeah.”

“Well, I’m more than happy to do it.” You shrugged, and Stan clapped you on the shoulder, seeming satisfied with the solution, said little girl seeming to choose this moment to come back over, wrapping her arms around one of his legs as she rested a cheek against his thigh, and he dropped a hand down to brush through her hair comfortingly as she waited patiently. “I know your job, and I know your daughter. I’m good with kids, and I have a guest room, I’m more than happy to do it.”

You were staring at him expectantly, and everything within him seemed to go into panic mode, his eyes flicking between you, his daughter and Hurley. Emma was peering up at him, a sweet little face that was mostly confused, but totally happy to just wait for her dad to be ready, while you were narrowing your eyes a little as him as the time dragged on, his throat feeling dry, even drier when he noticed the scrutinising gaze Stan was giving him as he gaped like a fish. Swallowing thickly and licking over his lips, he fixed you with a smile, nodding his head and looking back down.

“What do you think, Em? You want to stay with (Y/N) for a few days while daddy goes away to fight some bad guys.”

She rubbed at her chin, making both you and Stan laugh at her gesture, before she was leaning in a little closer to you, voice coming out like a whisper. “Do you like spaghetti hoops?”

“I do.” You had whispered back, her face lighting up, the craze she’d been so attached to lately of the pasta circles in a tomato-y sauce seeming to seal the deal as she nodded rapidly. “Here, give me a minute to write down my number and address, and you can swing by later tonight, I’ll get everything set up when I get home.”

Mitch once again felt useless as he simply nodded, watching as you slipped out below the elastic ropes and found your bag, searching through for a pen, but not finding any paper. Instead, you pulled the cap off with your teeth, reaching for his arm and pushing up his sleeve, scrawling your number onto his skin, and tapping it with a triumphant sound when you were done.

“There! Just give me a text later, and I’ll send you my address, and we can sort everything out.”

He finally managed to find words, promising he would do so, giving you a simple thank you and mustering what he hoped was a smile and not a nervous grimace, before Emma was wrapping her hand in his, and pulling him towards the door, yelling her goodbyes over her shoulder as she reminded him that he had promised her ice cream.

The entire evening had felt like a blur to Mitch, like at some point he was going to wake up cursing himself for having a dream about getting your address and number all in one night, that he was going to see you outside of work for the first time in his life. It was a thrill, an adrenaline rush of fear and excitement all in one. Personal lives in the line of work you both shared were something to be kept sacred, protecting your secrets and guarding them to your chest, and to be so easily welcomed into yours meant you trusted him, but he wasn’t sure what he was ready to find. Would you be wearing a wedding band on your own time? Did you have pictures up with a boyfriend or girlfriend, or were you in fact, the opposite of everything he thought you to be.

He had absolutely no idea, his breath practically held in his throat as he rapped his knuckles against the door in a few swift knocks, hands place don his daughter’s shoulders as she rolled on the balls of her feet, far more laid back about it all, only having the excitement part of his fear and excitement bundle.

Swinging the door open, you somehow managed to look exactly the same and entirely different all in one. The usual tight ponytail you wore was gone, your hair falling freely around your shoulders, a ripple in it from where the elastic had held it, and your face was free of makeup or sweat and dirt, leaving you looking raw and natural, a softer edge to your appearance. You were clearly in your relaxing mode, he’d only ever seen you in one of two looks; business formal with pencil skirts and blazers and an officiality to your gaze that made him nervous or in gym gear as you kept your world-class abilities up to spec through rigorous training.

You were wearing a hoodie, and a pair of cycle shorts, socks that were reaching just over your knees covered half of your legs, and he cursed under his breath when you crouched over a little, the hem of you hoodie covering the shorts altogether and sending his mind spinning into a series of fantasies and wonderings that he absolutely could not get caught up in.

“Hey there, Emma.” She threw her arms around your neck, letting you hug her back a little as you fell down to your knees from the impact, struggling to wrap your arms around her and her beloved backpack before she was moving from your arms again, and peering around you into your apartment curiously, but never stepping over the threshold. He all but preened with pride as he watched his daughter look up at you, blinking sweetly as she waited to be invited inside instead of just barging into your house, the manners he’d been working on with her for almost a year clearly beginning to take effect. “You wanna’ come in and put your bag down? The couch is right through there.”

She buzzed past you the second you’d spoken the words, squealing with glee as she entered the new place she’d be exploring, and he managed to still his erratically beating heart, taming it down to a simple rhythm, and offering your hand to you to help you up from your crushed position to standing up again.

“Hey, Mitch.”

“Hey. I’m sorry about before, I just got caught off-guard that anyone would be willing to take her, you totally saved me on that, though.” He had practised the words in his head for the entire ride over here, his fingers flexing a little around the handles of the bag he held, filled with enough things to take care of Emma for a week. You only opened the door wider for him, inviting him inside, and he took a couple of steps forwards, the trained assassin in him immediately wanting to take in the environment, memorise everything in case he ever needed the knowledge. There was that one small part of him, however, that was searching for anything that might help him turn his feelings for you down, mute them a little, anything to make you seem a little less perfect in his eyes, but he couldn't find even a trace. “You, um, said you had a spare room? I can put Emma’s stuff away before I go, so you don’t have to unpack it.”

“Oh! Yeah, ‘course, my bad.” You took a step towards the living room, letting him call out to the young girl, who had already tipped out the contents of her toy bag onto the floor, and he cringed a little at the mess that had gathered up. “I wasn’t sure if she was scared of the dark, or anything, With a badass dad like you, I don’t imagine she’s scared of much, but kids are kids, right? I picked up a couple of night light things on my way home, and put them in the sockets around the house, in case she decided to get up in the night, or anything.”

“She’s a pretty heavy sleeper, she doesn't really wake up unless she has a nightmare, in which they’ll definitely help.”

Only a second later, Emma was barrelling into his side, knocking the breath from him as he staggered a little, her body practically bouncing as she weaved between his legs, and he scowled, shaking his he'd a little at her, but knowing he only had himself or blame for her sugar rush, having treated her to far more ice cream earlier than he should have.

It was a simple room - as guests rooms go, but Emma seemed to love it, unzipping her bag and ragging out her favourite blanket to spread over the bedsheets front he second that it had been released, a ‘Frozen’ blanket covering the white bedding in all the spots it reached, looking more like a misplace square in the middle of the large bed, and she star-fished across the centre of it as he busied himself with unpacking her clothes into the drawers, all the lower ones that she could reach, and making sure she could see where he’d put everything for her.

“I have a big bed now, like yours, daddy.” She was more than contented, and Mitch sat down beside her, watching as he rolled onto her stomach, before crawling over to take a seat in his lap, smiling up at you widely as you leaned against the wall and watched the two have their moment. “Do you have a big bed, too?”

“I have the biggest bed, ever! I could fit, like, seven Emma’s in it?”

She giggled as you stepped over, tickling at her sides a little, and he caught a whiff of the sweet shampoo you must’ve used only recently, the essence of coconuts and mangoes drifting into the air at your close proximity. “Only seven? Daddy’s bed could fit eight!”

“No way, that’s totally impossible!”

“It’s way possible!” She shouted, her voice echoing in his ear as he winced at the volume, but it didn’t dampen the smile on her face as he watched the two of you laugh together like it had been the funniest joke in the world. “Can I show you my dolls? I have to get them ready first, though.”

“Well, I will wait right here until they're ready, then!”

She squirmed in his arms, and he let her go, leaving just the two of you, and you took a seat beside him on the bed, bumping your shoulder to his for only as second, and it was still enough to make his heart skip a beat.

“She’ll be totally okay, Mitch. I promise, I won’t let anything happen to her, she’ll have a great time.” Your words soothed him a little, the familiar sense of feeling like his throat was closing up every time he had to leave the most precious thing in his life, but he felt a little more reassured by your voice and your statement.

“I know she will, I trust you.”

The words meant more to him than you knew, it was hard for him to trust people but for whatever reason it was, he trusted you with everything he had, before reaching for the bag, still a few items laying in it.

“This is her teddy, she’s going to insist she’s a big girl and doesn’t need it because she wants to impress you, but she can’t sleep without it. Also, I wrote down some stuff in this notebook for you, as well as the emergency numbers for her doctor, and such. If you need it, her allergies are in here too, and just some information you might need..” You took it from him, the teddy sitting in your lap as you flicked through the notebook, grinning a little as you settled on one page.

“Favourite pizza toppings; chicken and sweetcorn?”

He shrugged, grinning a little as heat flooded his cheeks, but you brushed your fingers over the pages, nibbling on your lower lip as you read some of the words he’d scribbled down, and his eyes were drawn into the action. You were talking, he could tell because your lips were moving, and he had to tear his eyes up from your mouth before you caught him staring, and when he managed to tune back in, he was grateful to hear you were just reading aloud, and weren’t saying anything important that he’d missed.

Emma was calling you through, claiming the doll show to be ready, and he couldn't help but be happy that she had settled in so quickly, making him all that much more confident and secure in leaving her here with you for the time he was away. He followed after you dumbly as you carried the notebook away, placing it on the kitchen counter as you passed by, before he could see his daughter, kneeling on the floor and positioning her toys, the row of dolls lined up along the edge of the coffee table.

“Em, I have to go now, are you going to come say goodbye?”

She turned to look at him, her smile falling away for only a moment, before a smaller one was taking its place guilt clawing at his insides as he watched her stand up and wobble her way over to him on shaky little legs, before lifting her arms up for him to lift her into his arms.

Her little arms wrapped around his neck, legs sealing to his waist as she buried her face into his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, short little puffs of breath washing over his skin, and Mitch buried his nose in his daughter's hair, hearing you leave the room to give them their space, a nation that he appreciated from you as he felt tears burn behind his eyes.

“Miss you ‘ready, daddy.”

Her words were muffled by the way she was positioned, a breathy laugh leaving him as he nodded, peppering the expanse of the side of her head and face that he could reach with little kisses. “I’m gonna’ miss you a whole bunch, princess, but I’ll be back real soon, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

“You’re going to be good, right?”

“The best, I swears it.” She pulled back, holding out one of her pinkies for him, and he adjusted her to rest her weight on the forearm wrapped under her legs, before linking his pinky with hers, and kissing their joined hands.

“That's my good girl, now you can go and play.”

She was happy to be let back down to the floor, and you reappeared, giving him a gentle smile before walking him the door, dread and anticipation filling him as he turned back to look at his little girl, waving when she looked up at him, pausing her playing.

“I’ll be as quick as I can, and thank you so much for doing this.”

“Any time, really, I don’t mind even one bit.” Your words were honest and true, making him feel a little reassured, before he could hear the scuffling of socks on the carpet as Emma appeared behind you, tugging on your hand before raising her arms a little, mailing when you picked her up. Balancing her on your hip, she rested her head on your shoulder, holding on with one hand and reaching out a flat palm towards him, wiggling her fingers the best way she knew how to.

It was far too domestic, the way the two of you already had a dynamic that was intimate and sweet, his breath getting caught in his lungs as he looked at the pair of you, his imagination spiralling to places he didn’t have time to go to right now, but he knew would creep up on him later when he was on the plane. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter's head, and suppressing the urge to look up and brush his lips to your own, settling for a simple nod, before swallowing thickly as he tried to force himself to move away from you both.

“I heard someone’s favourite pizza toppings were chicken and sweetcorn. How about we go inside and have a little look for some takeout places, yeah? You want pizza?”

You looked up at him for the approval, the distraction he was grateful for as his daughter’s wide eyes finally left him, because if she had stared for much longer he may have broken down entirely and stayed, but now it was easier. The spell was broken as he stepped away, mumbling a final goodbye to you both, before watching as the door closed, your smile and Emma’s wave to see him off, before he was able to release his breath, snap himself out of it, and walk away.

The second he’d landed, he was out of the plane and into the car, snatching up his bag and leaving the runway, encouraging the man sent to pick him up to speed up a little as he headed back towards the main building from the airport. He had to debrief, but it was a quick thing to accomplish, most of the work being documents online that could easily be completed and submitted as he wrote up a report of what happened, but more importantly, he’d have his daughter back by then.

The car seemed like it was only getting slower and slower, despite the fact that he knew it wasn’t, and as they finally pulled up into the parking lot, his stomach finally being able to unknot and relax as he saw his daughter, her hand linked through Stan’s as the man held a face like thunder - as usual - while Emma talked his ear off, uncaring of whether he wanted to hear the words or not.

From the moment he had the door open, he could hear her racing forward to meet him, and Mitch dropped down to his knees to catch his daughter’s body as she hurled herself into him, a collision that knocked the breath from his lungs, but he clung to her tightly. Little arms wrapped around his neck as he sealed his own around her little frame, one hand cupping the back of her head, smoothing her hair down as she gave him a tight hug, before pulling back and holding his face in her hands, scrunching up her face as she pressed a kiss to the end of his nose.

“You’re home!”

“I’m home, for a long time, too, I hope.” He glanced up at Stan, who was pulling out a cigarette from the box behind him, standing back from Emma now that he could smoke without her being too close, and lighting up the death stick in his mouth, making sure to blow the smoke up above his head, just in case. Looking down at his daughter, his brows furrowed at the sparkly blue and pink tutu around her waist, layers of netting sticking out with gems and sequins sewn along the waistline, it was a real eyesore, and exactly the kind of thing a child would adore. “I’ve never seen this one before, where did you get it?”

He picked his girl up, balancing her across his front as he stood up to his full height, and taking his bag with him. “(Y/N) bought it for me! I wanted to play princesses, but I didn't have my dresses. She let out a sigh, smoothing little hands over the netting to press it down, before it was popping up again a moment later, and she seemed satisfied with whatever actions she’d taken.

“And where is (Y/N)?”

Emma simply shrugged, choosing to busy herself with taking fistfuls of his hair and running her fingers through it before patting it down, and his attention moved to Stan, watching as he smoked quietly and watched the scene. “I took over looking after Emma this morning, she got a call in the middle of the night from Irene, a lead on her big case that she thought had gone cold last year. Popped back up, a sudden occurrence. She wasn’t going to go, but she had to, we both knew it.”

Mitch could only nod, knowing how hard you’d worked on that case, and how much it really did need to be closed, and his heart warmed at the fact you would give it all up to care for Emma, but he completely understood. It didn't stop the spark of disappointment that shot through him when he realised he wouldn’t get a chance to thank you personally, however, because he’d been particularly hoping that he would be functional enough to maybe try and string some words together, and ask if he could repay you by taking you out to dinner.

His confidence was already draining from him, the adrenaline and victory high he’d been on that had spurred the idea on the first place was melting away, and he sighed out a little, not knowing when the next time he’d get to see you would be.

“Shame, would’ve been nice to see her.” He cleared his throat as Hurley’s eyes narrowed on him for the comment, and he shrugged his free shoulder. “Thank her for looking after Em, check how it all went, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” The man didn’t seem to believe him, but he didn't comment on it, instead dropping the butt of the cig to the floor and stomping it out, before opening the back of his car with a click of his car keys, the bags he had dropped his daughter off with were sitting in the back. “Well she’s gone by now, but I have Emma’s stuff for you, now get in the car so I can take you both home. There’s a reason I didn’t have my own children, y’know.”

Mitch scowled at him, glancing at his daughter, who seemed to know exactly what he meant and was uncaring as she grinned wickedly at Stan, who glared back equally at the girl, before offering her a smile.

“C’mon, Emma, I’m not moving your car seat from the front, your dad can ride in the back.”

She clapped her hands with a loud squeal, before squirming from his arms and into Stan’s, letting him toss his bag in the back and slam the trunk shut, before clambering into the back seat as his superior started up the car.

It was two months before Mitch got to see you again, and he worried for you every single day because of it. Emma would not stop asking about you, she’d spent at least the entirety of the first month telling him about everything the two of you had gotten up to over your time spent together on repeat, until he felt like he could tell the stories himself.

Emma had decided that her latest obsessions had moved on from playing house to holding tea parties, her dollies no longer being her children but instead being her guests, and the backpack carrying plastic guns and princess crowns had been swapped out for a miniature briefcase with a portable tea set, one that flipped over to make a table for her to sit at. The entire set had cost him over a hundred dollars, and he was absolutely certain that he could have constructed himself a better one for ten dollars and a trip to target, but he didn’t have the time for that.

Emma had taken to setting up the table beside the ring, the boxing back, or the equipment that he was working on whenever he came to the gym, Irene beginning to get at him to find a new nanny so that no children were wandering around the building anymore, but he had seen her accept a fake plastic cup on multiple occasions, and even once caught her letting Emma label files with the label maker in her office, so he wasn’t taking the threat all that seriously.

Other agents had chipped in too, because they didn't have the willpower to resist a four-year-old with pigtails blinking up at them, wide-eyed with a pout as she holds a painted plastic teapot and an empty plastic mug to match. No matter how frequently her attention was taken away - a fact he was entirely grateful for, because he had no idea how to attend a ‘tea party’ - for a split second, her questions always came down to when you’d be back, and Mitch was beginning to lose his mind a little bit, running out of excuses.

He was pounding away on a punching bag, his daughter sitting beside him and singing a little tune to herself in the almost empty gym as she occasionally offered him ‘sips of tea’ from the empty cup, before Stan was bursting in through the doors with extreme force and speed, and Mitch’s stomach twisted at the idea that he was either about to get bollocked, or given an assignment.

Pulling up the edge of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, he placed a hand flat on the sandbag to bring it's swinging to a stop.

It wasn’t him that Stan was looking for, though, it was Emma. He offered the girl a smile, an expression reserved for her and her only, as she spun around to him, thrusting a teacup into his hand as he came to a stop and crouched before her. “I have a surprise for you, kiddo.”

“You do?” He nodded, and she squealed excitedly, pulling a doll away from one of the seats on the floor by its foot, tossing it to the side in a way that Mitch had certainly done with actual people, a smirk flicking at his lips as the slightly macabre thought of ‘like father, like daughter’ flickered across his mind, watching as she falsely filled Stan’s cup up with tea. “What is the surprise, Mr Stan?”

She sounded exasperated already, and both of them chuckled at her strained voice as she all but bounced on her feet. “Guess who’s back?”

Mitch felt his own heart skip a beat, licking over his lips and trying to control himself from jumping into the conversation, choosing instead to unwrap his hands of his boxing tape slowly, pretending like he wasn’t quite as invested in this news as he actually was. Stan confirmed Emma’s guess when she finally reached your name, coming third in her guesses behind Scooby-Doo and Princess Sofia, and he wasn’t sure when either of the fictional characters had gone missing, but apparently, in her mind, they were a dire missing person’s case.

He only had to wait around five minutes, before he caught glimpses of you going along, two interns following behind you, a whirl of beauty and grace, before you were entering the gym, dead set on making your way towards the lockers and showers.

He could see you more clearly now, anger on your face as blood and dirt covered you almost from head to toe, and you still managed to look beautiful. One of the junior agents following behind you was holding up a phone, microphone pointed towards you as you spoke, listing off every detail of the case that you possibly could, as the other held out a packet of antiseptic wipes and a plastic bag, each time you fingers plucked another one from the packet to scrub at your skin, the old one being collected.

With a black eye and a bust lip, he still thought that you looked beautiful, the stunning hair and makeup up-do that you must’ve had done was completely destroyed, but the silk gown hugging your body seemed almost intact, save for the blood spatters and dirt, and you ran your fingers through your hair, pulling out the clips holding it up and teasing the knots in the strands.

Every further look he took, you seemed more and more exhausted and battered, the bruises on your arms a chest obvious to him now, the scratches and cuts that were inflamed and red, poorly patched up with in the field medical supplies, a miss matching collection of band-aids and gauze, and Mitch almost had to cover his daughter's ears as he realised just how many curse words and language he wasn’t ready from her to hear yet were spilling from her mouth, but you beat him to it, mouth snapping shut.

You’d looked around now, noticing the three of them in the corner, and came to a full halt, a deep sigh leaving you as you met Emma’s eyes, his daughter staring up at you in awe and wonder. Lifting a hand, you waved your fingers at her in a sweet wave, dismissing the two agents who were quick to scurry away. You kicked off your heels, leaving them discarded on the floor as you unstrapped a gun from your thigh, dropping it and the holster to the floor, before holding your arms out to her.

“Princess, be careful! (Y/N) is-”

He cringed, words a little too late as he watched Emma barrel herself into you, almost knocked flat on your back as you caught her in your kneeled position, and he heard the breath forced from your lungs as a whine.

“Injured. She’s injured, Em, just like daddy sometimes is when he comes home. We have to be gentle, remember?” She simply nodded, pulling back a little with a soft apology under her breath, and you brushed her hair back, pinching her cheek and letting her take your hand as you stood back up. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve been waiting to see this little cutie again for months, anyway.” You brushed it off, but he could hear the tiredness in your voice and see the slight wobble as you studio up, swaying despite not moving and walking, and he worried a little more for you. Stan placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, wishing you a congratulations before following in the direction that the other agents had gone, and leaving the three of you alone in the room. Emma took her hand from yours, pulling off her trainers to place her tiny feet into your heels, trying to balance and shuffle forwards, and you reached a hand out to steady yourself on his shoulder, shaking your head clear a little bit. “I haven’t slept for, like, three days. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, you still look nice. Beautiful, really. You look great.”

You raised your brows at him for a second, looking down at yourself and taking it all in, before a soft laugh was leaving your lips. “I look a mess, but I do appreciate the confidence boost.”

He joined in with your laughs, his heart feeling completely full, and he swallowed thickly to try and choke down his anxiety. You both turned to watch Emma shuffle around, taking tiny steps as she found her rhythm in your heels, looking adorable as she carried around a teacup in one hand and two massively oversized heels in the other.

“Will you stay for tea with us?”

“Oh, Em, I think (Y/N) is probably a bit tired tonight, mayb-”

You squeezed his shoulder, his head cutting to turn to you, and you shook your head at him a little bit. “I would love to, Emmy. Did you make the tea yourself?”

She gasped, nodding excitedly as she abandoned her heels and dashed over to the table again, finding another cup and setting you a place, getting lost in her own world as she listed off the different kind of teas she ‘had’, the list sounding exactly like the aisles at Walmart she’d forced him to stand in for thirty minutes as she memorised them three days ago. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, totally. Why don’t you go shower up, and then when you get back, you can drive me home, because I’m pretty sure I’ll fall asleep behind the wheel if I drive.”

He grinned, ducking his head for only a second, before confirming that he would. “I won’t be long. Promise.”

The next few weeks felt like a slow slide turning into an avalanche, like he’d been slipping on his feet a little for the past few years and was no tumbling like a cartoon down a snowy mountainside, becoming an ever-growing snowball before the brick wall he was bound to hit into sooner or later.

He had been perfectly capable of keeping his feelings under wraps while you barely interacted, greeting one another in the corridor when he was able to pass with simple grunts and on syllable responses, but now you talked. He had somehow managed to make a friend of you, your smiling face every time he passed you by making him feel like he was heating up from the inside, fire bursting from his fingertips anytime, and he wondered if he looked as red in the face as he felt each time.

Mitch could now confirm that without a doubt, he was head over heels in love with you, and you had absolutely no idea. At this point, he didn’t really have anything left within himself to even chastise his heart for making this decision against logic and reason’s advisement, because you were absolutely everything he needed. He never had to lie to you about where he was, or what he was doing, and when he'd had a particularly rough day or assignment, you understood what he needed, sitting with him quietly and swapping the coffee that made him jittery out for a calming camomile tea. You loved his daughter, and she loved you, and you’d managed to support him along his single-fatherhood like nobody else had, making everything seem a little bit easier, because he had a friend to go through it with.

You were always willing to offer a helping hand, a comforting comment or a funny joke to cheer him up, and you’d never said no at the chance of seeing Emma. Said little girl had attached herself to you like a barnacle, wanting to spend as much time with you as she possibly could, and it was both a blessing and a curse for him. On the one hand, any time you were around, Emma didn’t want his mediocre guest skills, because as it had turned out, you were an excellent tea pastry guest. You had the popped up little pinky, and the small talk to match, and you’d even somehow found a set of saucers that match the pattern to give to her when her fifth birthday had passed by. The problem was, when you were sitting on the gym floor and drinking fake tea with his little girl, his concentration was anywhere but the sparring matches and boxing bags, and he often found himself on his back and pinned to the floor by recruits, or being smacked in the face by a bag that swung back at him with force.

His body and face were constantly littered with healing bruises, and there was no chance that Emma was ever going to take her sights off of you, because she had decided that you were her new role model, his chest aching at the thought that he couldn't provide a mother figure for his daughter, that she was growing up and scrabbling to learn front the women around her.

He thought it was adorable that she’d started wearing her dresses more, just so she could tuck her nerf gun into the waistband of her leggings in claims that she wanted to match the way wore your gun under your dress too, or the way she’d started trying to tie her own hair up in the same style you did, but she needed more.

She needed someone to teach her how to paint her nails when she was older and help her pick out an outfit for prom, and to teach her about the women’s side of things, because Mitch still didn’t understand the difference between pads with wings and the ones without, and at what age you’re supposed to move onto tampons, and why a skincare routine needed to be so intense, and what the fuck purple shampoo was, and he didn’t know what to do about it all.

Most of all, he was just glad to have someone back in his life that didn’t bark orders at him or rely on him. Emma was a handful, and he loved her with all of his heart, and Stan was a good enough friend but still a tough superior, and he hadn't had a friend of his own in years, and sometimes, when he finally got to sit down on his couch with a cold beer in hand after putting Emma to bed and having some time to himself, he let his mind wander.

He’d daydream about having someone with him, having you with him, having a friend to talk to. He was lonely in the nights, and when the bed felt cold, and when he never had anyone to share his thoughts with that Emma wasn’t old enough to understand. Being closed off had always helped him, because his number one priority always had been and always would be his daughter, he didn’t want anyone coming into his life that she may not like or that may hurt her, and yet Emma had chosen you all on her own. She had seen you, picked you out by hand and decided that you were everything she wanted to be when she grew up, and he couldn't blame her in the slightest, because he couldn't imagine a better role model.

All of thee thoughts seemed to come spilling over one day when he had intended to say a simple thank you, catching you just before you’d moved away to hit the showers, while Emma was still built giggling with Stan as he helped her fire her latest new child-friendly firearm addition at the newest targets, one of the interns moving around with a bullseye on his chest as she shot foam bullets at him.

“I just wanted to say thanks.”

“For what?” You were a little bit breathless and sweaty, and you were licking your lips on repeat as you tried to get them to stay wet after your intense workout, and his mind was short-circuiting a little bit.

“Everything. Lately.” He barely even paused for breath, before his mouth was continuing without his mind's approval. “I know you have no obligation to us, or to my Em, but she looks up to you, she adores you, and I think it’s good for her to have a mom-type role.” His eyes widened as you laughed a little, and he felt like he was choking on his own tongue as he tried to figure out how to backpedal from that statement. “Oh, God, not that you are her mom, y’know, just that she has a female role-model, because she needs it, I can’t imagine anyone better for her to want to aspire to be like than you, you're an incredible influence!”

With a hand on his arm, you cut off his rambling, and his ears were ringing with the pressure slamming about inside his head, the internal loop of his thoughts now just have become a loud screaming that accurately represented how he felt.

Your lips were pursed together now as you tried to hold in a grin, your thumb rubbing over his bicep in what he was sure was supposed to be a comforting motion but was actually just driving him more and more insane, the domesticity of the sweet actions meant he was definitely reading a little to far into them, but he didn’t care, because he was taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down, matching the rise and fall of his shoulders with yours, until subconsciously, he was able to relax once again.

“I always kinda’ wanted a kid, but in this line of work, you don’t really get the chance to meet anyone, never mind meet anyone that wants kids themselves, so I’m glad she’s taken an attachment to me.” You seemed to panic a little at your own words there, his lips flicking up at the sides, in knowing he wasn’t the only one struggling with his words right now. “I’m not trying to steal your baby Mitch, I just love her to bits, and I’m more than happy spending time with her. She’s an amazing little girl, and you’ve done such a good job raising her. You are a fantastic father, Mitch.”

He took a moment to wonder if ‘heart eyes’ were a real thing, or whether there were little birds flying around his head, maybe a massive neon sign above him that simply read ‘I am so fucking in love with you that it hurts’, because that is how he felt, hearing you compliment his parenting abilities, his daughter and their family all in one. His voice felt hoarse as he tried to speak, coughing a little to clear it, but unable to tear his gaze away from yours as he spoke the raspy words, voice cracking a little; “Thank you.”

“I’m going to go wash up, alright?”

He could only nod, his eyes widening to the size of golf balls when your hand slipped up from his arm, across his shoulder and to his cheek, before your lips were pressing to the other, brushing smoothly over rough stubble in a soft peck, before turning away from him and disappearing before his very sight behind the set of double doors leading to the shower rooms. He knew his face was red this time, knew that he was absolutely shocked as he felt like he was going to combust at any moment, whilst also wanting nothing more than to let his weak knees give way so that he could collapse down into the cold floor until his instincts were no longer in overdrive.

Turning around, he was even more mortified to find Emma balanced on Hurley’s hip, watching with a grin as his mentor stared at him with a wide and knowing smirk.

“Daddy and (Y/N) sittin’ in a tree!”

He fixed his daughter with a stern look, taking a step over, and dread filled him when his boss chuckled, before taking a deep breath, and he already knew what was coming next, the two of them chanting the rhyme together;

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

People began to look over at them from the sheer volume of the combined voices, and he snatched his daughter away, scowling at his mentor as he did. He was an assassin, for fuck’s sake, he didn’t have to listen to this shit. Once he knew she wouldn't see it, Mitch was holding his finger up to flip off the older man, before ducking down to scoop up his daughter’s things, and fleeing from the gym before he had to listen to any more of Stan’s teasing, the now knowing for sure that Mitch had one very big weak spot.

That moment had been the result of over a month’s worth of teasing since, smirks in his direction anytime you were within Mitch’s general presence, and like some high school chain of gossip, Stan had passed the information onto Irene, who had told her IT guy and her personal assistant, and he wasn’t sure how many other people knew by now, but it had to be at least half of the people he ever interacted with. Which was a fair fucking amount.

Now, he really did feel like a high schooler with a crush all over again.

He was actively trying not to think about it, instead watching Emma colour in one of the tigers in her colouring book with a green crayon and blue stripes, red eyes that were a little bit haunting in his opinion, when the door knocked quietly and repetitively, and they both froze up a little. Emma was out of her chair like a dash, though, racing toward the front door before he could stop her, and Mitch felt his heart rise up in his throat as she reached for the handle, swinging it open to the unknown arrival and possible threat, before his breath was hitching in his throat.

He wasn’t sure if he was nervous, elated, confused, or a mixture of all three at seeing you standing on his doorstep. A pair of jeans and a baggy jumper, you hair sitting naturally instead of pulled back tightly once again, but this time you wore a little bit of makeup, and you looked softer than he’d ever seen you, possibly even passing for a simple civilian, covered from being a top-secret agent of the highest calibre for just one night.

“Uh, hi?”

He hated the way his word came out, wishing he’d managed to sound more welcoming, but instead he’d managed to sound on edge and crass, your brows furrowing a little as you looked at him, before shaking your head fondly. “This was Emmy’s doing, wasn’t it?”

“What is this, exactly?”

You opened your mouth to reply, before the girl he’d been trying to hold behind him damaged to break free, a high-pitched yell on her lips as she wrapped her arms around your legs, crushing her face into her stomach as she laughed excitedly. “You came! You really came over!”

You crouched down when she pulled away, a smile on your lips, but it didn’t reach your eyes, and Emma placed her hands on your shoulders when you were at her height. “You have been lying and keeping secrets, little missy!” You tickled at her sides lightly, and she crumpled into laughter, before you were continuing. “Your daddy did not invite me over for dinner, did he? You can’t just go around inviting people to dinner!”

“I didn’t lie! Or keep secrets, swearsies!” She stuck her pinky out in your direction, and you didn’t accept it immediately, making her sigh over-dramatically. “Daddy says surprises don’t count as lying if it’s a good surprise, and I know you’re his friend and playdates are always fun and I wanted to surprise him.”

He knew she was trying to whisper, but wasn’t doing an excellent job of it, and he felt his frown slipping away, instead smoothing a hand over her hair to draw her attention up to him. “You’d better go and set an extra place at the table, Em. Clear away your drawings, and later, me and you and going to talk about inviting people over to the house without my permission, okay?”

She frowned, her entire face screwing up with the motion, but she nodded nonetheless, and you shifted to show the tote bag that was tucked under your arm, before pulling out a green bottle, a fancy label on the front as you handed it over to her, Emma’s face lighting up as he dashed inside with the gift.

“Did you just give my daughter a bottle of wine?”

You gasped, standing up to your full height before him, shaking your head fervently. “Of course not! I gave her an old wine bottle filled up with sparkling grape soda so she can feel all grown up!”

“You did all that just for Emma’s impromptu dinner party?” You shuffled from foot to foot, nodding a little, and he felt his heart melt as an entirely new side of you shone through, a new you that was different to the confident and bold woman he knew while on duty, and leaving him with a slightly anxious sweetheart in an oversized jumper. “That’s fucking adorable, you know that, right?”

“I’m not adorable.” You mumbled, and he laughed, reaching out to pinch your cheek before you swatted it away, and the energy between you both felt completely different. He wasn’t nervous with the real you, he was only nervous with the work you. This side of you put him at ease, this side of you made him feel comfortable and relaxed, and he didn’t feel his heart try to burst out of his chest too hard when you smiled back at him this time. “Are you sure you want me here? I can go home, I should have known better, texted you beforehand to check, or something.”

“Do you mind eating dinosaur chicken nuggets and smiley face waffles?”

“That sounds amazing, actually.” He beamed, swinging the door open a little wider for you, and welcoming you into his home, your shoes being toed off by the door as you pulled the sleeves down over your hands, before spinning to him with a sudden intake of breath as he closed the door and remembered to put the highest locks on again. “I bought something for you, too.”

“Is it wine in a grape soda bottle?”

“You wish.” You teased presenting him with a bottle of wine, the cork still in it, and he took it from you, grinning as he looked it over, before meeting your curious gaze, and putting your nerves to rest.

“We can have it after Emma goes to bed, maybe?”

It was a bold move, and he knew it, but at this point, he didn’t have much of his dignity or pride left to lose, and it seemed to pay off as you leaned into him a little, letting out a light breath. “I’d love that.”

He placed the bottle of red down on the coffee table, leaving it there before he had a hand on your lower back, and was guiding you through to the kitchen where Emma was trying to work out which side of the plate the knife was supposed to go on, and which side was the fork.

As much as he admired and adored his daughter’s intentions, he really wished he known, because Mitch found himself dishing up the most un-sophisticated dinner ever, and standing in a slightly messy kitchen to match a slightly messy apartment, covered in children’s toys and carpets he hadn't vacuumed in almost two weeks, wearing sweatpants and a shirt with a hole in the arm that was faded from all the wear and tear it had seen over the years.

He did the best he could, though, because this was the kind of moment he never thought he’d get to have with you, and he busied himself with splitting up the meal, taking all the brontosaurus' and triceratops into your and his plates, because Emma only liked the t-rex’s and the pterodactyls, claiming they tasted different. Arranging them around the outside, he filled the middle with the number of smiley faces that she’d actually at, despite knowing she’d argue for more. Fishing out the ketchup, he squirted the sauce out, shaping it in a couple of hearts, before picking up her plate and placing it down in front of her, placing a kiss to the top of her head.

Your plate was next, the bottle of ketchup going down into the middle of the table as he sat down opposite you. As predicted, Emma complained about the quantities, before tucking in, constantly talking with her mouthful as she tried to add to the conversation. He drank sparkling grape soda from an old wine bottle with you both, and watched as Emma told you everything she could possibly think of that you may not already know, before offering to show off her bedroom to you after dinner.

He both hated and loved how naturally you bonded with his daughter, and how seeing you sitting across from him eating kids meals and having a biased thumb war with his five-year-old at the dinner table felt like something that was meant to be in his life, and definitely something he knew he could get used to. You helped clean up, standing by his side and washing the pots as he dried and put them away, much to your insistence as he told you you didn't have to, and Emma pinned up her blue and green demon-tiger on the fridge, before clearing away her crayons and going to clean her teeth.

You let her give you the ‘grand tour’ of her bedroom as he leaned in the doorway, trying not to think about how he’d very much like to give you the grand tour of his bedroom, and distracting himself by picking out the bedtime story he’d read to her once she was settled under the covers.

He found you again once the girl was asleep, flicking out the lights and finding you sitting on his couch, passing your time by quietly reading the book he’d had out on the coffee table, seemingly already further through it than he’d had the chance to get in over a week, but closing it up when he sat down beside you, two real wine glasses and a corkscrew in hand as he offered one to you.

You shifted as he sat down, resting your feet in his lap once he’d popped the cork out, whispering a quiet ‘thank you’ once your glass had been filled, and just like that, you were once again dragging him down into that hazy feeling he’d spent the entire night in, leaning his head on the cushion, and letting the first things that came to mind spill from his mouth. The conversation took off from there, starting as you conversed the book he had out, and moving to other books, before movies and TV shows, general likes and dislikes, learning one another slowly.

Everything you told him made him like you a little bit more, your quirks and sharp edges, a kind of devotion finding a place in his heart that he never thought he’d feel again as you continued on, before the topic had switched to the future. He spilled his fears, that he wanted Emma to do private elementary schooling, but to attend an actual middle and high school, to get the full experience like she deserved, but that he also just wanted to protect her from the entire world. He confessed that he constantly felt like he was failing, tearing up when he told you about how he was certain he couldn't give her as much as she deserved, leaning into your hand when you wiped away the tear that fell free, and you spilled your own wishes to him.

Everything before the trauma that had landed you in the CIA at a younger age than him, and that no relationship had ever worked out for you, because you could never get past the ‘so, what do you do for a living?’ stage, and could never move in with someone, plan dates, or make a future. You told him about how you still wanted the same little things all little girls wanted, a pretty wedding and a devoted spouse and a beautiful child to raise into the world and add to society, to leave a legacy behind in the form of a beautiful person who would live their own life, and that you worried you’d never get it.

By the end of the bottle, the two of you were more than tipsy, and he felt like he'd known you forever, his body pressed to yours, and an arm wrapped around you as your head leaned on his shoulder, deep sighs leaving you both.

“I’m sorry if tonight was a total fail.”

You shifted, just slightly, before raising a hand, weaving your fingers with his on the hand sitting over your shoulder. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s been.. a while since I last took a pretty woman out for dinner, and it isn’t supposed to be soda and chicken nuggets, and you shouldn’t wear sweatpants, that’s for sure.” You turned a little, pressing the rumble of your laugh into his shoulder, and he didn't even have enough inhibition to be embarrassed about his lack of filter.

“Tell you what, Mitch, if you want to take me out to dinner, then I will dress up all pretty to be on your arm. But, for the record, I am more than happy to spend a dinner date with you and Emma eating kid’s food, in sweatpants and hoodies.” He whined a little under his breath, before pulling back enough to look at you, and resting his forehead on your own.

“Do you have any idea how perfect you are?”

Your breath hitched a little from his words, and he twisted his head, enough to bump his nose with your own as he tasted your breath on his lips, licking over his own and working up the nerve to close his mouth in against your own, slot them together in a simple kiss.

He didn’t get the chance, before you were both jumping apart in slight shock when Emma’s bedroom door clicked open, the two of you watching the girl shuffle down the hall, rubbing at her eyes, entirely unaware of her surroundings as she moved into the bathroom, the door closing behind her. The atmosphere felt entirely shattered, his confidence shooting back down to the floor, the startle from his daughter sobering him up a little, now.

“I should go, it’s probably quite late.”

He only nodded, grabbing the empty bottle and the glasses, running them through to the kitchen and leaving them for himself to sort in the morning, before meeting you by the front door. You were tugging your shoes back on, your hood pulled up over your head to fight the cold that waited outside, and your bag on your arm again.

“I meant it, though. I had an amazing night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, pressing a kiss to his cheek again, this one lingering, you forehead bumping his temple as you pulled back, before you were waving to him and walking away toward the stairs, letting him watch until you were sealed within the box and taken from his sights, and he locked the front door once again.

When he turned, Emma was standing there, her thumb in her mouth as she stared up at him, and he reached down, plucking it from between her lips and wiping it off, crouching down before her.

“Do you love (Y/N)?” He all but choked on his breath, staring down at the little girl in shock, before she yawned again, covering her mouth and shrugging her shoulders. Lifting her arms up, she allowed Mitch to pick her up, flicking off the lights in the house as he went, heading away with a destination of her bedroom as her face settled into his neck. “I love (Y/N). She's my bestest friend.”

He placed her down onto the mattress delicately, the nightlight in her room casting a soft pink glow over her features, and he smiled sadly as he looked at her, little eyes fluttering shut as she snuggled back into her blankets. He could see so much of Katrina in her features, sure that they would only develop more as she grew older, but it no longer hurt to look at her like it did in the first year, and he no longer felt that same pang of pain in his heart at the flash of her face across his mind, just nostalgia that made his heart slow a little, for only a second, in memory of someone it had lost.

In addition, though, he could see so much of you in her personality. His little girl was brave, and confident, and would be truly unstoppable one day, and he loved it, stroking his fingers over her hair and smiling a little when she opened his eyes to peer at him curiously, still waiting for an answer from him.

“I do. I love her too, princess.” She smiled to herself like she’d been told the world’s biggest secret, tucking her face into her pillow some more as sleep began to come back to claim her. “She’s special. She’s like.. like-”

“A queen!”

He laughed a little at her words, finding the teddy bear that had fallen from the bed to the carpet and tucking it under her arm, raising a brow in question. “A queen?”

“I’m the princess.” She murmured, the nickname he gave her so fondly rolling from her lips. “That means you’re the king, and (Y/N) can be the queen.”

The stinging realisation that she was searching for another figure in anyone that she could find made him ache with freezing cold ice from head to toe, his eyes welling up a little bit as he tried to hold a brave face, kissing her forehead as he stood up, bidding her a goodnight as her breathing went shallow, and closing the door again behind him.

“Daddy, can you get married?”

Emma was holding up the last of her Haribo sweets on her finger, before chewing the gummy ring off, and he turned to look at her, raising his head from his work, before turning to glare at Stan as he snickered. “Did you set this up?”

“I did nothing!”

He peered at his daughter's iPad, another scene from ‘Frozen’ up on the screen as Anna and Hans’ voices barely reached his ears through the headphones she’d taken off, and he let out a deep sigh, Stan texting on his phone and ignoring them both, and Mitch placed down the pen for the work he was signing off on. “I want to get married, daddy.”

“One day, princess.”

“I want you to get married, too. Why can’t we have a wedding, daddy?” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, before giving his full attention to his daughter. He wasn’t sure how to answer, or what to say, but she was staring up at him hopefully as she nibbled on a gummy bear, the crown on her head tipping a little bit to the side, and he reached out to place it on her head properly again.

“We can have a wedding if you want to, baby.” He couldn't help it, but her little hands were clapping together excitedly and her face lit up, and he didn’t regret the choice at all. “Stan will officiate.”

“I will do no such thing!” The man insisted, but Emma ignored that, only getting more excited as her hands became fists while she cheered.

“Yay, Mr Stan!”

He glared at Mitch, who only smirked back at him, signing his name in confirmation at the bottom of the papers and finishing them off, the man growling under his breath but being unable to refuse, and Emma was leaping out of her chair, fishing out her other crown, and presenting it proudly.

“Royal crowns! Wedding crowns!”

She stamped her feet excitedly, clutching it to her chest as her entire body all but vibrated with excitement, and he was out of his chair in seconds, scooping her up happily and pressing kisses to her cheeks as the other crown fell away, her childish giggles filling the room as he spun her around.

“Right, right, c’mon then. I have a meeting in ten minutes, so if we’re having a royal wedding, we’re on a timer.”

Hurley let out a heaving sigh as he stood up, the door bursting open a second later as you all but fell through, a more formal outfit than usual on you, a pencil skirt and tight jumper, your eyes wide and phone clutched in hand. “What happened?”

“What?”

“The emergency! What happened?” Mitch looked over at Stan, your eyes following his, and you growled under your breath, picking up one of the croissants from the cart beside you and throwing it across the room at him. “You don’t just text people ‘quick, help, there is an emergency’ when there is no emergency, Stan!”

“There is an emergency! Someone has to marry Mitch!”

“Are you fu-” You cut yourself off, pinching the bridge of your nose, before walking over to them and covering Emma’s ears. “Are you fucking kidding me, Stan? I was in a debriefing.”

“I thought I was marrying Emma?” Mitch felt like he was talking to himself as he realised he'd been set up, Emma arranging him until he was facing you, her hands on your hips as she turned you to face him, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe again. Since your dinner a few weeks ago, neither of you had spoken about what had almost happened, slipping right back to being close friends, and he wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as a good sign.

He couldn't help but think about how odd this entire situation was, the child of the fiancée who had died was holding a fake marriage to someone else, someone she had seemed to have adopted as her own motherly figure, and he felt like it was all a little too weird to actually focus on for too long.

“Em, do you remember what we said about surprises?”

“Yes! You said surprises are okay!” She growled a little at him, her best wolf impression as she tried to get him to back down, and he returned it, watching as her face screwed up with anger and her arms crossed. “Surprises are okay if it makes everyone happy, that’s what you said, daddy!”

“Yes, but how do you know everyone is happy, Emma?”

“Because you love (Y/N)!” Mitch wanted the ground to open up and suck him in, possibly just let him never return, but then someone has to look after Emma, and he didn't even bother to cover her ears as he let a string of curses fall from his mouth, embarrassment flaring up warmth across his entire body, swelling in his chest all the way up to the tips of his ears in a suffocating heat as his head dropped. “It’s okay, daddy! (Y/N) loves you too! Mr Stan says so!”

He heard the dull thud of what sounded like a very solid punch being delivered to Stan, and he had been about to take the same action himself feeling a little bit better at knowing the man got a dig in for his sneaky actions.

“You have to get married and be happy, daddy.”

“Yeah, Rapp. You have to be happy. It’s an order.” He looked up at the man, a more genuine look on his face than any he had ever seen, and he gave in a little, finally managing to drag his eyes up to meet yours. You reached out, taking his hands in yours and pulling him in a little closer to you, as you winked at his daughter, and looked back up to him.

Stan cleared his throat, lifting Emma onto his hip, and she clutched two crowns excitedly in her hands. “We are gathered here today, to join Mitch Rapp and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) in the most epic royal wedding ever.” Emma giggled at his words, nodding in agreement. “Do you, Mitch Rapp, take (Y/N) to be your royally wedded wife?”

He turned, licking over his lips, seeing your little nod to him in a promise that it was okay, before Emma was staring up at him hopefully, and Stan was glaring at him like he’d be shot at dawn by a firing squad if he didn’t agree.

“Yes.”

“Fantastic. (Y/N), do you take Mitch Rapp to be your royally wedded husband?” You rolled your eyes, laughing a little, before nodding your head, and grinning when Emma cheered loudly.

“I do.”

“Emma, the wedding crowns?” He lifted her up, allowing her to place the green one into his hair and the blue one into your own, fixing them to her liking before Stan was pulling her back down to a regular level, and placing her down on the floor. “Would you like to say it?”

He honestly didn't think he could get any worse, or that he could be any more embarrassed than he already was, but then his daughter's next words came, and he thought he may actually throw up a little bit; “You may now kiss the queen!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You may now kiss the queen, Rapp.” Hurley growled at him, and he couldn't believe his mentor was teaming up against him with his own daughter.

“I can’t believe you’re encouraging this in my dau-”

He was cut off with the only action he hadn't been expecting at this moment, his eyes closing as he realized what was happening. Your mouth was pressed to his, a sweet and innocent kiss, pulled in by a handful of his shirt, and he sighed happily into your mouth. Your lips were playing with his delicately, pressing and pulling in soft motions, and he felt like he’d slammed into cloud nine. His hands slipped down to your hips, holding you close to him as he pressed back into you, returning the kiss with everything he had, and feeling like his heart was exploding within his chest.

It ended way too quickly for his liking, and he chased your lips for a second, pressing another quick peck to your mouth as you smiled at him, before he was opening his eyes, finding you looking just as bashful as he did, as Stan held his hand up for Emma to smash her palm again in a high-five.

Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him in closer, and your lips brushed against the shell of his ear, making a tremor travel along his spine. “I want to go somewhere hot for our honeymoon.”

He was on an all-time high, and he pulled back, catching your lips in a final sweet kiss. “How about for the wedding reception, we have dinner tonight?”

You hummed thoughtfully before a loving expression was finding itself on your face. “Am I dressing up or dressing down?”

He smoothed his hands around to your lower back, pulling you in a little closer. “How about you come over in the comfiest PJs you own, and when you get cold, I can still be a gentleman and give you my jumper?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

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melismaticmadness · 4 years

Text

RAIN

Hi..so this is my first ever fanfic/imagine/story thing. (I am not quite sure what this is..) This is just fiction and no part of it is real, nor am I claiming to know anyone I write about.

Description: Fluff and Friendship - You plan to surprise Owen in Vancouver while he’s filming JATP. Charlie helped you organize it, but something goes wrong in your plan. What happens in the rain?

2400 words

Warnings: Language, Talks of Anxiety/Mental Health

Owen Joyner x Reader

***********************************

RAIN

November rain in Vancouver wasn’t exactly pleasant but as I stood outside hitting the call button for his apartment building for the fifteenth time, I was far past annoyed. Soaked and annoyed. How could this surprise get so messed up that I am standing here at 3:32 am?Charlie and I had planned my surprise Thanksgiving visit perfectly. I would take a red-eye flight, get into the apartment, sleep for a few hours while Owen was still on set with BooBoo, and then we’d have a day together and the Thanksgiving party later tonight. Charlie won’t wake up to answer the call button and let me in!!

I have been out here for 30 minutes already when someone taps me on the shoulder from behind.

“Excuse me, sorry, but do you need help?”

I turn around and the tall, sleepy boy in front of me with a hoodie pulled tight over his hair is shocked.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Well, I could say the same about you! Charlie said you were shooting until at least 6 am!!”

“I’m so good that we wrapped early, and got what we needed. I am still so confused as to how you got here…” He said with a fake hair toss.

“Owen, we’ve talked about this. Airplanes work for everyone, you’re not special.”

“No no, butthead. I mean standing outside my apartment building - in Vancouver - in the rain.”

I went on hurriedly about how I was here to surprise him for Thanksgiving, but the surprise is ruined because Charlie never woke up to buzz me into the building. My anxiety over his reaction was at an all-time high because my plan was derailed and he was here early, and I was drenched, but Owen could see it on my face, and before I could even finish explaining I was wrapped in a hug.

“Let’s get your soggy ass inside,” he said as he entered his pin and the doors unlocked. With his hands on my shoulders pushing me ahead of him, we went to the stairwell and up to his floor. We laughed as my wet shoes squeaked down the hall and into the apartment. I was immediately ordered into the bathroom to strip and shower.

“Hey, you can’t make me strip. I charge for that nowadays.”

“Yeah and I charge for taking in homeless, wet girls off the street, but you don’t see me asking for a check.”

After I punch him in the arm and run off to the bathroom, I can’t help but smile. We’ve been apart for so long, but it feels like nothing has changed. I was so worried that he wouldn’t be happy to see me, or that he would be annoyed that I showed up and messed up any plans he had, or god forbid if he came home with a girl and I was there.

Still, as I got into the warm shower most of my anxieties washed away (besides the ‘bringing a girl home one’). About five minutes into my hot shower, I heard a soft knock at the door.

“Yes?” I whisper-yelled out.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh..sure”

“I just wanted to bring you a set of dry stuff to wear, I’ll put it on the toilet for you.”

“Thanks, O.” I peeked my head out behind the black shower curtain and saw him standing with his back to the shower placing the clothes and towel down. I could pull him into the shower by the back of his shirt from here if I wanted to, but I am not ballsy enough to do that. He thinks of me as one of the boys, and I doubt that line will ever get crossed. The boys would mess with him in this situation though.

I filled a hand up with water and sprinkled it down his neck and back. Hearing Owen gasp when he felt water all over him was hysterical, especially because he would not turn around to look at me.

“You are SO lucky you are in the shower or I would get your ass back sooooooooo good.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get the hell out of here,” I said splashing him again, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He hurried out and I finished as fast as possible because now I was a little worried he would hand my bras from his balcony or something…

One last look in the mirror as I squeezed my hair out and I smelled like Owen. His soap, shampoo, towels...I wish I could always smell this. Stupid TV shows shooting in foreign countries….

Back in the living room, I found Owen asleep on the couch. Knowing him, he probably did not sleep at all yesterday like he was supposed to for the night shoot.

“Yo, blondie...Owen..go to bed”

“What’s wrong?! Oh, no I’m awake what...what do you wanna do?”

“I want you to go to bed. We can hang out after you sleep for a few hours.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll probably try to sleep a little too. The guy next to me on my last flight was a snorer.”

“Come to bed with me”

“Wh-what? O, it’s ok I am totally ok on the couch.”

“No, no. You’re coming. Let’s go, y/n. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want”

I couldn’t even protest more because I was being wrapped in a blanket with Owen and we were walking to his room. Look, we had had sleepovers before as kids, but the last time we did this we were thirteen, in his childhood room, with two sleeping bags on the floor. He was always working, and I was always in school, so most of the time when he was home I had to go home at night for school the next day.

How do you have a platonic sleepover with your best friend who you are also in love with? Do I just roll over the opposite way and pray that we don’t wake up with me holding onto him?

His bed was made and it smelled like he had just washed his sheets before work. He led me to one side of the bed, pulled the covers back, and simply said, “Get in.” He shuffled over to his side of the bed and did the same.

“G’night.”

“Goodnight. Hey, do you have to be up for work or anything? I can set an alarm.”

“Nope, I’m off all day because of the night shoot.”

“Okay, goodnight y/n”

With that last “goodnight”, I felt him get closer to me. My heart was beating so fast I wasn’t sure if I was going to pass out or throw up and nothing was even happening!! Owen reached over to the other side of me and pulled me close.

“It looked like you were shivering. I should've told you to dry your hair before bed.”

“I’m okay,” I said pushing his hair out of his face, so I could see him.

“Okay.”

Arms tangled over each other, we both fell asleep.

***********************************

Hours later the rain got worse. Through the open window, I could hear the thunder was really loud and I happened to open my eyes as lightning lit up the sky. Fun fact about me. I hate lightning and am terrified of it. Being in a highrise apartment building with lots of windows, was a nightmare for me. I curled up in fetal position under the blankets and pulled them all the way up over my head.

I felt Owen moving around next to me and just assumed he was rolling over, but I felt him grab me by the waist. We were now face-to-face, chest to chest, completely under his sheets.

“Fancy meeting you under here.” His morning breath could’ve killed me, and not because it smelled. I didn’t think I could be attracted to him and his voice more than I already was.

“Sorry for waking you. The storm.”

“I know. As soon as I heard it, I knew. You’re safe. It’s loud because it’s passing over us and will be gone in a few minutes.”

The next roll of thunder shook the room a little and a single little tear escaped and I tried to hide it by moving my hair and pretending to fix the blanket over my head but he caught me.

“..hey I’m right here. Do you want to go sit in the bathroom? There are no windows.”

“I’m fine, sorry,” I said and took a deep breath.

“How can I help you right now?”

“I’m sorry. My anxiety went off the rails when my surprise got ruined earlier and I don’t know how to sleep in bed with a boy, and on top of that the worst storm is happening,” I sputtered.

Owen laughed a soft little laugh and pulled me closer.

“You’re just sleeping next to me... I’m not just a boy... we’re not strangers, hell I just walked in on you in the shower earlier...wait... god, did I make you uncomfortable?” He made some space between us and laid his head on his hands while looking at me.

“Oh god, Owen no. No.” I grabbed his hands back and put them under my face pulling him back towards me. I hadn’t noticed until now that he lost his shirt somewhere in the night. “You just know how I get, all up in my head about every little thing.” The butterflies in my stomach felt more like fireworks exploding in an almost painful display under these sheets.

“Well, what is your head saying right now? Let’s talk through it.”

A shaky breath escaped my mouth. I can’t tell him I've loved him since our days of sleeping bags on his bedroom floor. So, I pivot.

“I was worried you wouldn’t be happy to see me and that I was imposing by just showing up here…”

“You know I always am so happy to see you. I wish I could see you every day, we talk every day. You being here is so much better than a few texts and a missed facetime call while I’m at work.”

“Okay.. I love- I mean...I like being here too. I can’t make fun of you if you don’t answer my texts.” We both laughed a little this time.

“Sounds like the lightning stopped. Wanna go watch the sunrise? It should be up any minute.”

“We should get out from under the covers first...”

“Right.”

Pulling the covers down gave me the fresh air I needed to think clearly. I did not need to tell him how I felt. These moments were enough.

“Good morning, y/n.”

“Good morning, O.”

“Grab a towel before we head out to wipe the chairs down.”

“Yes ma’am,” Owen salutes and runs out of the room.

***********************************

Nothing is better than watching the sunshine hit this smiling boy’s blonde locks and pink cheeks first thing in the morning. Sitting on the same plastic lounge chair, I wanted to pinch myself.

“We slept for like three hours,” I laughed.

“We can nap again before the Thanksgiving party tonight. I’m not that tired.”

“Want me to order coffee? I’ll run and get it, I saw a Starbucks next door.”

“Nah, I put some on when I went for the towel.”

“Smart man. I’m gonna grab some water then.”

“I’ll get it. I added lemon to our pitcher in the fridge for you, when I went for the towel too.”

“Joyner, you do think of everything.”

“I did remember you don’t drink coffee, give me some credit!” He said as he ducked off the balcony.

I stood up to lean over the railing and before I knew it Owen was over my shoulder with a glass of water and his coffee. The rain was picking up again. I took a sip and put it down on the little outdoor table they kept out there and continued to stare out at the city as it woke up.

Owen hugged me from behind and I leaned into him as an instinct. I realized I was probably making him uncomfortable and went to slide over to give him space, but he stopped me.

“Y/n, can you stand still? Your head is blocking my view.”

“My head?! I am like a foot shorter than you!”

“Yes, the back of your head is blocking my view.”

“What can you possibly be looking at? The rain?! Look there’s a bus! Trying to stalk people as they walk their dogs?” I rambled as I turned around to see where his eyes were pointed.

At that moment, he grabbed my neck, and the next thing I knew his lips were on mine. I think my heart stopped. I stood there like a limp noodle for a solid 3 seconds before I pulled away. The expression on his face was one of being mortified.

“Oh god...Oh, I’m so sorry. Oh, fuck!” He said and started running his hands through his hair and pacing away from me. “I thought..oh god.. It doesn’t matter what I thought because I was out of line..”

I grabbed his arm as he turned away from me again.

“Do it again.”

“..wh-what?”

“Owen, can we try it again?”

“Y/n, I don’t want you to think you have to kiss me because I kissed you. It’s ok. I’m so sorry.”

I walked over to him, put my hands on his bare chest, and kissed him.

“I have wanted to do that since we were thirteen.”

“You-huh?”

“I have wanted to kiss you since we were thirteen, probably before. I just was scared. Our friendship is so special to me, I couldn’t imagine losing it. Then when you were spending more and more time in L.A. and then coming here to Vancouver, I thought you probably had met someone already and were just keeping it quiet.”

“I haven’t met anyone,” he stammered. “I thought I lost my chance with you for good when I moved out here, but I never was into anyone else.”

“Now what?”

“Can I kiss you again?” We both laughed and as we collided it’s almost as if rain was waiting on its cue from us. It stopped.

I wonder what is in store for us now.

#owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #owen joyner imagine #owen joyner fluff #owen joyner smut #jatp fanfic #julie and the phantoms #owen x reader #owen joyner x reader #owen x y/n #owen joyner x y/n #jatp

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leggything · 3 years

Text

Package Notification Pt.1

Package Notification

The subject line caught my attention as is flashed in the corner of my monitor. I clicked on the notification and read that a delivery had arrived at my apartment and would be held at the front desk until I was able to retrieve it. I wasn’t expecting anything but quickly put it out of my mind, it was probably a free trial I forgot to cancel or something. I deleted the email and went back to the report I had been drafting, hitting the back button on my phone a couple of times to replay the last few seconds of the podcast I had been listening to.

I left work a bit early. It was Friday and I wanted to beat the crowds on the train home. Unfortunately I wasn’t quite early enough to find a seat so by the time I walked through the door of my building I was only thinking about my bed.

The desk attendant perked up as I stepped in, “Hey Andy,” he said “I was just sorting the mail and a package came for you. Let me quick grab it.”

“Oh thanks so much Sean,” I said, pulling my headphones out of ear, “I would have totally forgotten.”

“No problem dude,” Sean replied as he rummaged behind the desk. He was a sweet kid, just out of college. His family was close the folks that owned our building so he usually came back to help run things over summers.

“And— here you are!” He said, as he popped back into view, blowing away a stray curl that had fallen in front of his eyes, “see you around!”

“Thanks again Sean, happy Friday!” I said, waving as I opened the door to the stairwell.

I turned the package over in my hands as I climbed the three flights to the apartment. It wasn’t a meal delivery kit or a pack of razors as I had suspected, just an unassuming grey plastic package with a normal UPS label. No return address for some reason. After fumbling for my key I unlocked the door, set my bag down and slipped off my shoes. Friday at last. It felt good to kick my shoes off after standing for so long.

Package still in hand I went to the couch and tore open its grey plastic as I sat down. Inside the bag my hands felt smooth woven fabric and something else that was stiffly textured. Out of the bag came an embroidered tunic and, as they unrolled in my hand, a pair of soft grey footed tights. My face flushed as I realised what I had received. A ballet costume.

I felt a mix of confusion and excitement. I certainly would have remembered if I had ordered something like this. I loved ballet, the beautiful precision of movement, the romance of the storylines, but really I was in it for the dancers. I loved watching them move, muscular yet flexible, lithe and powerful. The way their costume tights hugged every curve of their calves and thighs, squeezing each cheek of their powerful asses and the curve of their pronounced bulges, it was heaven. I definitely didn’t place the order for this costume, but it certainly didn’t come to me by mistake.

Reluctantly setting the tights and tunic down on the table, I glanced into the package again, looking to see if there was anything else. No shoes or dance belt, but there was a small piece of paper. I reached back in and pulled out the rough piece of card-stock. A note was printed on in flowing script:

Hope this turns your dream into reality.

Now I was nervous. I wasn’t exactly open about my, ahem, love of ballet. My closest friends and previous partners didn’t even know, and yet someone had anonymously sent gear to my home which meant my big secret wasn’t as secret as I thought. I pulled out my phone, there was one person who I had connected with online about ballet stuff, but they definitely didn’t know my address and I hadn’t heard for them in a week or so. Nonetheless I sent out a text:

Hey, I just got some ballet gear in the mail. You didn’t send me anything did you?

I was a little nervous and needed to chill out so I went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. Taking the first sip, I glanced back out to where the ballet outfit sat on the table. The anonymous package thing was weird, but it was also definitely hot. And though I loved looking at ballet dancers and often had fantasies about what it would be like to be one, I had never actually gotten up the courage to actually take a class or buy a pair of tights.

Taking another sip of my beer, I walked back out to the couch. I set down my beer and picked up the tunic. It looked and felt well made, different shades of gold and yellow thread in a brocade foliage design against white backing. It was short and tailored in at the waist, probably a bit snug on me, but on a slim dancer it would sit perfectly above the waist - emphasising their toned abdomen and, when facing away from the audience, their powerful glutes. I was getting a little turned on thinking about it. Whether I fit or not, I had to try it on.

I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped off my slacks, tossing them on the couch along with my socks. I hesitated a bit before taking off my underwear, the outfit hadn’t come with a dance belt, but I figured it’s be better to have a vpl than underwear lines. I was half hard already, even if I had a dance belt it probably would have still looked awkward. The soft fabric of the tights brushed against my bare legs as I picked them up off the table and held them up by the suspenders. At least they’d feel sexy to wear, even if I wasn’t quite fit enough to fill them out very well.

Sitting down on the couch I slid my leg into the grey tights, wiggling my toes into the seam at the bottom of the foot. They tingled a bit as I pulled them up over my calves and thighs, the soft tight fabric rubbing against the hair on my legs. As I pulled them up over my crotch they held my balls tight against me and pinned my now full erection against my belly. So much for a dance belt! Pulling the suspenders over my shoulders, I was greeted by the surprising sensation of the back seam of the tights snuggling up in between my ass cheeks. I didn’t have much of a butt to speak of, but somehow the tights still held tight to what little I had.

The tights ended just below my chest, and though I definitely didn’t have the ballet dancer build I still enjoyed seeing and feeling the uniform texture of grey fabric from my abdomen to my feet. I ran my hands along my legs, feeling the weave of the tights thrum with every touch, and my cock straining against the fabric.

I pulled my mind away from the hypnotic sexy feel of the tights, a little upset at myself that I hadn’t tried dressing up like this earlier. But I still had the tunic to put on. I wasn’t sure if I should have put something under it, but the lining was surprisingly soft and breathable against my skin. I stood up, slid my arms into the sleeves, and began hooking the fasteners that went up the front. The waist wasn’t as snug as I had feared and the structure of the garment helped straighten my posture, encouraging me to stand a bit taller than the hunch my desk job had trained me into.

Hooking the last fastener under my chin I looked down and realising I had come to stand with my heels together and my toes turned out, in what I knew to be “1st position.” And as I dropped my arms they fell nicely open and rounded at my sides, allowing my chest to open up and my shoulders to rotate backwards in perfect ballet posture. I chuckled a bit to myself, maybe I picked up more from watching so much ballet than I thought.

I tried to imitate the movements I had seen ballet dancers do, not crazy leaps or turns or anything, just pointing the toe out, to the side, to the back. I knew from somewhere they were called “tendus.” I let my arms move out to the side and above my head in time with my feet. I bent into a deep plie, letting my gaze follow my outstretched hand as it traveled out, to the side, overhead, and then started to repeat the same combination on the other side. I probably looked ridiculous trying to imitate the precise movements I had only watched, but it felt wonderful to move in the outfit.

As I continued to try new things, ronde de jambe, fouetté, attitude; I couldn’t remember where I picked up all these names, the costume felt like it fit me better and better. With each breath in my chest filled out the tunic a little better and my arms and shoulders felt stronger and more sure in their positions. Letting a breath out, my abdomen felt more compact and stronger in the long waist of the tights, my core offering steadier and steadier support and balance to my movement.

I moved from attitudes to a combination centred around arabesques, standing strong on one leg while reaching up and out with my upper body and back with the other leg. I took a couple of steps forward and went into the first arabesque, feeling strength and stability pouring into my standing leg, the grey tights stretched against my thighs, hips, and butt as I raised my other leg further up and behind me. My legs felt stronger and stronger as I continued around the room, my tights more snug and supportive as they nestled into the contours of my legs and sunk further between my ass cheeks. To finished the combination I moved to fifth position and took a small plie to lift up onto the balls of my feet, sous sous. Lifting my arms strong and graceful above my head I felt every muscle, from my calves to my core to my triceps working together to keep me balanced and poised. Satisfied, I descended into a plie and rose back up to finish the combination.

I stood there for a moment, relaxing back in first position and then blinked, blinked again. I looked back over at the table where my beer stood abandoned. Outside the window the sky was almost dark, how long had I been dancing, and how had I known how to do all that stuff? Feeling a little out of control I started to undo the top clasp of my tunic when I caught a look at myself in the hall mirror.

I did a double take, it couldn’t be me. I looked down at myself and then back at my reflection firm pecs, toned abs, powerful thighs clad in grey. It was me and fuck I was built. I turned around to see my now glorious ass, each cheek hugged beautifully by my tights, and noticed the cleft that had appeared on my toned calves - visible even though I stood flat footed.

I couldn’t help but touch, partially to make sure it was all real and partially because I was my own wet dream. I ran my hands along my firm legs and my slender waist and started to undo the tunic to check out my upper body. My laser focus while dancing had killed my boner but as I undid the tunic’s clasps I felt myself start to get hard again. It felt different though, still pleasurable but a different kind of pleasure. Breathing heavy with arousal I looked back to the mirror. I could see myself growing, but it wasn’t just my cock’s outline straining against the spandex, it looked and felt like my balls were growing too, my whole crotch swelling up against its spandex prison. The more they grew, the more intense the pleasure became, but it didn’t exactly feel like an erection.

I it felt almost like a balloon blowing up - a balloon in my crotch filling with anticipation and pleasure. Looking down, I noticed that as my genitals kept growing they began to lose definition, probably due to how stretched out the fabric was getting. As my bulge strained against my tights, my breathing quickened and my crotch continued to get smoother and rounder. My pelvic pleasure balloon steadily expanded until I felt my whole body was surely going to explode with ecstasy and then suddenly— it stopped. Still breathing heavily and still quite aroused I saw, between my newly muscled legs, the perfect smooth round ballet bulge, maybe a little on the big side, but otherwise the most beautiful tights-clad bulge - exactly like I was wearing a dance belt under my tights.

But I wasn’t wearing a dance belt. Was I? Trepidatiously I reached down to stroke the fabric and was greeted by the most pleasurable sensation. It didn’t feel at all like I was touching a padded dance belt, it felt like I was touching my own skin. I continued to run my hand over my bulge, a little moan escaping my lips as I stroked it’s contours. It felt like touching the sensitive head of my cock, my whole crotch felt as sensitive as the most nerve-laden part of my dick.

Equally aroused and terrified I slipped off the tunic and the straps of my tights. As I began to undress I noticed the wiry patch of hair on my chest had disappeared, and as I slid the tights further down to my waist, saw for the first time my beautiful hairless toned core. I ran my hand along my abdomen, wanting to feel every new inch of my body and also afraid to slide my grey tights any further down. But I couldn’t put it off forever. I slid my tights off the toned globes of my ass, over the deep v of my hips and then, my breath hitching as the tights fabric slid away from my sensitive crotch, revealing my perfectly smooth and hairless crotch.

My crotch looked exactly the same as before the tights came off - a round bulge just like you would see on mannequin. I couldn’t help but touch myself again, the intense pleasure felt slightly different without the silky tights over my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes as I touched myself, it was a completely different sensation than stroking my cock. Instead of moving in fits and spurts of arousal towards the edge of orgasm, this felt like a continually building sensation, like that balloon expanding again - a pleasure that continued to grow and grow with no sign of impending release.

After thoroughly exploring this new sensation I decided to move to the bathroom to get a better look at myself. I pulled my tights back up to my waist, the feeling of their fabric moving over my crotch almost pulling me into another session of dickless masturbation, and padded to the bathroom.

I flicked the light on and, before I could pull my tights back down for inspection, was distracted by my own face. Maybe it was the glow of arousal but I could swear I looked invigorated, more lively. My eyes looked twinklier and my teeth looked brighter, whiter even. As I looked at my reflection, I noticed the stress induced strands of silver in my hair and the dark circles under my eyes start to fade. Before my very eyes my short cropped hair grew out into a perfectly coiffed hairstyle and my jawline softened slightly - the stubble on my chin fading away. I couldn’t help but smile at myself, a smile that would be perfect for stage lights. Stepping back from the mirror and looking at myself, inexplicably standing in first position again, I realised I had been given the perfect body for ballet, a body I could have only dreamed of.

Finally seeing my whole self, I decided the mystery of how it all came to be mine could wait until tomorrow. Tonight I would just enjoy it. I flicked off the bathroom light and retired to my bedroom. The mostly full beer bottle and the work clothes from my earlier self lay abandoned by the couch as I lay in bed, touching and discovering the pleasures of this new body until I fell asleep.

#male tf #transformation #male transformation #ballet tf #ballet tights #men in lycra #men in spandex #men in tights

96 notes · View notes

btsmosphere · 4 years

Text

Crossfire | KTH

~summary: The night your life blew up sent you on a collision course with the campus bad boy, Kim Taehyung. Though you were well aware of his reputation, it was his doorstep you ran to when you were bleeding with nowhere to go.

~word count: 5.4k

~gang!au, mafia!au, college!au, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers

Warnings: violence, swearing, drugs, guns, blood, injury (warnings apply to each part individually, please read them)

~a/n: Thanks everyone for the reception of part 1!! I couldn’t have asked for more! I don’t have much more to add except an apology if you are a medical professional because I am definitely not and I am sure there are mistakes so I hope you can excuse that hehe

You stared at the empty glass beside you.

Once again, you swallowed. The light from the window was the only slight indication of the time, though you still had little clue. Possibly midday, possibly later… or possibly earlier. A sigh escaped you. At least you knew it was daytime.

But that gave you no more idea of how long you would be waiting for Taehyung to come back. Presumably, he was at college, since you were pretty sure it was a Monday, but he really could be anywhere.

And you were thirsty.

So far, the pain that remained in your side had kept you in the bed since you had woken up alone, once again with daylight streaming in. Some snacks and a glass of water had been left on the stand.

Your hope of going back to sleep was pretty much non-existent since it was your thirst that had woken you up just a minute ago, and it still hadn’t been resolved. Licking your dry lips once more, you finally braced yourself and heaved your body from the mattress with a groan.

Glass in hand, you padded down the stairs, pain in your side still constant but not overwhelming. All you needed was a drink, then you could collapse again for more rest.

Your soft footsteps down the hall were the only sound in the house. Lazily, your eyes trailed along the rug that led to the kitchen doorway, and soon your bare feet met the cool tiles. As you turned left slightly to move around the island, your head lifted.

Then your heart stopped.

A man stood in the living room. Facing you.

And he was wearing all black.

Below you, your feet acted of their own accord, ungluing themselves from the floor to stumble back, but the man moved faster. Without hesitation, his hands had found your collar and your head slammed against the wall, cutting off the cry in your throat.

“Who are you?” he growled, but the pain erupting in your side as he pressed against you drowned everything out.

How did they find me?

Desperately, you blinked away the sparks in your vision, the hands getting tighter on your neck. Then you felt the glass in your hand.

Just like last time, your hand lifted, preparing to strike, but it was intercepted easily by a strong arm and pressed back against the wall above your head, glass slipping from your fingers. The man’s one remaining hand on your neck pushed as the glass shattered by your feet, but you still struggled to gasp for air, your body squirming pointlessly.

“Nice try,” he grunted, face now closer to yours as he fought your thrashing, “now what the fuck-“

Suddenly, the pressure disappeared as your knee came up, hitting him hard between the legs, leaving you both reeling. You felt so light now, shaking as you pushed at him, taking your chance to dart from his hold.

But you barely made two steps before the grip on your wrist was back. Fighting with all your might against him, you resisted as he tried to pull you back. Suddenly, you were thrown off balance as he stopped, using the force you were pulling with to topple you both to the floor with a grunt. His large frame fell on top of yours while your shoulder collided harshly with the corner of the coffee table, tipping the whole thing over with your combined weight. You cried out in pain, eyes screwing shut.

This was it. You could only fight someone off so many times.

Though the man was breathing heavily, he pinned you down effortlessly, forearm pressed over your neck. All you could do was choke and splutter, a tidal wave of pain engulfing you from the jostling to your wound and the way your attacker was constricting it, all mingling with the burning of your lungs-

A crash came from the doorway.

“Yoongi!”

Loud footsteps pounded towards you and then you were free, chest suddenly expanding with a rush of air that felt like knives down your throat. Gasping and hacking, you rolled over, hand clutching at your side automatically.

In front of you, Taehyung had his arms wrapped around the man in black, constricting him as the two struggled together.

“Hey, man, chill out!” he was yelling, “What the fuck!”

“Who the hell is-“

“Fuck- shit- stop it, what have you-“

“She was in your house!”

“I know her!”

Taehyung finally succeeded in shutting the man up, and now he was shoving him roughly behind him as he stumbled forwards and fell to his knees where you were still trying to breathe.

“Y/N?” his voice was urgent as his hands helped you sit up, eyes scanning your face and neck, then your side. You let him remove your hand where it covered the wound.

“Yoongi, what were you thinking?” Taehyung spat, not turning around as he took in the bloodied bandages.

Warily, you looked up at your attacker, Yoongi, who was now frozen behind Taehyung. He looked back at you, eyes wide.

“Dude, I just came by with those pills you wanted so bad, you didn’t tell me anyone was gonna be in your house…”

“But you don’t choke someone first and ask questions later,” Taehyung’s eyes were trained on his hand resting on the carpet, though he tilted his face half towards Yoongi, his jaw clenched tight, “she’s who those fucking pills are for.”

Tae looked back up at your face, his eyebrows pulled together, watching as you breathed deeper and slower, still coughing a bit. Other than that it was silent for a moment.

“I-I’m sorry man,” Yoongi stuttered, “do you want them then?“

“You can get some fucking water and bandages, okay? And then the pills.”

Once Yoongi had retreated, you stood on shaking legs with Taehyung’s help, depositing yourself on the sofa. Until Taehyung drew the curtains with a snap, you hadn’t even noticed they were still open.

“You shouldn’t have been up, I told you to rest,” he grumbled as he walked back over to you, stopping to right the coffee table on the way.

“I was just coming to get some water,” you said, voice a little raspy, “I’ve stayed upstairs all day.”

Sighing, he opened his mouth, but then his eyes slid to the side and he shut it again. Following his gaze, you watched Yoongi emerge from the kitchen, bandages and a first aid bag tucked under one arm and a glass of water in the other hand.

For a moment, he paused, but under Taehyung’s glare he moved, lowering his head sheepishly. He handed you the water with the air of a child forced to say sorry and shake hands, not meeting your eyes, before dumping the rest on the coffee table and slinking over to the chair by the window. In the corner of your eye as you took a gulp of water, you saw him push his hood down to reveal dyed grey hair.

Ignoring him, Taehyung grabbed a bandage and began carefully unwrapping the one already around your abdomen. Yoongi’s eyes widened. With the bandage off, you could see blood leaking from the wound, though the sticky strips Taehyung had used to close it had held up.

Pursing his lips, Tae balled up the old bandage so the clean parts were outside, and pressed it into your side. The hiss of pain you released made him falter.

“Yoongi, pills,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Yoongi, who had been keeping his eyes well averted, started and began to dig in his pockets. Eventually, he threw two bags over to Tae.

You eyed them suspiciously as Tae placed one down and fished inside the other with his fingers. The clear plastic bags were the kind you had only seen discarded in hedges or alleyways, where you would expect to see white powder clinging to the corners. These were a little bigger and only contained pills, but you were still hesitant as Tae placed one in your hand and told you to take it.

“It’s a painkiller,” he told you when you still didn’t move, “I didn’t have any strong enough here which is why I got Yoongi to bring some in.”

Biting your lip, you opened your fingers to see the seemingly harmless white pill resting there. Probably on purpose, Taehyung’s hand shifted, making you wince as the bandage dug into your wound.

Lips curling, you took a deep breath and put your palm over your mouth, tipping your head back to swallow it.

Satisfied, Tae let you take over putting pressure on the bandage, pushing his hands on his knees to stand up. Yoongi stayed hunched in his chair as Taehyung picked up some things that lay by the door, shoving them roughly into the grocery bag they must have spilled from.

“Is this why you asked us to meet, then?” a mumble came from Yoongi as soon as the shopping bag’s rustling died away.

“Yeah,” was all he got in reply as Taehyung stood up without facing him.

“Dude!” he called, springing from his chair and causing Taehyung to stop in the middle of the room. “aren’t you gonna explain?”

Yoongi threw an arm towards you, followed by a glare.

“You can wait to hear it with the others.”

As Yoongi was opening his mouth again, a phone buzzed, making the two boys pause. The buzzing didn’t stop, so Yoongi pulled his phone from his hoodie, turning himself away from Taehyung. That was when a second ringtone started up. Yoongi glanced back at Taehyung as he raised his phone to his ear, while the other boy hurriedly put down his bag and reached for his too.

Both of them wore identical faces of concentration as they listened to voices on the other line. Taehyung hung up first, still watching Yoongi who was talking in a low, serious voice to the other person, before glancing at you.

Eyes connecting with yours, he started forwards, grasping your elbow and leading you with him. He scooped up the grocery bag, then marched quickly through the kitchen, not slowing as he collected a knife, then led you to the foot of the stairs.

Yoongi appeared in the living room doorway, and again him and Taehyung shared a look.

“We have to go,” Taehyung said, voice urgent and eyes flicking between yours and the door, “take these and stay upstairs. I’ll be back later.”

And with that, he thrust both the bag of food and the knife into your arms, waiting only for your perplexed nod before him and Yoongi walked out, door falling shut heavily behind them.

‘Later.’ What were you supposed to infer by ‘later?’

When Taehyung had said that, you certainly hadn’t imagined waiting around for him until rain started to fall and the light was fading outside the window.

Despite having no water, you had dutifully stayed upstairs ever since Taehyung and Yoongi’s abrupt departure, even though that had been the reason for you venturing downstairs in the first place. At least there was some soda among his shopping. But you had learned from your ordeal: if it happened again, you might not be lucky enough for it to be another false alarm.

Honestly, it hadn’t felt much like a false alarm, you thought as you checked your side again. Since the boys had left, you had simply sat on Taehyung’s bed, applying pressure with the wad of bandages from earlier. Now though, the pain had subsided as promised and the bleeding had stopped. It hadn’t been severe at all, but there was still some blood to clean up.

Gingerly standing up, fingers wrapping around the kitchen knife, you padded across to the door and cracked it open, peering around the darkened house cautiously. Though you weren’t going downstairs, if anyone were there you would be on full view from the landing. For a second you just listened.

Silence.

As quietly as you could, you tiptoed the short distance to the bathroom.

Once you set the knife down, you turned on the tap, doing your best to keep it down, not even turning the water up enough to drown out the rain pattering against the windows. Not wanting to get blood on more of Taehyung’s belongings, you scrubbed at it using just water and your hands.

A click came from downstairs.

Jumping, you turned towards the door. Barely daring to breathe, you shut the tap off using your elbow, given that your hands were still covered in your own diluted blood.

Pressing your ear up to the door confirmed you weren’t imagining the sound; instead, you were greeted with multiple sets of footsteps, making your blood run cold. Not caring any more about the blood, your fingers turned the lock. From your spot by the door, your eyes rested where the knife lay.

Whoever was in the house wasn’t shouting, though. The voices seemed agitated, but it was not the same as when Shinhyuk’s gang had stormed your apartment a couple of days ago. Either way, you stayed put, not wanting to risk anything.

But then someone came up the stairs.

You held your breath beside the door, stubbornly ignoring your instinct to run. If you stayed here, you would be able to hear where the intruder was headed.

The steps stopped close by and you heard the bedroom door’s soft creak.

“Y/N?”

You pressed your head closer to the door. Someone had spoken, but it was quiet, muffled by the two doors between you.

“Y/N!”

This time, it was a shout and there was no mistaking it. Taehyung.

Letting out a breath, you released the lock again and stepped out from the bathroom, coming face to face with a very panicked Taehyung dashing out of the empty bedroom. Seeing you, he stopped in his tracks.

And so did you.

His eyes widened as he heaved a sigh, shoulders relaxing.

You, on the other hand, froze, eyes growing for a different reason.

“Taehyung, what the- what happened to you?!” you finally moved towards him.

Blood was streaked down his face, covering one side from his forehead to his chin. Horrified, you brought a hand to his cheek, but hesitated at his slight flinch.

“It’s just a scratch,” he murmured, eyes fixed on your hand as you lowered it, embarrassed.

Staring at him incredulously, you searched for the source of the blood and found a gash on his forehead. Admittedly, it didn’t look huge or life-threatening, but you grabbed Taehyung by the hand anyway and dragged him to the bathroom.

Below you, the other voices continued, but between you and Taehyung it was silent as you stopped in front of the sink.

“Um… can I use one of your towels please?”

Given the amount of blood on Tae’s face, you weren’t sure if you would be able to clean him up without one.

“Of course,” he nodded, frowning at the blood on your hands, “you can use whatever you need, you know that, right?”

“Thanks,” you chuckled nervously as you picked up a towel and turned on the water, “I’ve already had some soda from your groceries, so that’s a relief.”

“Just soda?” he asked.

Distractedly, you nodded, though you were now focussing on wiping his face. He watched you as you held his head steady with one hand, the other gentle as possible while you scrubbed away the sticky substance.

“Um, the boys are here,” he waved his hand at the door behind him, “and we still need to eat, so… would you like to join us?”

Although you had only cleaned about half, you paused your efforts to stare at him.

“The boys? Do you mean…”

“Uh, yeah,” he scratched the back of his head, “I mean, Jungkook isn’t here yet but I could introduce you…”

“Sure,” was the only response you could muster, ducking your head as your rinsed the towel in your hands.

“Hey, I know it might be weird,” Taehyung spoke, “and, well, it’s already weird, but we have some things to talk about that you might wanna hear.”

As you approached the cut on his head, you slowed your hand, chewing your lip in concentration and only affording him an absent nod. Another moment of silence passed as you carefully pushed aside his damp hair and cleaned his forehead around the cut.

Taehyung’s eyes didn’t leave your face as you finished up, even as you lowered the bloodied towel and stepped back. Slowly, your eyes traced down his face from his wound to meet his gaze. In your hand, your fingers twisted the fabric of the towel, but you didn’t look away.

“Thanks,” Taehyung’s voice barely touched the silence.

A yelp from below you did, however.

Dipping his head, Taehyung grabbed the towel from your hand and rubbed it vigorously over his hair before turning to chuck it in the bathtub.

“Jin can patch this up downstairs,” he waved a hand towards his forehead as he opened the door.

Following him out and through the house, the voices downstairs grew clearer. Peering in through the living room door, you spotted Yoongi curled into the same chair he was in earlier. Just as his eyes snapped up to meet yours, you saw another figure move around the coffee table, but Taehyung led you down the corridor to the kitchen before you could make out more than a silhouette.

The smell of takeout drifting from the end of the hall barely made you relax. Rubbing your palms over the borrowed clothes you had on, you had no more time to panic before you were through the door. Sure enough, the kitchen island was packed with takeaway containers, as yet unopened.

“Taehyung-ah,” the approaching voice at least belonged to someone you could identify, Jung Hoseok, who was walking to the sink, “these were lying around.”

He gestured to something on the counter as he stuck his hands under a stream of water, but your eyes never followed his gesture. By now, you would have thought the sight of bloodstained hands would become normal for you. Apparently not.

Swallowing, you averted your eyes. And then regretted it.

Two guns sat on another part of the counter. You had never actually laid eyes on one before, and you couldn’t help but stare.

Then something was in front of your face, being shaken. Blinking, you found Taehyung holding out a bag, red pills jostling inside.

“Take one, I forgot to ask you earlier,” he passed them over, “they’re for anaemia. You lost a lot of blood the other day.”

Figuring that the last pill he offered you had worked, you didn’t bother debating, taking the bag off him and swallowing one as you rounded the corner after him. The splash of the tap continued behind you as you took in the four bedraggled boys in the living room.

Yoongi was there as before, but three others were on the sofa: Jimin you recognised in the middle from his orange hair, though he wasn’t facing you. Instead he leaned towards the man on his left, who was bent over, blocking your view of his face. The man nearest you had his hand resting on Jimin’s back, watching with a grave expression.

Another yelp escaped Jimin.

Peering around Taehyung, your eyes widened. At his thigh Jimin’s trousers were torn and darkened, wet not just with rain. The man tending to him reached out a hand to the coffee table, strewn with bandages, gauzes and pills, but as he glanced around his eyes finally rested on you.

There they lingered, his hand static, still hovering in mid-air.

Uncomfortable, you stared back at the wide eyes underneath his dark brows, ignoring his dripping hair and watched as his mouth opened, eyes sliding to Taehyung in front of you.

“How is he?” Taehyung ignored the tension completely, instead nodding to Jimin.

“F-fine. He’ll live,” the man stuttered, head swivelling back to his patient.

“Good,” Taehyung nodded. By this time all eyes were on him. Or you.

“Y/N, this is Jin, Jimin, Namjoon and Hoseok,” Taehyung nodded to each man in turn, starting from Jin nearest the window back to Hoseok coming through from the kitchen, “you already know Yoongi. Food?”

Namjoon stood from his spot, nodding succinctly at you before heading to collect the meals. Taehyung swept his arm to the vacated seat, urging you to sit down.

Before long, all the boys bar Taehyung were seated and cradling food containers, as well as you. Until now you hadn’t realised how hungry you were, but with all eyes on you, you found you couldn’t start. Beside you, Taehyung was leaning against the arm of the sofa. His hands fidgeted together as he cleared his throat.

“This is Y/N,” he said, “and she’s why I wanted to meet up… I don’t want to mention this on our phones since there’s always a security risk, but she came here on Saturday night because Shinhyuk raided her place. We’re pretty sure her dad was working for him, but she escaped and they might be looking for her.”

Working for him.

It sure sounded real now, but you were adjusting to that. Chancing a look up from the food in your lap showed you that you were still the subject of everyone’s attention. Across from you, Namjoon was the first to move, shifting his gaze to Tae.

“How long is she staying?”

Taehyung glanced at you, his brow furrowed.

“As long as she needs to… Shinhyuk won’t just give up.”

“And you think they won’t find her here?”

“If they look for her, they’ll check her friends’ places, not here. We don’t know each other that well,” Namjoon opened his mouth again, but Taehyung pressed on, “I’m still going to college, no one will notice anything to make them suspicious.”

“I’m just saying, he knows who we are,” Namjoon gestured around the room, “so…”

“Where else would you suggest?” Taehyung bit back, eliciting a sigh from the blond who raked his hand through his still damp hair, slicking it back. The others, though still listening, had begun quietly to eat.

After a beat, Taehyung angled his body towards you.

“Today, Shinhyuk attacked one of our deals…” a quick glance at the rest of the boys, “we associate with people he wants to push out of the city, but he’s never attacked so far inside our territory before.”

You blinked.

“Why are you telling her this?” Yoongi had straightened in his chair, leaning forward with a glare.

“This happened just after her place got raided. Shinhyuk’s trying to make a point.”

“What does she have to do with what happened today?”

“Yoongi,” the stern voice belonged to Jin, who leaned forward, placing his food down on the table. Then he glanced at Namjoon, “I think Shinhyuk is stepping things up. Tonight felt like something… serious.”

Namjoon slumped back in his seat.

“It was a declaration of war.”

Even you felt the gravity of his statement.

“I don’t get what gave him the confidence,” Jimin piped up beside you, “like, we thought it was coming, but never this soon.”

Keeping your eyes down, you slowly took a mouthful of food. You frowned down at your takeaway container. This was a lot to take in, and the infamous Shinhyuk was beginning to scare you more and more. As much as you tried, your thoughts wouldn’t stop drifting to how your dad was right now, especially if he was with Shinhyuk.

If he was still alive.

The food in your mouth turned to cardboard, and you swallowed hurriedly, abandoning the container beside Jin’s.

Around you, their conversation carried on.

“I was right on top of him when we chased them off,” you only payed half a mind to Hoseok’s frustration, “and then he just… disappeared.”

“Maybe Jungkook will find out where he went…”

The carpet you stared at was out of focus, the words swimming through your mind. A sudden attack, an effortless escape, a war…

A cold droplet hit your cheekbone, your eye twitching in reflex. Startled from your stupor, your head jerked around to find Tae’s dark eyes trained on you, despite the conversation happening around you two.

Just as he reached up to push back the offending dripping hair, a knock sounded through the drumming of raindrops.

Taehyung’s eyes darted away for the briefest of moments, freeing you to turn your body towards the sound. Jin was already leaving the room.

Yoongi had got to his feet, and now a force pulled at your shoulder, lifting you from the couch and launching you into the momentary blur of headrush. As the spots danced away, you felt your back pressed against Taehyung, who too was standing, hand gripping your shoulder.

So were Hoseok and Namjoon.

Who were they expecting?

Only one name came to mind. The disappearing gang lord, come to disappear with you. Holding your breath, you saw yourself fighting again, losing, and where would he take you then?

“It’s just Jungkook,” Jin’s voice called from the door.

Taehyung’s hand released its pressure as the latch clunked open in the hall.

Then it hit you.

“Tae, what if…” you turned, looking up at him as Jungkook’s footsteps entered behind you, “what if Shinhyuk’s using my place? I mean, I don’t know what ‘territory’ it would be in, but…”

Still just inches from you, Tae tilted his head, mouth falling slack in realisation.

“Who’s this?”

The new voice startled you both, and Tae hurriedly took a step back and hauled a smile onto his face for Jungkook. Turning just as fast, you came face to face with another dark haired man, dressed in black with his matching hair dripping onto his shoulders and the carpet. Quickly, you flashed a smile and bobbed your head at him.

Then you saw it.

“Y/N, this is Jungkook,” Tae sauntered to his side, clapping him on the shoulder in spite of its wetness, and turning to grin at you.

But you were frozen.

Jungkook wore a loose t shirt which hung off him, and most importantly, off his collarbone, revealing to all the world a symbol inked there. A star-like symbol. One you remembered very well.

“Y/N?”

You dragged your eyes from Jungkook’s tattoo, finding both him and Taehyung looking back at you expectantly, Tae’s arm still draped around the younger boy’s shoulders.

“Sorry…” you breathed.

“Come on, the boy needs to eat!” the exclamation came from Jin, who ruffled Jungkook’s hair as he walked past to the kitchen, sending drops of water flying out and causing Taehyung to duck, laughing while cursing after Jin.

Grinning, Jungkook walked past you to lean on the counter and chat with Jin. You inhaled as he was close to you, shoulders tensing.

“What is it?” you gasped at Taehyung’s voice at your ear.

Though you angled your body back towards him, you couldn’t quite take your eyes off Jungkook, as if he was a spider you were trying to walk around in the shower. You took a second to scan the room, finding the others were back to sitting and eating.

“That… that tattoo…” you whispered, making Taehyung lean down to hear you, “that’s the same one the man in my house had…”

“Shit,” your full attention returned to Tae then; was Jungkook really a threat? “I definitely should have warned you.”

Wait.

“Warned me?”

“Yeah, he, uh,” Taehyung’s hand scratched his head above his ear, glancing over your shoulder at the subject of your conversation, “he’s our double agent. Tips our associates off about big shipments and that kind of stuff since he’s managed to get amongst Shinhyuk’s lot. Gets us money, territory and pisses the dickhead off when he loses his deals.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. Inside your chest, your heart slowed and you sat down with a breath out.

“So,” Namjoon spoke up. Jungkook’s smile stayed on his face as he left Jin to take his place on the sofa, already shoving food in his mouth.

Namjoon said no more, making the boy pause.

“…so?” he said thickly, already preparing for the next bite before he had finished the first.

“How did tonight happen?”

“Ah,” Jungkook tipped his head and lowered his food, swallowing hard, “he has a new place.”

Both you and Taehyung were instantly on alert from this statement.

“That wouldn’t happen to be at Central Hill apartment building, would it?” Taehyung said.

“How do you know?” Jungkook frowned.

“Floor fourteen, number 5?”

Jungkook nodded, “Why?”

“That’s my place,” you spoke quietly, but in the silence of the room you were heard loud and clear. You bit your lip against the unexpected sting in your eyes.

A hand that must be Taehyung’s landed softly on your back.

Across the room, Namjoon cleared his throat and you were glad for him becoming the magnet for the boys’ eyes again.

“That’s way inside our patch, no wonder he disappeared so easily. At least we know about it for next time, but-“

“Wait, listen Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook interrupted, “I don’t think we can do anything about this…”

“What do you-?” Namjoon stared at him in disbelief, “he’s getting out of hand, we need any advantage we can get.”

“But I’m worried about my cover being blown. Don’t you think I would have told you if I knew he was going to attack so suddenly? He didn’t tell me. He might be questioning whether he can trust me, so I’m gonna have to lay low for a bit. If it becomes clear you guys know where his new base is, it’s gonna be obvious he’s got a leak.”

All eyes rested on Namjoon, who was digesting the information with his tongue stuck into his cheek.

“Fine. If that’s best for the long run.”

You were sure you had whiplash from how fast the bangtan boys could dissolve from serious discussion about their frankly terrifying business into raucous laughter and casual jokes. It was still dark outside when you found yourself surrounded by empty food tubs and exhausted men, squashed up on the couch between Jimin and Taehyung with a faint smile at the corners of your mouth.

Beside you, Taehyung’s low laughter seemed to rumble through you due to your proximity.

This was strange.

The strangest thing about it, however, was how… not strange it felt. Anyone that had heard of the bangtan boys, yourself included, would have assumed a night with them would entail illegal substances at the very least or perhaps some fighting, but the only reminder of their reputation was the bloodstain on Jimin’s trousers and the guns that were out of sight in the kitchen.

Although you had barely said a word, being the outsider, they had made you smile.

You had learned that Hoseok had infectious laugher and was training as a dancer. Jungkook loved animal crossing and Namjoon was clumsy as hell, but loved reading. Jin could bake, Jimin had a ridiculously sweet personality and even Yoongi had shown to have a sense of humour.

The fun-loving Taehyung he was around these boys, though, was the one you knew first. In fact, it was stranger for you to see him so serious earlier on, despite the fact you couldn’t exactly have claimed to know him well from your previous encounters.

Eventually, they began to trickle out.

When Jimin finally stood up, relieving the pressure from your left-hand side, Jin and Hoseok went with him – Hoseok to drive and Jin with medical instructions – only two were left in the room.

“Well, I should go home too,” Jungkook stood from the sofa as you shifted yourself into Jimin’s vacated spot to give Taehyung more space, “it was, er, good to meet you Y/N.”

You smiled in response.

“Wait, Kookie,” Taehyung stood too, pulling Jungkook aside as the voices faded and left the hallway, “could you do one thing? It won’t blow your cover or anything, just…”

Hesitant though he looked, Jungkook gave a slow nod.

“Y/N? What’s your father’s name?”

“Y/d/N,” you told him, startled, “Y/d/N Y/L/N.”

Taehyung had been watching you, but now turned back.

“Can you find him, Jungkook? So Y/N can know how he’s doing?”

“Sure,” Jungkook agreed quickly when he heard Taehyung’s idea.

Hope that had been dying bloomed again inside you as Jungkook bid you both goodnight again, this time leaving afterwards. Everything may have fallen apart, but that didn’t mean nothing was left.

Stretching an arm out, other hand massaging his shoulder, Taehyung returned his attention to you with a smile.

“You alright?”

Nodding at him, you returned the expression.

“Thank you, Taehyung.”

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distinctlywhumpthing · 3 years

Text

Together 6: Inferno.

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CW: explicit language and content, multiple whumpees, torture, captivity, conditioning, noncon touching (non-sexual), implied noncon (sexual), dehumanization, electrocution, shock collar, beating, gaslighting, manipulation, restraints, extreme control of food/exercise for appearance, mention of passing out/vomiting due to exercise/restricted diet, controlling whumper, multiple whumpers, possessive whumper, masked whumper, letmeknowifimissedany

The next day, I wake up before August. He’s starfished on his back, feet, and one hand hanging off the bed. He looks even younger asleep, with freckles scattered across his nose, long eyelashes, and not much facial hair for a man who hasn’t had the chance to shave in a handful of days. The stubble that is there is even lighter than his hair, tending toward blondish rather than auburn. He sits up ramrod straight and groggy as hell when the keyring clangs against the outside of the metal door.

“Let’s go, Princess,” one of the goonies drones as he opens it. It’s Darius, but for some reason, he’s wearing a ski mask.

Weirdo. Did you just come from robbing a bank?

Maybe the mask means they’re planning to let August go, a good thing. I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone, but I still feel a bitter pang of jealousy. I don’t look back at him as I walk out.

Wyatt is waiting for me in his office, upstairs. He’s already cleared his desk for me. There are gauzy curtains in front of the windows so I can’t see the view but I always look forward to the daylight. Today, it’s muted like it might be overcast or raining. I strain to listen to see if I can hear it on the windows.

“Come here,” he says, standing and patting the desk in front of him.

I walk over, trying to read into his expression and tone. It’s never easy to tell what I’m in for because he’s so calculating. I don’t think I’ve ever once seen him lose control of himself in all these years. I sit up on the desk. He steps in between my knees so we’re eye-to-eye, tucks my hair behind both ears, and puts his hands on my thighs. Close enough that he can inhale every minute expression on my face and in my eyes like I’m shotgunning him.

“How do you like your new roommate?” he asks.

I’d shrug if it were allowed. There’s a remote to the collar in the pocket of his blazer. Instead, I just blink at him. Does it matter? Either way, he won’t be around very long.

Wyatt nods like I really did just answer him. “He made some poor choices last night. You were perfect, putting up with all of that.” He lifts his hand to the side of my neck, thumbing the collar through my shirt. “A little healthy fear will set him straight. I bought a new belt just for the occasion.”

Christ. I work to keep my face neutral.

Beatings have never been his M.O. with me. Except to make sure the silence was deep enough that not a damn thing earthside would illicit a fucking peep out of me, but he made it a point not to leave scars. He wants my body as perfect as my behavior. Otherwise, it’s all about the mind for this lunatic. Patient enough to find the trigger that will have me agreeing all on my own. He feels powerful, and I guess he is, for knowing just how to frame things, pinpointing what I want and need, even if I don’t realize.

“When it turned out he’d be staying longer than intended, I knew I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. He’s just too perfect,” Wyatt purrs.

What the fuck does that mean?

Wyatt stays silent and goes on reading my face while my thoughts snowball.

Shit. Why are you smiling at me like that?

Finally, he seems to have his fill of my reactions and squeezes my thigh. “It’s been quite a while since you took that many shocks, Emmy, and I can’t have you being stiff later,” he tells me, then pulls a tablet out of the desk drawer. “Do a yin yoga class—you haven’t eaten enough for anything else.”

I dip my head once in a nod.

He runs his thumb along my jaw before moving so I can hop off the desk.

The yoga is part of a whole distorted regimen. Wyatt wants my skeletal frame toned and flexible. “Not just skin and bones,” he says, but then goes on feeding me one meal a day. There’s no way he doesn’t calorie count the shit out of everything that passes my lips to elicit what he wants but it’s never enough to truly exercise on. He’s had me try other things but I’d just pass out or throw up and he wasn’t willing to adjust the input to equal the output. I love the yoga anyway.

The clothes he has me wear are skin tight and all black because boy does he love to watch me move. “You’re so graceful,” he’ll croon, admiring his maintenance of my figure. In the beginning, I wasn’t flexible enough for his liking, so he’d push me in the stretches until I thought my muscles would snap. Sometimes he’ll have some look-the-other-way woman come in and wax every surface below my neck so that in a black yoga bra and practically-underwear shorts, I shine. Then, he’ll have me to do all sorts of other things.

—

When I finish the video, an hour long, he waves me back over. He’s been watching me the whole time, a serene look on his face. He has me sit in front of him on the desk again. Prefers me up here, all within reach and eye-level. Carlos brings in our lunch in paper bags. It’s an endless rotation of delivery and takeout here. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a kitchen. Wyatt passes me a compostable bowl with a plastic lid. He knows this is one of my favorites.

I narrow my eyes.

The shit-eating grin comes back.

I don’t turn down the food though, despite the twisting in my stomach. Hunger strikes result in having a tube shoved down my throat. After all, my body is his wonderland. He eats a burrito, reclined in the chair with his feet on the desk next to me. Sips Coke out of a glass bottle and passes it to me. Purses his lips while he watches me hold it by the neck and take a swig before I hand it back. It fizzes down my throat sweetly.

Fuck, what is he planning?

It’s not strange to eat together or share a drink, but there’s something in his eyes today. An extra sparkle of anticipation. Last time he was like this, I wound up hanging from the ceiling for half a day. Contorted by silk rope knots into a goddamn living chandelier. The goonies had express permission to carry me after that one on account of my limbs turning to pins-and-needles jello.

After I finish eating, he tells me to find a book to pass the time. “I won’t have you getting sick later,” he says, pulling his phone out, dismissing me.

I move my ass before he moves it for me even though my sense of dread is deepening. I’ve made a fair dent in his library by now. Naturally, being a psychopath, Wyatt is well-read and intelligent. Lots of philosophy, social theory, plenty of psychology (but I feel like those must be a trap so I avoid them), books in other languages, and classic literature. I find it a little one-sandwich-short-of-a-picnic-basket that he wants his effectively-mute captive to also be well-read but it’s beyond me to try to understand his depraved logic.

—

When he’s decided it’s time, he stands and walks over to where I’m curled up in the armchair by the bookcase. “Let’s get you ready,” he says, holding out his hand and leading me over to his desk.

My pulse hammers in my throat.

He picks up a crisp sopping bag, pulls out folded black clothes. I usually change after I shower but it’s always a roll of the dice with Wyatt, especially in this kind of mood. I’m surprised when he starts putting the clothes on over what I’m already wearing. It’s baggy sweatpants and a hoodie—also black—and then some sneakers. I can’t remember the last time I wore shoes. Next, he pulls a little case out of the bag and opens it to reveal earbuds.

Oh, hell. Not again.

We’ve done this before. He took me out to some fluorescent superstore, spread his goonies around on video calls to record me, and sat in the fast-food restaurant with his laptop. Read me a shopping list and watched me sweat through it. I nearly had a conniption at the register. It was one of three times he’s ever taken me out.

Wyatt smirks at the misgivings playing across my face and passes me an elastic for my hair. I pull it all into a low, tight bun and then he uses first-aid tape to secure the headphone inside my ear. I’d never dream of removing it myself, and he knows that, so whatever is about to happen to me puts it at risk of falling out. I haven’t felt this scared in a while and it’s making him smile even more.

I know being hopeless but no longer frightened provides an irresistible challenge. It’s not like I can help being resigned to his life for me, exactly as he intended. He doesn’t want me shitting-my-pants-afraid. It’s not about that. He could have made me vacant, and not just silent if he’d wanted but there’s a thrilling risk to pushing me. My psyche is his game of Jenga and he never loses. He knows how to manipulate, balance, and finesse every piece so that I’ll only ever wobble, dangerously close to collapse but always just shy, leaving him infinitely validated. So, I know he’d never put me in a position to truly break but I still fear the magnitude of the wobble. And the duration.

Wyatt has handed me gloves and is now holding up the last item from the bag. A clown mask.

Oh, god. Are we actually robbing someplace?

If I weren’t wearing so many clothes, I would be convinced I was in for some twisted, kinky shit, especially with these gloves. He ties the mask securely behind my head and I’m already sweating under the foamy rubber just imagining silently holding someone up. With a loaded weapon in my hand.

Fuck, Wyatt. Seriously?

He traces his fingers down my arms, pulling up my hands and helping me off the desk. Holding my arms out and looking me over like he’s seeing his prom date’s outfit for the first time and just knows that he’ll get to take it all off later. He drops my hands and pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over my head.

“Perfect,” he purrs and leads me down the hallway toward a door I haven’t entered in a very long time. I’m wearing too many clothes for what that room is usually used for. I hope.

Wyatt moves in front of me and pulls me close so our noses almost touch, lowers his voice in a way that is far from soothing. “If I’m not happy, with any aspect of your performance, I will personally tenfold it. Understood?” He searches my eyes one at a time. Left to right and back again.

I nod, stomach already somewhere by my feet.

He leaves me in the little hall, alone. There’s a yellow light bulb underneath a metal cage on the wall.

Sonofabitch. I’m terrified.

Naturally, I don’t move until Wyatt's voice comes over the headphone in my ear. “Go in. Close the door behind you.”

Calm down, Emma, you just have to survive this one thing right now. How bad can it be?

I take a deep breath and open the door, step in, and close it softly behind me, not sure what is waiting for me since it’s dark. My eyes don’t have time to adjust before the lights flick on.

All my blood runs cold. This is undeniably the ninth circle of Hell.

Wyatt lets me stand there, frozen, and unable to pull air into my lungs, for more than a few of my stuttering heartbeats before he finally gives me my next command,

“Emma, pick up the belt.”

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Taglist: @deluxewhump

#whump #lady whump #masked whumper #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #h/c #captivity cw #torture cw #dehumanization cw #conditioning cw #hurt/comfort #puppet master whumper #things are about to change for emma #turning point #in a bad way #emma and august #anyone pick up on the inferno reference?#or am i the only nerd?

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icollectyoursins · 4 years

Note

Holy shiiiiiiit! Asnsks, I love your blog! Thank you for this amazing content! 😍❤️ Could I please request an Abbacchio x fem! Reader, where she tries to convince him to role play as a police officer for her? Thank yooou! (also, I'm sorry for my terrible English) 💮

No, absolutely I can write that! I have no idea how to do role play (which, you would think as someone training to be an actor, I would, but I just don’t get it.) However, I also said I didn’t see the point of liking Kira and after writing that I discovered so many things about myself. I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me, ahah.

Update as of finished writting: This awakened something in me, hence the length. Oops.

You may have bitten off more than you can chew with asking Leone Abbacchio to dabble in robber/cop role play. Your fantasy has become a reality, however you’re starting to think the power is getting to his head (in the best way possibly, of course).

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Role play (obviously), handcuffs, man-handling, fingering, making the reader taste their own uh... juices?? (I don’t know what to call it), spanking, dildos (not masturbation, but used on reader, I just can’t remember what it’s called), rough sex, cream pie.

Word Count: 1794

Oh, dear.

“Oh, come on! It could be fun,” you wrapped your arms around Abbacchio’s waist, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Trying to convince him to role play with you was proving harder than expected. He was more than apprehensive to indulge in your fantasy, but the look in your eyes and the sway of your hips had him weak, only one more word away from breaking to your will. “What could go wrong? Me, in handcuffs, helpless. You could do whatever you wanted.”

He huffed, looking away from you, clearly blushing. You would look so good bare in front of him, hands behind your back, ass red from smacking it so much. He could already feel something churning in him. “Fine.”

Your face lit up at your victory, standing up on your toes to peck him on the lips. “But, no clothes.” You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I’m going out, I want you to be here. All day. No clothes. Try not to do anything suspicious.”

Oh... oh, no. Warmth spread through your core as well as on your face as you nodded, grinning.

-----------

True to your word, you spent the entire day after that wearing nothing, opting to spend most of the time under a blanket until he sent you a message saying he was on his way. At that point, you walked around the house, putting things out of place, hiding things, you know, normal criminal stuff.

You were in the kitchen when he gets home. The minute he steps in, you can feel energy change in the air. It’s serious all of the sudden, sending excitement down your spine. There was no mistaking, he’s going to be hunting your ass (possibly quite literally). In a spur of the moment decision, you hide behind one of the walls so you’re out of view. You can hear his footsteps as they walk into the living room, away from you. A breath of relief rushes through you, but you can’t help shaking, whether it was the cold or excitement, you don’t know, but you hoped he couldn’t hear you.

Abbacchio looked around his living room, noticing little bits and bobbles missing. Whoever “broke in” to his house left the valuables, thank god, at least in this room, perhaps he should check in the kitchen? Soft, slow footsteps made their way towards your hiding place. You couldn’t help shyly covering yourself when you heard him round the corner, stopping at the entrance.

He knew were there, but just to tease you; make you wait, he looked the other way towards the window. Hands in pockets, he walked over to it, closing the curtains. It doesn’t take long to notice the clinking of metal on his hips as well as the shine. Handcuffs, proper handcuffs. You also noticed the bag hanging off his hand. From what you could make out in the plastic, there was something very long and very pink.

Leone hears a shift behind him, then turns around to see what made it. The sight he saw would have knocked any other man onto his knees. He knew better. A woman he had never met standing in his kitchen completely bare. She hadn’t even had the decency to properly cover her tits. He narrows his eyes, sighing.

There was something in the way he looked at you that made you feel so small and afraid. You broke into a run, turning around the corner and up the stairs, holding your breasts so they wouldn’t slap. God knows that is the last need you needed. A sore chest from-

Hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into something solid, then pinning you against the wall. You’d only made it to the bottom of the stairs when he caught you. He placed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, snatching one of your hands, twisting it behind you. You let out a mix between a gasp and a moan as he growls in your ear.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he trailed a hand across your back, down your side and then to the front of your crotch, lightly teasing the outside of your lips. “Were your hoping I wouldn’t be home? Thought you could take what you wanted and then leave, thief?”

“I’m not a-”

“Don’t deny it. Do you know who I am?” Abbacchio presses into you, lips brushing against the crook of your neck.

“N-no.”

“So, you don’t know you’re stealing from an officer? And poorly, at that.”

“Uh-no.”

“Tch, pathetic. What? Did you decide to get off while you were here? Thought you’d have time?”

“This is an abuse of power,” you say shakily. He laughs lowly.

“No. This is an abuse of power,” he grabs your other hand, pinning them to your lower back. You hear the clinking of metal and then a cold around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to move; to escape, but he was too strong, pushing harder into you as a warning. You’re trapped now, there was no way to get out of this. What was your safe word again?

Leone’s hand returns to your vagina, from the other side this time, groping your ass cheek on the way down. You hadn’t even realized how wet you were until you heard the squelch of his finger pressing into you lightly. He chuckles again, pulling his finger back, putting it in his mouth. He hums at the taste.

“What a tasty thing you are, thief. Is this what you wanted? To be bound and fucked? What a whore.” He turns you around, quickly lifting you up over his shoulder. You kick your legs for a bit, but soon discover that it’s pointless. He’s going to do whatever he wants with you and you fucking love it.

He walks into the living room, stopping at the arm of your couch, setting you down and then flipping you around, pushing you over it so your ass is in the air. You hear some shuffling behind you, then in mere seconds, his fingers are back on your slick entrance sliding up and down, putting extra attention in to your little bundle of nerves, pushing harder against your clit. Occasionally, he changes the direction, keeping his rough fingers on your bud, swiping back and forth before returning to your wet, needy hole.

You moan loudly, pushing back against him. Your moan is met with a firm smack against your plush cheeks. Abbacchio wraps his hand in your hair, pulling you up so your back arches.

“Do that again,” he growls. You furrow your brows and are about to say something when you feel something large against your entrance. It’s cold, plasticy. He’s not going to-

Your thought is cut off by the thing pushing into you, making you mewl. The tip goes in, but then he pulls it out, only to push it back in, deeper. The process repeats until what you now know is a long dildo is almost fully in you. Your face is red and your scalp sore from how long he’s been holding you there. He lets go, letting you flop to the soft cushions.

He moves to your side, bringing the dildo to your lips. You open your mouth willingly, eyes rolling back at the taste of yourself on it. Abbacchio mumbles something about you being a whore, but you’re not sure, not that you’d mind. At this point, it was well past being confirmed. He smacks your ass again, then gropes it which makes you jerk forward, taking just a little bit more of it in your mouth. His hand continue to come down on your cheeks until they’re red and there’s a visible bulge in your throat.

The dildo is removed from your throat far too soon, a string of drool still connects you to it. You pant, barely calling out his name when he walks behind you, tossing the pink thing away. The sound of his clothes coming off is unmistakable. You’re already so out of energy, but there’s something in you that never wants this to end. He rubs his thumb down your slick again.

“Is this what you wanted, puttana?” You whine, nodding your head. “I better make this worth your while, then, shouldn’t I?”

You nod again. “Please.”

You feel the tip of his cock tease your entrance. “Please what?”

“Please~ah. Please fuck meee~” He chuckles darkly, then slams his length into you in one quick motion. You scream, voice cracking. His hands wrap around your handcuffs, using them as a handle while he pounds into you, pulling out completely, then filling you again. Eventually, his thrusts are so powerful that he’s using your own momentum to fuck you.

You’re not aware of what you’re saying, but you know words are coming out of your mouth, babbling like an idiot as he fucks out every brain cell you have. Abbacchio hears every word, though. And he loves it.

“Ah! Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me, please. Oh, don’t stop. God YES, don’t stop! Abbacchio, ~uuuh.~ Leone!” Fuck, he was getting close. All he wanted to do right now was fill your walls with his seed. He groaned. Thinking of our cum dripping out of you drove him insane. He let go of the handcuffs, doubling over you, picking up the pace of his hips.

The feeling of his cock pounding into your walls over and over and over again quickly drove you over the edge, orgasm washing over you in a white sheet. Your walls spammed down on Abbacchio, clamping down on him tightly, your juices flooding over the side and down his leg sent him flying into his own release, spilling into you. The combined feeling of your cum and his leaking out of you had both of your heads spinning.

To him, it was everything he imagined it would be. He pulled out, breathless at the sight, not even realizing he was moaning at it. Your handcuffs were undone, not that you noticed. You were too fucked out at this point. After he briefly cleaned you up with a warm towel, he pulled you into his arms, keeping you close to him while you relaxed on the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

Guilt started to settle in his chest as he kissed your forehead.

“You’re on the pill, right?” He asked, trying to hide his concern.

“IUD, but yeah. Don’t worry about it.” You felt him relax as you said that. You opened your eyes a crack, then laughed.

“What?”

“The curtains were open,” you laughed dreamily. Leone looks over and sure enough, your curtains were wide open and the window was open just a crack.

“Shit.” He grumbled. He was never going to hear the end of this.

----

Translations:

puttana = slut

176 notes · View notes

flying-nightwing · 4 years

Text

Scorpion (1/2)

I am still working on Op. Solarstorm, but I had this playing in my mind for far too long to keep ignoring. Also, not me back at it again with my favourite tropes and villain!reader? lmao. Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist in bio/pinned

Pairing:

Dick Grayson x f!reader (villain)

Word count: 5217

Warnings: Language, violence, steamy stuff hehe ;) but no nsfw, kind of angst? also reader being so fucking dramatic Summary: You are the resident bad guy of Blüdhaven, former supervillain, nemesis of Nightwing and master toxinologist in your own right. One night, however, you receive an unexpected visit that convince you to return to your former alias, Scorpion. (Based off a prompt I can’t find in my likes anymore but I’ll link it as soon as I find it)

The storm raged outside.

The rain pelted down your windows, blurring the view of Blüdhaven’s skyline almost entirely. Only the occasional thunder bolts lit up the horizon, just enough to see for a fraction of second the dark clouds glaring down the city. The wind howled as it navigated around the skyscrapers, washing away the droplets of rain as soon as they crashed down.

You stood in front of the curtain wall of your condo, sipping a glass of wine and watching it all unwind like a movie. You found the storm relaxing, as if the loud growl of it drained all the negative energy stored within you and released it as a powerful blast out into the world. You smiled at the thought; if only you could possess that much power to smithe your enemies, your job would be about a hundred times easier.

You were about to leave your window for a refill when you heard the faintest thud at your door. You frowned, waiting a moment, before shrugging and resuming your course for the kitchen. However, before you could get there, another sound reached your ears, this time, unmistakably two quiet knocks. You placed your glass on a hallway table beside a flower vase and went to the door, peeking through the glass eye. When you saw nothing, you backed up and reached for the switchblade tucked under the waistband of your pants, then placed a careful hand on the knob. You twisted and pulled the door open, and your muscles tensed at the sight in front of you.

Your fight or flight instinct kicked in for a second as your eyes registered the black and blue before anything else, but you held back that reaction when you noticed something was wrong. While there was no doubt the man on the other side was Nightwing, the vigilante that always managed to spoil your plans or stop your schemes, he looked nothing like the cocky vigilante who would have already delivered a clever one liner as soon as he got a glimpse of your face.

No, that man was hunched on the wall, his footing staggering and his suit ripped on the arms and the torso. He was drenched and visibly weak, and his mask was broken over his left eye. Even if you could see only half of it, you noticed the blown pupil that expanded over most of his iris. Like his reaction time had been put in slow motion, he finally lifted his head, his gaze swaying from left to right. He had been clearly drugged.

“I’m sorry” His voice was shaky and breathless. “I’m sorry… I had nowhere else to go”

You noticed only then he was clutching his stomach, even if he wasn’t bleeding specifically there. You snapped out of your stupor, putting your arm around his torso and holding him up as he crashed forward. You managed to pull him in your condo with you and shut the door behind you with your foot. He was heavy, especially since he probably didn’t have the control of his muscles at all to help you with the weight, but you managed to get him to your couch. You laid him down, being careful not to let his head bounce on the way down. You put the back of your hand on his forehead, and he was burning. Even through the rain on his skin, you could see the coat of sweat on his face and down his neck. Switchblade in hand, you cut through what remained of his suit and slipped it off him before he caught his death from wearing cold, soaking wet clothes on top of whatever else was happening. He started writhing on the couch, moaning in pain and still clutching his stomach. You saw that it was swollen and tender under all the shallow fresh cuts littering his body, and immediately you understood that he hadn’t been drugged, he had been poisoned.

You moved up his body again and kneeled beside his head, gently removing his domino mask. He was so out of it he didn’t even notice your cold fingers on his face, nor your saddened sigh. It had been a while since you had seen him without his mask, and yet, he was still as shockingly beautiful as he was years ago. You didn’t waste time appreciating his beauty however, as you were most probably on the clock. You stood up and left him there for a second as you grabbed your emergency kit labelled poison/venom and brought it back to him, kneeling once again. You grabbed the flashlight first, leaning above his face and pulling the eyelids of his right eye open. You flashed the light in it, but the pupil remained blown, completely ignoring the sudden brightness. His left eye was the same.

Quickly, you put the flashlight away and grabbed a plastic syringe, capping it with a needle. You made sure the air was out before finding the vein in his arm and plunging the needle in it. You filled it with blood and put it aside while you fished the toxicity test, then put a small amount of blood in the vial and twirled it to mix it with the powder. You waited a minute and checked the scale, which told you if left untreated, whatever was flowing through his veins would be very lethal. You swore under your breath as you pushed to your feet again, heading for your bedroom and your walk in wardrobe. At the back of it, you punched a code in a pad and the wall pulled slightly toward you. With a tug, you pulled it all the way out and grabbed the first o negative blood bag as well as tubes and a stand to hook it on. You returned to him and prepared his transfusion in a record time, setting the bag and the tubes then putting once again a needle in his arm. At this point, he had stopped moving, but his chest still rose and fell in jagged motions.

You remained there a couple of seconds more to be sure he was really passed out, then you grabbed the syringe filled with blood and moved everything else out of the way. You put the syringe on the counter while you dragged your working station from another room--only now glad that you made the choice to have it on wheels--and put it so you could have a good view of Dick even when working. You took the time to put gloves, then brought the syringe with you and sat behind your microscope.

You put a drop of blood on the slide and got to work.

---

You waited in the dark warehouse, your ears strained for any other sound than the water leaking from the roof. Your double edged spear was prominent on your back, glistening under the faint light coming from the bright spot outside. You hadn’t taken it out in a while, but its blades were still sharp and deadly. You hoped the sheer sight of it would be enough to remind your rendez-vous who was in charge here, but you wouldn’t mind using your weapon once again.

You stared deeper into the building as quiet footsteps grew closer, and seconds later, your contact emerged from the darkness. You let them come to you as you remained attentive to your surroundings. Just because they were an old colleague of yours, it didn’t mean you trusted them. If anything, it made them even more dangerous in your eyes.

“Scorpion” They greeted with a smirk, using your old nickname. You couldn’t help but let a chuckle at the memory of the good old days, when you definitely wouldn’t have gone to such lengths for Nightwing out of all people. “What owes me the pleasure of getting your call tonight?”

“I need some intel” You went straight to the point, fishing a small vial from your black trenchcoat, holding it up to eye level. “This is a very rare sample of Diamondback rattlesnake venom I extracted from the blood of an unfortunate victim. Any idea how it got into Blüdhaven without me knowing?”

They raised an eyebrow after giving the vial a quick glance. “Are you accusing me of smuggling it into the city?”

“Not yet” You carefully replied. “But I believe you might know who did”

“Listen” They sighed as you put back the sample in your coat. “You’ve been out of the game for a while now. Things have changed down here, and it’s not my place to question the chain of power”

“Have they?” You challenged, sweeping the room once again and noticing they hadn’t brought back up. Decidedly, someone somewhere got ahead of themselves and forgot their place.

“Uh?”

“Have things really changed?” You slowly raised an eyebrow. You felt dread creep in their eyes. “I want a name”

“None can do” They backed up slowly, palms up. “You hold no power here anymore, so you should just go back to your tower and keep your nose in your mob business before we both get killed”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” You mumbled, looking them up and down. Then, you reached behind your back to get your spear. You striked rapidly as they jumped back, the blade slicing the skin of their biceps. You spun it in your hand and put it back on your back.

“What the f--” They swore, glaring at you. “You’re truly out of it, Scorpion. Can’t even hit your fucking target now. That’s why nobody’s scared of you anymore”

“If you think I missed, then you’ve learned nothing” You simply smiled as you backed away. “You’ll remember who’s in charge soon enough. Have a good life, what’s left of it anyway”

You turned around and walked away, thinking about how the powerful venom coating the blades of your staff was strong enough to cause seizures in about fifteen minutes, and death in fifteen more.

---

You returned to your condo as the sun began to be visible over the horizon, the soft light basking the whole living room in a yellow hue. You quietly went back to your room, changing from your drenched trench coat and black suit to a cream colored blouse and burgundy slacks. You carefully put back your spear in its locked case, keeping its blades far away from any exposed skin.

You returned to the living room, pausing beside Dick who was still passed out. His breathing was slower, more even now, so the antidote you had prepared before leaving had worked. The fever seemed to have died down, and you guessed his stomach wasn't swollen anymore. You didn’t want to pull off the two heavy blankets over him to check and let his bare skin come into contact with the cold of the room. You checked the solute solution that replaced the blood bag on the stand, knowing you wouldn’t need a refill once it was empty. Knowing the man, he’d wake up anytime soon.

You cleaned up the room and brought back your working station to your office, then sat at your computer to catch up on some work your now ex-accountant messed up. After a couple of hours, you took a nap that turned into something closer to a night full of sleep, and only woke up in the late afternoon. You were surprised Dick was still out when you checked on him, it wasn’t his type to fall into the average of anything, especially not recovery time.

You had to wait well after sundown for him to stir awake with a groan, then slightly panic as he took in his surroundings. He tried to sit up, but fell back onto his elbows.

“Take it easy” You said, bringing his attention to you for a second before he averted his gaze. “You had quite the dose of venom in your blood. You’re lucky you even made it to my door”

Even with his gaze casted down, you could see he was confused by the soft tone you spoke to him with. It was a far cry from the threats and insults you usually shared when he decided to come and interfere with your business. Yet, you didn’t like the idea of someone else out there trying to kill him, despite the fact that you had done so many times in the past. You and Nightwing had been long standing rivals, fighting for the same turf when you were Scorpion and now that you had your own mob to manage. He knew where you stood, and you him, creating a dynamic where unspoken rules were religiously being respected by both parties. And well, you hated when rules were broken, especially by people with no respect for them, especially when they targeted your nemesis.

You stood up and walked to him, sitting on the coffee table beside him. You brushed your hand down his cheek to his chin, gently pushing up so he could meet your eyes. They were still a bit glassy and unfocused from the venom, but the pupils had regained their normal size. The white around his dark blue irises was bloodshot, and the dark bags under his lids were prominent. In the years you had known him, you had never seen him so battered, so down, so not… him. Even if you were by all purposes and intents enemies, it still sparked a rage within you. You could feel the anger rise in your throat at the defeated face staring back at you, but you willed it back inside. For now.

Your voice was barely a whisper, but it still conjured a divine wrath with every word. “Who did this to you?”

“Doesn’t matter” He mumbled, but he didn’t have the strength to conceal his lie. He tried to get up, but his muscles failed him.

“But it does” You shook your head, not letting him look away. “Someone injected you with venom and tortured you. It cannot go unanswered, not under my watch”

Something switched in his eyes, before it was buried under resolve in front of your insisting. “Sionis”

Suddenly you saw red. You knew he had been in town for a few weeks already, but you mostly ignored him, thinking he’d go away on his own after concluding whatever deal he was there for. You had no doubt he had been the one to take over Blüdhaven’s underworld right under your nose and turn everyone against you. Unbeknownst to them, you were still the most dangerous person in this city and it was well past time to remind them of it.

“Stay here, you need to rest” You ordered, gently pushing him back on the couch. “When you’ll feel strong enough to stand up, there’s food in the fridge”

“Wait, where are you going?” Confusion etched on his features.

“I’m going to have a little chat with Sionis”

“(Y/N), no” His voice was strained as he pushed himself off the couch and tried to stand up again. The use of your name made you halt your step to face him as he struggled to stay on his feet. “You don’t… You can’t…”

You retook the steps towards him, stopping right in front of him. “You came to me last night for help, so let me help”

“I know but…” He trailed off, sighing. “I can’t let you fight my battles, it’s not right”

“I’m not, I’m doing what I should have done weeks ago. I have let the infection fester in the wound for far too long, and now it’s time to clean it” You placed a hand on his cheek, and he didn’t fight it. “It’s our city, and if Sionis thinks he can take it, he’s gravely mistaken”

“It doesn’t mean I want it to be taken back your way” His eyes flashed pain as he shook his head slightly. Yet, he still didn’t back off, but you retracted your hand like it touched fire. “Scorpion left a trail of bodies wherever she went. I may still not approve of your current career, but nothing will let me morally support your descent to that rabbit hole again”

Your features hardened at his words. “Those are bold claims for a man who cannot take two steps without crumbling” You spoke calmly, but the harsh undertone in your voice was a dead giveaway of your bitterness. “I don’t want to see you hurt, I think we’ve established that a long time ago. But I feel like it’s a good time to remind you that what was given can be taken away”

“You’re threatening me now?”

You gave him a cold smile as you backed away. “Oh honey, you’ll know when I’m threatening you”

“So we’re back to this uh?” His sneer transcended his weakened physical state.

“You should rest” You deflected, not ready to answer that just yet, not to him, anyway. You hated to see disappointment on such handsome features, even if it was pretty much the only thing you ever saw anymore. “This isn’t a hangover you can shake off with a tylenol and a smoothie. You need to let the antidote work”

He only held your stare, the disappointment you dreaded steadily growing in his blue eyes. His lack of words were as effective as his worst scolding. Without breaking eye contact, you fished your phone from your pocket and dialed the first contact in your list.

“Borovski, arrange a last minute meeting with Mr. Sionis” You spoke in a flat tone. “Yes, let him know that Scorpion requires an audience”

------

You found the place of the meeting peculiar.

The underground casino was crassy, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging low in the air. No players were sitting at the tables, no bartenders were on duty, only a handful of armed guards giving you a not so warm welcome into the establishment and one man in a purple sequin suit.

“Ah, Scorpion!” Sionis called as he stood up. Then, he paused as he took you in. “I must say, you are not what I expected”

You raised an eyebrow at the grimace he made, but he kept looking you up and down as if there was something he didn’t quite catch. Finally, his eyes stopped on your spear on your back, and his face lit up with understanding. He laughed, but it seemed way too forced.

“Oh, I get it now!” He wiped nonexistent tears from his eyes as he pointed back and forth between you and the spear. “It’s because the spear’s like a scorpion tail. Very clever!”

“I’m glad to see there are no explanations required then” You scoffed sarcastically as you took one step forward. Immediately, his guards closed in on you.

“Aht aht,” He held a finger up, waving it obnoxiously. “I might find it clever, but there is no scenario possible in which you come close to me with that thing. Hand it over”

“Afraid of a little blade, Sionis?” You taunted, nevertheless taking your spear off your back and handing it to one of his goons.

“Nice try, but we both know it’s not just the blade” He made yet another grimace as you got cleared to come closer. “Men, be careful not to touch the shiny part of it, kay? I’d hate to stain the floors with your dead bodies”

You smirked as you sat down in the chair he gestured to, resting your arms on the empty poker table. He sat down sideways in front of you and crossed his legs, bouncing his feet to an imaginary beat. “So... Miss Scorpion,” He began, a hint of humour in his voice like the situation was amusing. “I gotta say, I admire your previous work. But how long has it been since then? Five, six years? Where have you been?”

“Seven” You corrected. “I inherited a criminal empire from my father, changed vocations. Rather than sting people, I synthesize antidotes to the most potent venoms and sell them for quite a fortune per dose”

“Uh, I heard you were in the drug market” He frowned. “Perhaps my intel was… Mistaken”

“That too” The corner of your lips went up. “Well dosed, venom makes for a fantastic psychedelic. But worry not about your circle, those are no street drugs. Not a lot of people can afford it, in fact”

He nodded slowly. “So you want what exactly, to sell to me?”

“No” You shook your head, your smile turning just a bit more sinister as you grabbed the rattlesnake venom vial and rolled it to him. Slowly, he picked up and observed it, recognition flashing in his features. You leaned forward, setting your stare on him. “I’m here for other concerns. Like you bringing venom in my city without my authorization”

He sat back in his chair, amused and unimpressed. He twirled the vial in his gloved hands, lazily studying it. “It’s not your city anymore” He shrugged. “It was right there for the taking, and honestly it is so much more fun than Gotham, without a gloomy bat lurking in the dark”

You didn’t react immediately. You simply observed him, then subtly calculated the distance of each goon from him. In theory, their reaction times would be slow enough for you to get to Sionis. But you held back, knowing he’d expect it now.

“That’s what your smuggler said, too” You hummed, watching closely as his eyes met yours. He mustn’t be happy about that, because his expression became a notch darker. “Before I killed them, that is. But I guess I did you a favor in doing so. They would have sold you out to the next opportunist. Nobody likes a traitor, right?”

He regained his composure, but the bitterness in his eyes didn’t leave. “When I heard you wanted to meet, I thought it’d be to apologize to me for your misstep” He took a deep breath. “I was ready to let you go with some compensation for my loss in the form of doing my dirty work, I really was. But now I see you still want to be insolent--”

“Alright, I’ll say this once and only once” You interrupted him, and he instantly grew offended. “Get out of my city. Leave and never come back, or Nightwing won’t be the one you’ll be facing”

“So, this is what got your panties in a twist” He laughed, then seriousness fell back down on his features in a snap. “Kill her”

Before they could move, you pushed out of your chair and grabbed your switchblade in your belt. Your footwork was swift as you spun around Sionis, avoiding the range of the gun he was pulling out, and stopped behind him. A second later, his head was slammed down on the table and your blade was pressed to his throat. You looked up at the goons who had halted their movements, suspense of what you’d do next hanging in the air.

“Drop your weapons” You ordered, nodding at the gun aimed at you. “C’mon, off with it. Kick them away too”

“Drop your weapons” Sionis repeated through his teeth, not daring to move a muscle. God knew what was on your blade, and if you drew blood, it’ll most likely be over for him. “Fuck!”

Slowly, they lowered their weapon to the ground and kicked them toward you. “Good” You huffed out before leaning closer to Sionis. “Now maybe you won’t underestimate me anymore. This is only a taste of what will come to you if you keep provoking me. I’ll destroy you like a poison running its course through a healthy vein, and you’ll regret setting eyes on my city. Understood?”

“You fucking bitch” He panted, a twisted smile on his lips. “You’re fucking dumb if you think you can get out of here alive. You’re out of your league, little girl”

“Really? I was under the impression that your life mattered more than mine” You said as you pressed your blade further, exposing the metal to his blood long enough to know the venom got in. You retracted your blade, but kept the hand on his head. “If I don’t make it out of here, neither will you. You’ll be dead in thirty minutes, like your smuggler. It’s gonna be painful and ugly, trust me. But if I walk out of here, in five minutes you’ll have a delivery boy knocking at your door and handing you the antidote. So what’s it gonna be, Sionis?”

He took a moment, exhaling loudly as his breathing quickened. “Go” He muttered harshly, glaring up sideways at you with a thousand daggers. “Fucking shit hell, go!”

You grinned, making the motion of leaving, but you weren’t done just yet. “One more thing” You slammed his head on the table once again before letting him go. “Nightwing is off limits. You’d do well to remember it”

You backed off of him, letting him stand up again and adjust his suit with an undignified huff. His eyes shot thunder at your back as you retreated, smugly taking your spear out of a goon’s hand and exiting the casino.

You weren’t such a fool not to expect retaliation, but at least you could say he had been warned through an over of what would be waiting for him.

-----

You weren’t expecting a welcome party back home, but Dick was there, on his feet, leaning on the couch as he glared at the front door.

“I thought you’d be back to sleep by now” You mused as you got in your apartment. You dropped your keys on the counter and made a show of putting down your spear. His eyes burned into yours as he watched your every move like a hawk. You raised an eyebrow as you took off your coat, then unclipped your utility belt and dropped it beside your keys. “Why now, are you finally out of clever one liners?”

He scoffed, then crossed his arms against his chest and looked away.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know why you’re mad I went after Sionis” You kept speaking, as he clearly gave you the silent treatment. “Who, by the way, tried to kill you with rattlesnake venom, in case you have already forgotten”

“I’m not mad” He finally mumbled. “I’m mourning the days where I didn’t have to worry about you going on a killing spree anymore”

“Is that all you think of me?” Your tone turned dry as you took one step toward him. “A loose cannon that needs to be held on a leash?”

“I don’t know” He shrugged sarcastically. “From what I remember from your so called glory days, bodies pile up pretty quickly when you’re in a mood”

You closed your eyes as your eyebrows rose in disbelief. “I’ve always liked you, Dick” You began after taking a deep breath. “As yourself and as Nightwing. We’ve always had a lot of common enemies, and I was fine with sharing this city with you”

You paused, slowly closing the distance between you and him. His muscles were tense, and his posture was defensive.

“If you think this was bad, oh you’re in for a treat, honey” You were face to face now. “I held back out of respect for you. Sionis is alive, out of respect for you. I healed you out of respect for you. Now that I know none of that respect is reciprocated, what stops me from fully being the bad guy?”

He stood up fully, towering over you. You had to look upwards to hold his glare.

“Me”

You smirked. “You’re so full of yourself”

“You don’t believe I can?”

“Well, you couldn’t when I was holding back”

“What makes you think I wasn’t holding back too?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“You had no reason to leave me out on the streets to pile up bodies, as you put it so eloquently” You taunted. “Unless…”

You inched closer, your faces only inches apart now.

“Unless you liked the chase as much as I did”

“In your dreams” He sneered.

“Oh, every night without a fail”

Before you could blink, he sneaked his hand behind your head and crashed his lips to yours. You were surprised, but you didn’t waste time leaning into it. For a man still weak from his previous poisoning, he recovered his spunk pretty quickly. His fingers dug into your side as you moved against each other, and if you didn’t know better, you’d believe he was trying to leave bruises on your skin. You returned the favor, brushing your hands against his bare chest, but his reaction wasn’t the one you had anticipated. He hissed, probably still sensitive around the stomach from the effect of the venom, and you took the opportunity to catch his lower lip between your teeth, giving it a soft bite.

“Fuck” He grunted, his eyes fluttering close.

“Are you sure you’re strong enough for this?” You hummed, tracing the dark bags under his eyes with your thumb. He opened his eyes once again, an incredulous and slightly offended glint in them that told you he was tired of you asking any variant of this question. “Alright, no need for hostility”

You returned your lip to his as he steadily backed you through your condo, navigating with assurance toward your bedroom. Your back pushed the door open with a thud, and soon after, you felt the mattress pressing behind your knees. You sat back, peeling off your shirt from your body and scooting further back on the bed. Dick climbed after you, pushing you on your back and wasting no time to crawl all over you again. You heard noise in the background, but you were too busy focusing on how blissful his mouth down your neck to your chest and back up made you feel. You barely noticed when your hands were brought up above your head, or when cold metal was secured around your wrists with a click.

Then, his body weight above yours was abruptly taken off. You reopened your eyes, mind still a bit fuzzy as you stared in confusion at Dick standing at the foot of the bed. Your frown deepened when you gave a good tug on your wrist, but couldn’t bring them down. You narrowed your eyes, then read his smug expression and understood what he did. You were tempted to be mad, but you couldn’t help but give him a full blown grin”

“Well, well, well” You drawled out, relaxing back. These were your handcuffs, you knew there was no getting out of them so easily. “I gotta say, I’m impressed. Using my attraction to you to get me temporarily out of commission is cold. I didn’t know you had it in you”

“Well, you had it coming” He crossed his arms against his chest, but in a more relaxed manner this time.

“Playing dirty now, are we?” You chuckled as you shamelessly checked him out. “Very well then. Next time we meet I’ll have adapted my game. I hope you’re ready”

You might have imagined it, but a small smile played on his lips just before he turned around and left you there, handcuffed to your bed frame.

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