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thoseboysinblue · 4 months

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Lucky #7

Mason Mount x reader

You unexpectedly bump into Mason in Manchester after moving back home from London.

Word Count: 5900+

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This was based on a dream I had. Thanks to @neverinadream as always for helping me flesh things out. Feedback always appreciated.

"Come on, Beck," you plead with your younger brother to hurry so that you can get him dropped off where he needs to be for training, "you're going to be late."

"I'm not," he rolls his eyes at you as he trails along behind you. He throws a haphazard "bye" over his shoulder as he enters the locker room to finish getting ready for training.

"Bye then," you sigh as you turn around realizing you've gotten yourself a little lost at the Carrington training grounds. You clutch onto the forms your parents asked you to drop off as you search through your messages for the name of the person you were supposed to leave them with.

"Finally," you say quietly to yourself once you find it, bumping into someone as soon as you look up.

"Y/N?" Mason chuckles as he realizes who just nearly ran him over.

"Mase, hey, sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," you shake your head at him.

"It's no problem, what are you doing here? You ok? You seem a bit frazzled," he looks at you warmly, giving you a grin that shows off his perfectly placed dimples, his brown eyes dancing playfully.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just taking care of my brother while my parents are out of town and need to turn some things into one of the administrators. I think I'm a little lost, though," you sigh as you look around.

"Maybe I can help," he smiles, glancing at the time before ushering you towards the administrative suite.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm sure you've got somewhere else to be," you offer him a smile.

"Nah, I'm good," he shrugs at you.

"I didn't realize you had a brother playing for the academy. Are you just here while your parents are out of town?" he makes small talk as he guides you through the hallways.

"Yeah, he plays for the under 13s and I moved back from London last week actually, it's a long story though," you shake your head.

"I've got time," he grins as he nudges you playfully with his elbow.

"Well, I took a new job working with the city's development department. I thought I had an apartment lined up but that fell through so now I'm living with my parents until I can figure something else out."

"That wasn't that long of a story," he chuckles, "and actually, I almost forgot you were from here."

You roll your eyes playfully at him, "well, I almost forgot you live here now," you grin.

"That hurts," he grins at you. "Here we are," he stops in front of a set of glass doors and tilts his head towards them.

"Thank you," you smile up at him as he nods before moving out of the way.

"Hey, Mase?"

"Yeah?" he turns back to face you.

"Glad to see you back out there," you grin at him.

"I'm glad to be back," he rubs his hand over the back of his neck. "Will I be seeing you around then?" he looks at you, his eyes full of hope.

"Yeah, I guess you will," you smile softly at him.

"It's good to see you," he says as he pulls you into a brief hug.

"It's good to see you too. But go, I know you've got somewhere else to be, I'll be fine now," you shove him away as he lets out a hearty laugh.

You met Mason a few years ago after becoming friends with Ben Chilwell's younger sister. She had introduced you to several of his Chelsea teammates while you were living in London and while you would occasionally swap likes on social media or chat briefly through story replies, you considered most of them friendly acquaintances more than actual friends.

You bump into Mason a couple more times over the next few days of shuttling your brother to and from training.

One afternoon as you are watching him play in an academy match against another academy team you notice several of the first team players coming over to give their support. A couple of them make their way to the sideline, while a few others take seats among the small crowd of family members. Mason glances around, a smile flashing across his face as he spots you and comes over to sit next to you.

"How are you?" he grins as he offers you one of the two hot chocolates he's holding.

"I'm good, thanks for this," you smile as you take a sip.

"No problem, thought you might be out here, and it's gotten chilly again," he says as he bumps his knee against yours and hands you the hoodie he had draped over his arm.

"I'm good Mase, you can wear it," you grin at him. "I'm a northern girl, the cold and drizzle don't bother me as much as I'm sure they bother you."

"Ok there, Elsa," he chuckles as he runs his fingers over the goosebumps that have formed on your arms, "I know you can be stubborn, but you don't have to be cold. And I've got on two layers as it is."

You shake your head in defeat, handing him your drink as you pull the hoodie over your head, thanking him again when you are instantly warmer.

"Elsa huh?" you grin at him.

"I take my uncle duties very seriously. I'm a whiz at all things princess related," he smiles as he hands your hot chocolate back to you.

"I bet you are," you chuckle.

"Which one's your brother?" he says as he turns his attention back towards the match.

"Number 7," you point towards him as he makes a perfect pass to one of the attacking players.

"'That's a good number," he chuckles as he applauds the barely off target shot taken.

"Well his name is Beck, short for Beckham, so..." you trail off, "my dad's a massive supporter of the club," you shrug.

You continue making small talk as you watch the rest of the match, Mason never failing to keep you entertained. The unintentional and glancing touches shared between you becoming more and more intentional as you spend more time together.

When your brother scores the match winning goal in the final seconds the two of you jump to your feet, cheering loudly before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug, lifting you off the ground.

Once he steadies you back on your feet, the two of you exchange a shy smile while his hand settles over your hip and he gives you a slight squeeze.

You follow him down to the sideline as he chats with some of the other first team guys while you all wait for the academy players to come over.

Your brother makes his way over to you and you quickly hug him and congratulate him on his goal and the win before he spots the first team players and moves on to talk to them.

Mason gives him a fist bump and congratulates him as well before your brother asks if he can get a picture with him.

"Tell you what, I'll take a picture with you, if you'll sign that jersey and give it to me," he nods.

"Really, you want my jersey?" your brother is genuinely surprised by his request.

"Yeah mate, I think it will be worth something someday," he smiles at him. Your heart can't help but flutter at their interaction.

"Y/N, will you take picture of us?" Mason smiles over at you.

"Wait, you know my sister?" he asks out of confusion.

"Yeah, we were friends in London" they both turn to smile at you for the picture.

You take their picture and the two of them chat for a few more minutes, Mason introducing him to the other guys before reminding him he wanted his jersey.

Once Beck leaves to go get his things, Mason turns his attention back to you.

"Will you send me that picture?" he asks.

"Sure," you nod before opening your phone and handing it to him.

"If I scroll through these pics will I find something naughty?" he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"No," you blush slightly as you smack him playfully on the arm.

"I keep those in a hidden folder, protected by facial recognition," you chuckle at him.

"That's a shame," he grins as he passes your phone back to you having sent the photo to himself.

He walks the two of you to your car, telling you to drive safely and wishing you a good night before you leave.

Once you are home and settled into bed you notice a message from an unknown number, but when you open it you see the previously sent picture of your brother and Mason.

Unknown: had fun hanging out earlier. x Y/N: If you wanted my number you could've just asked. Didn't have to be sneaky by sending yourself a picture. xx Mase: 😎 Mase: Also took a quick selfie you can save as my contact pic xx Y/N: You're actually ridiculous. You know that right? x Mase: Me? Ridiculous? Never 🤭 Y/N: Thanks for what you did with Beck earlier. He didn't shut up about it the whole way home. x Mase: it's nothing, I remember being an academy kid and hanging on every word from those first team guys. Y/N: Well, it honestly made his day. He's already set that pic as his background on his phone 🙃 Mase: I wanted to ask earlier, but I lost my nerve.... Y/N: You? Shy? Am i hallucinating? x Mase: Would you like to go to dinner tomorrow? Y/N: oh. Mase: I'll take that as a no? Y/N: no Mase: now I want to crawl under a rock Y/N: Mase, no, that's not what I meant. Mase: oh? Y/N: I can't go to dinner because I have Beck still. But you could join us for dinner if you want to. Mase: Oh 😅 that sounds good. Y/N: Not used to rejection huh? Mase: Shut it. I was bricking it. Y/N: is 7 good? Mase: 7 is perfect 😉 Y/N: I'm gonna let that slide x Mase: It's a date then xx Mase: Shit. not a date date. Mase: is it a date? Mase: Fuck me, I'm losing it over here Y/N: You ok there? Mase: I don't think so 😅 Y/N: Mase, I'll see you at 7. For dinner. With my brother. For our not a date date 😉 Mase: Kill me now please Y/N: Nah, I think I'll let you suffer a little more. x Mase: Good night, y/n. I'll see you tomorrow. xx Y/N: Night, Mase. Sweet dreams xx

The next day Mason spots you as you are picking Beck up from training and jogs over to speak to the two of you briefly.

"So, I'll see you around 7 then?" he asks flashing a shy smile towards you when you nod.

"I'll send you the address," you grin at him, your cheeks slightly flushed.

Once you're settled in the car and on the way home, your brother begins questioning you.

"Mason is coming to our house?"

"Yes," you nod, "for dinner."

"Mason Mount is coming to eat dinner at our house?" he looks at you dumbfounded.

"Yes, Beck," you chuckle, "we're friends remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't know you were like friends friends with him. You never even told us you knew him," you can actually see the wheels turning in his brain.

"I told you I knew some of the Chelsea guys through Alex," you say as you continue driving.

"Well, yeah, but not like, come over to our house to eat dinner friends," he still keeps pushing.

"Beck, it's not a big deal, but I need you to be respectful of his privacy and don't go blabbing around that he's coming over, ok?" you speak sternly, suddenly feeling the need to protect Mason.

"I won't. But I can hang out with you right?" He gives you his best puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, of course," you grin at him.

Once you're home you check to make sure you have everything you need for dinner and you realize you forgot to pick up some bread.

Y/N: I hate to do this, but is there any chance you could stop to grab some bread on your way here? Mase: Sure. Anything in particular? Y/N: Not really, just meant to grab some French bread or something like that to toast up. Oh and I'm out of beer if you want any. Mase: Got it. See you soon xx Y/N: See you soon xx

Butterflies flutter in your chest at the fact that he seems genuinely excited to be coming over.

You head to your room and change into something a little nicer, brushing through your hair and placing a few loose curls before lightly touching up your makeup and spritzing on your favorite perfume.

You want to look nice, but not too over the top since you're just staying in for dinner.

You make your way to the kitchen and start pulling out everything you'll need and begin prepping a few things, turning on some soft music to drown out the silence.

A few minutes before seven, Mason rings the doorbell and Beck bounds down the stairs and eagerly opens the door.

"Hey," Mason smiles at you as he follows Beck into the kitchen. He sits a bag down on the counter, pulling out the bread you'd asked for, along with some beer and a bottle of wine, and a small bouquet of flowers.

"For you," he holds the flowers out towards you, a slight blush creeping up onto his cheeks.

"Thank you, Mason," you smile, also blushing slightly as you take them from him and grab a vase to put them in.

Your brother chats with Mason for a few minutes before leaving to go play video games until dinner is ready.

"What can I help with?" Mason asks as he slides his hand around your waist and gives you a light squeeze.

"Hmmm, chopping or stirring?" you grin up at him.

"I'll take over chopping," he smiles as he slides his hand over yours, taking the knife from you.

You dump the veggies you've already chopped into a pan to start sautéing them before you start slicing the bread he brought and placing it on a tray to go into the oven.

You hear Mason take in a sharp breath and drop the knife one counter. Just as you look over to check on him you he pulls his finger to his mouth.

"Did you cut yourself?" you knit your eyebrows in concern as he nods in response.

"Let me see it," you pull his hand away from his face so that you can get a good look at it.

"It's not too bad," you whisper as you wrap a towel over it and grab a bandage and ointment.

You clean the small cut and bandage it up for him as he watches you carefully.

"There, good as new," you place a kiss over the bandage without thinking. The slight brush of your lips on Mason's skin sending both of your minds racing.

"Thank you," he says, barely above a whisper as you look up to be met with a pair of chocolate brown eyes and a faint smile dancing on his lips.

You watch as his eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, his tongue running along his bottom lip as his hand comes up to graze your jaw. He leans in barely as if he's considering kissing you until you both hear Beck coming back down the stairs causing you to take a step back and Mason to drop his hand away from you.

"How much longer until dinner?" Beck asks, not even realizing he just interrupted an almost kiss.

"Um, twenty minutes," you glance up at him before glancing towards Mason and noticing the faint smile still playing on his features.

He really is gorgeous, you think to yourself before shaking your head to clear your thoughts.

Satisfied with your answer Beck returns upstairs, once again leaving you and Mason alone.

"I'll finish these," you say quietly as you pick the knife up and finish chopping vegetables while Mason takes over stirring.

You continue chatting while you finish dinner, Mason bumping his hip against yours and finding subtle ways to touch you the whole time.

While you are waiting the last few minutes for the chicken you placed in the oven to finish he grabs your hand and twirls you around, both of you laughing as you dance playfully.

During dinner, your brother peppers Mason with questions about football and training and getting into the first team. You smile over at him as he continues answering question after question graciously.

You and Mason clean up the kitchen while Beck takes a shower. You grab some sweets you'd bought earlier and settle onto the couch to watch a movie. You sit next to him but leave a respectable amount of distance between you. Unhappy with how far you are from him Mason pulls your legs over his lap and inches a bit closer to you.

Every now and then it seems like he's considering kissing you, but he never musters up the courage, settling for absentmindedly drawing shapes over your legs.

Beck joins you again about midway through the movie, knitting his eyebrows at how close you and Mason seem to be sitting.

You get up to go to the kitchen to grab some more popcorn and drinks. As you are returning to the living room, you overhear you brother questioning Mason.

"Do you like my sister?" he asks.

"Well, yeah, we're friends, I like hanging out with her," Mason answers quietly.

"No, do you like like her?" Beck keeps pushing.

"Oh, well, um" Mason starts, "I mean yeah, we've known each other for a bit, I guess, I don't know her super well, but I'd like to change that," he blushes slightly.

Your brother eyes him up and gives him a stern look, "don't hurt her or I'll have to step up my brotherly duties."

"Got it, mate," he chuckles quietly.

You walk back in trying not grin about the conversation you just heard, taking your seat next to Mason.

He throws his arm over the back of the couch, not necessarily around you, but giving you a little more space to lean into him a bit, your side barely grazing against his as you offer him some popcorn.

You watch tv a bit longer before Beck heads up to bed leaving you and Mason alone again but not before saying "remember what we talked about."

"What was that about?" a flicker of a smile dances over your lips as you look at a seemingly nervous Mason.

"Just doing what I would've done with my sisters," he chuckles.

"Oh," you arch your eyebrows at him before letting out a giggle and a yawn.

"It's getting late, I should probably head out," Mason says barely above a whisper as he drops his hand over your shoulder and traces a few circles with his thumb.

"Ok," you whisper back, leaning into him a bit more.

You walk him to the front door and join him just outside.

"Thank you for dinner," he flashes a smile at you.

"No problem, glad you could join us," you grin as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leans down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.

"Goodnight, y/n" he whispers sending a shiver down your spine.

"Goodnight, Mase," you breathe out.

He turns to leave and makes his way down the few steps.

"Hey, Mason," you say, before thinking.

"Yeah," he turns around to face you.

"Beck is leaving around lunch tomorrow for a few away games, I have to drop him off at the training ground," you say nervously, "I'll um, I'll have the house to myself a couple of days if you want to hang out again."

"I'd like that," he grins, "a lot actually."

"Ok then" you smile back at him.

"Ok," he closes the distance between you, kissing you again on the cheek, "I'll see you soon."

"See you soon," you push up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

The next day you are standing with Beck and a few of his teammates as they wait to load onto the bus when Mason wanders over.

"Hey guys, good luck over the next few days, I know you will do well," he gives them a few fist bumps and takes a few pictures with them.

"Y/N," he turns his attention to you, "Could you give me a ride home? I rode over with Licha but he's staying for a while longer," he trails off.

"Sure, Mason," you smile at him.

After checking in with your brother for a final time to make sure he has everything he needs, you and Mason make your way over to your car.

"Hope that was convincing enough," he chuckles as he opens your car door.

You glance over to see your brother and his friends watching the two of you before they get onto the bus.

"Yeah, I'm not so sure," you giggle back as he sits in your passenger seat.

You chat as you make the drive to your house, every now and then glancing over to find Mason staring at you.

"What?" you let out a quiet laugh.

"Nothing," he blushes. "Do you remember when we first met?" he asks somewhat out of the blue.

"Um, yeah, I think it was Ben's birthday a few years ago," you shrug.

"Yeah, I think you're right," he nods, "why didn't you ever seem to want to hang out with any of us?" he knits his eyebrows.

"Oh, well, it wasn't that I didn't like hanging out with you, it's more that I was focused on school. And while Alex was used to hanging around footballers, I was a bit more intimidated by it all," you look over to him as you stop for a traffic light. "Besides you seemed to have plenty of other entertainment so I didn't figure I would be missed."

He nods again, his expression softening. "And what about now, still not sure about hanging out with footballers?

"I kind of prefer to think of you as a friend of a friend rather than Mason Mount, the footballer," you blush slightly, "hope that's ok?"

"Yeah, I think I prefer that too," he smiles, "but surely I'm not just a friend of a friend."

"Are you not?" you glance over at him, a flicker of a smile on your lips.

"No, we've sent each other messages, you've cooked me dinner, I'd say we can count each other as proper friends at this point," he winks at you.

"And for the record, I did miss you when you weren't around, I've always liked talking to you, even if it was only briefly," he nods towards the light that has turned green.

You focus your attention back on the road as he turns on some music.

You both hum along for the remainder of the drive sharing brief glances at one another.

Once you've made it to your house, Mason hops out and opens the door for you and follows you up to the front door. His hand settles gently over the small of your back as you unlock the door.

You stop once inside the door and both of you kick your shoes off, Mason immediately pulling you into a hug and burying his face into your hair.

"I've been wanting to do that since I saw you earlier," he grins shyly at you when you lean back slightly.

"So what do you want to do?" he asks quietly, his thumbs drawing circles over your hips.

"Are you hungry?" you study his face, noticing the slight freckles you've never quite noticed before.

"Always," he chuckles.

"I was thinking I would make a sandwich, would you like one?" you smile up at him as he continues running his fingers along your sides.

"I would love one," he grins.

You move to the kitchen, Mason following closely behind you as you pull out a few things to make a sandwich for the two of you.

"So I have some unpacking I need to do, living out of boxes is driving me mad," you roll your eyes, "would you mind hanging out with me while I do that, I know it doesn't sound thrilling but..."you trail off.

"Sounds perfect," he smiles, reaching over to give your hand a reassuring squeeze.

After you've eaten, Mason follows you up to your room. He glances around, taking in the various things you have hanging on the walls, studying a few of the pictures as well, including one of you and him alongside Ben and Alex after a Chelsea match.

"You've been United fan for a while then?" he says as he studies a picture of you as a young girl.

"Yeah, my dad is a supporter of the club, he was close with some of the higher ups when I was younger," you grin at the picture he's studying of you with David Beckham and your dad.

"That was his last match for United," you smile, remembering the day fondly, "I've still got that jersey."

"I was at that match, too," he smiles sitting the picture back on your desk, "you sure you don't have the wrong number 7 in your room?" he chuckles.

You shake your head, "David is far too old for me," you grin.

"David is it?" he arches an eyebrow.

"Yes, he and my dad were actually pretty good friends, he's practically like an uncle to me," you laugh quietly.

"Well that's a relief" he grins.

"I've never had a guy in here before," you look around nervously.

"Really?" he knits his eyebrows.

"Yep, my parents had a strict no boys upstairs rule when I lived here. But I guess once you've lived on your own for a while those rules kind of go out the window," you shrug.

"Well I'm honored, maybe I'm the lucky #7" he smirks. He plops down on the bed, making himself comfortable as you turn on football and drop the remote beside him.

Mason watches football while the two of you chat and you work on unpacking some of your things.

"How long do you think you'll live here?" he asks.

"I'm hoping not too long, just need to find another apartment that hopefully won't fall through at the last minute," you smile at him.

"I don't mind helping you look for a place," he smiles.

"No offense, Mase, but we don't exactly have the same budget," you giggle.

"Doesn't mean I can't help you find something though," he shrugs, "just let me know and I can make some calls, ok?"

"Ok" you nod.

As you finish unpacking what you'll need to get by until you can move into your own place you notice Mason has gone quiet. You glance over to see that he's dozed off.

You smile to yourself, admiring the peaceful look on his face while he sleeps. Quietly, you tiptoe over to the bed and pull a blanket over him. Before you can turn to move away from the bed he grabs your wrist and tugs you onto the bed with him, sitting up slightly and pulling you so that you are straddling him.

You gasp at the suddenness of his movements before settling your hands over his shoulders and then around the back of his neck, your fingers playing with the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

He smirks as he settles his hands over your hips, "I've been wondering when I would get some attention."

"I'm sorry I've neglected you," you giggle.

His eyes continue burning into yours and you find yourself staring at him completely mesmerized.

He glances from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again, shifting slightly closer to you.

"You should do it," you whisper.

"Do what?" he arches an eyebrow at you.

"What you're thinking about doing," you study him intently, nervously biting your bottom lip.

He flashes a smile at you before digging his fingers into your sides tickling you.

You let out a squeal of laughter as he continues and flips the two of you over so that he is hovering over you, your fingertips gripping his shoulders.

He brushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline with his fingers.

"I really like your smile," he breathes out quietly causing you to blush slightly and a smile to creep over your features.

"Yeah, that one," he smiles back at you, licking his lips lightly before brushing them delicately against yours.

When you react by kissing him back, he sighs softly against your lips.

He kisses you slowly and gently, until you're both smiling against one another's lips.

"You're right, I had been thinking about doing that," he blushes when you nod in agreement.

You pull him in for another kiss, a bit more heat behind it as he runs his tongue along the seam of your lips, moaning quietly when you part them for him and allow him to dip his tongue into your mouth.

The way he kisses you is needy and desperate yet somehow slow and patient like he's savoring every single second of it.

When you break apart naturally, both of you are out of breath as he rests his forehead against yours and you take each other in.

He moves to lay down next to you and you turn on your side to face him while his fingers still trace your jawline and down your neck to your collarbone.

"You're good at that," you whisper quietly.

He bites his lower lip to hide his smile, "yeah?"

You nod in agreement, "you're very good with your tongue," you say before blushing when you realize how that sounds.

He arches an eyebrow, trying to hide a chuckle.

"I mean..." you trail off and close your eyes, clearly flustered, "not like that, I didn't mean it like that," you blush even harder.

He leans over and kisses you again, chuckling quietly as you slip your fingers into his hair and deepen the kiss.

"You're good with your tongue too," he pinches your side lightly as you shake your head.

"Mase," you whisper quietly as he studies your features, realizing just how pretty you are, "what is this?" you ask biting your lip.

He looks at you and blinks a couple of times.

"I'm not trying to have a 'what are we' conversation after a couple of kisses, I'm not silly enough to think this makes me your girlfriend or anything..." you start to ramble. "I just like to be honest and want to make sure we're on the same page here, are you just lonely and needing some affection? I'm not really the friends with benefits type, and if you want to see other people that's fine, I just need to kind of know, what just happened so that I'm not blindsided by anything."

He places a finger over your lips quietening your rambling thoughts before pressing his lips to yours again gently.

"I'm not expecting friends with benefits, y/n, and honestly I wasn't expecting this, but I'm not just lonely and looking for attention or anything. And I'm not seeing anyone else," he reassures you.

"I um, I'd like to just kind of see where things go if you're ok with it. I always wished when we were in London that I could get to know you better but for one reason or another we never really had that opportunity, but we do now." He smiles softly at you.

"Ok," you whisper, "but just be honest with me no matter what. If you're not feeling it then tell me, and if you want to see someone else, just give me a heads up so I don't find out elsewhere, please."

"Yeah, I can do that," he smiles before kissing you again knowing he has no intention of looking for anyone else.

"Tell me something," he says quietly.

"Anything," you whisper back.

"You and Christian seemed to always gravitate towards one another, anything ever happen there?" he asks, "it wouldn't make much difference now, Ben and I just always wondered, and he doesn't kiss and tell," he rolls his eyes playfully.

You let out a small laugh, "Christian and I are both introverts, we'd end up together when we were tired of people-ing, mostly we could just stand there in silence and no one would bother us if we were standing there together. And no, nothing ever happened there, when we did talk, it was usually about you and taking bets on the parade of girls trying to get your attention," you grin.

"Is that so?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Mmm-hmmm, we had your type nailed down to an artform," you nod.

"And what is that exactly?" he quizzes you.

"Someone outgoing, but quieter than you," you giggle, "and more of the naturally pretty type, a little curvy, but natural curves," you shrug, "how'd we do?"

He rolls his eyes, "you introverts just sit around figuring people out huh?" He laughs.

"Am I going to overwhelm you with my extroverted-ness?" he asks earnestly.

"No, not at all, it's good for me, forces me outside of my own head," you grin.

"That's good," he smiles, "I am serious about wanting to see where this goes between us, if you can overlook me being a footballer," he winks.

"Yeah, I guess I can try to overlook that one tiny thing," you grin.

The two of you continue talking and cuddling as you turn on a movie and order pizza to be delivered.

After you've eaten, you settle back in the bed and turn on another movie.

"It's late, do you want me to call for a car to take me home so that you don't have to drive me?" he asks kissing the top of your head as you snuggle against his chest.

"Did you leave an overnight bag in my car earlier?" you turn to look up at him.

"I have my training bag, with some extra clothes and kit for tomorrow," he yawns.

"Then, I think you should go get it," you smile before kissing his chest.

"You're really going to break all your parents rules aren't you?" he chuckles.

"Not all of them," you wink.

You take the opportunity to change into pajamas while he's gone to get his bag. He joins you in the bathroom while you're brushing your teeth and doing your skincare.

As you settle into bed, he takes off his shirt and joggers, leaving him in just his boxers before climbing back into the bed and sliding under the covers.

You can't help but stare at him as he does, admiring his impeccably toned body.

"I might take that back about that one rule," you giggle when he raises his eyebrows.

"As much as I would love to defile you in your childhood bedroom, I'm gonna save that for another night," he grins before pulling you in for a kiss.

"Night, y/n," he whispers against your lips.

"Night, Mase," you sigh as he pulls you against his chest.

@neverinadream @chilwellspulisic @pulisicsgirl @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @xjval

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount fic #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff

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starry-bi-sky · 7 months

Text

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch1

A little boy has landed in Amity Park, and he looks suspiciously like the 13-year-old Damian Wayne living in Gotham. Good news: he landed in front of Danny just as he was finishing up his fight with a ghost. Bad news: the little Damian-look-alike doesn't speak a lick of english, has a sword, and seems very keen on using it whenever he can. Against Danny specifically.

Danny already has his own issues to deal with -- like how it's not even been a year since he found out he was a clone of Bruce Wayne specifically, with all the identity issues that come with such a revelation -- and a stab-happy six year old that was very obviously a clone of Damian Wayne was not one of them. However, the kid was alone in a foreign country, and despite his hostility, it's very clear that he's terrified.

Call him a bleeding heart, but Danny takes him home.

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womp i wrote it and posted it. truly, it was only a matter of time before i did. my clone^2 au except now it's a fic! Here is the humble beginnings of this au if anyone is interested. The full thing is also posted below the read more if you want to read it here instead.

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Danny knows more than he probably should about ghosts, ectoplasm, and all things relating to it — courtesy only in partial credit to his parents and largely to every ghost, spirit, mythological creature, and conceptual entity taken sentient form he’s ever come across in the last two years of his run as Phantom.

For example: he’s learned how to classify the difference between a ghost and a spirit when the words are synonymous with each other. He knows that ghosts cannot pass into the Realm of the Living without a naturally-made or manmade portal that splits the seams between dimensions like holes being chewed through a shirt.

He knows that spirits are just weaker could-be ghosts that are trapped in the Living Realm, unseen by the Living, with unfinished business until someone can come along to help them move on. He’s helped quite a handful of them in the last two years thanks to his clairvoyance, but the city has more spirits than he could possibly know how to deal with. So his efforts are like trying to empty a pond with a bucket.

Danny still tries, anyway. One afterlife saved is one afterlife saved, right?

What he also knows is that natural made portals are exceedingly rare. That they occur when ectoplasm in any given area for some reason or another currents against each other, condensing and building in energy and density until eventually something gives and like snow on top of a roof it caves in and creates a portal.

He knows that these natural made portals typically only last a few seconds at a time, and vary between the size of a rodent and a marsupial no bigger than a wallaby. He knows that most natural portals only last from a few seconds to a few minutes, with the record-holder being five minutes from a portal that was the size of a toddler.

And the reason they never last so long is because ectoplasm is an energy, like most energy, it usually has somewhere to go. It cycles through plants, through the animals, through the ground, anywhere it can reach. It’s cousins with solar energy in that sense. Meaning it, usually, has little opportunity to clash and current with the rest of the ambient ectoplasm in the area.

But it does happen, albeit rarely, and only for a few seconds. Like the equivalent of a static shock; it’s only there for a moment before it collapses in on itself and disappears.

So with that being said, Danny likes to think he’s — maybe not an expert — but fairly knowledgeable about the existence of natural made portals. The Ever-Infinite Bridge Between Realms is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and with it so is the information he has on it. Anything could become obsolete in a moment.

And the only reason he’s thinking about it is because his parents were talking about portals in the kitchen earlier that evening, talking about their portal specifically, but Danny latched onto it, and his mind wanders. He’s not sure why they were talking about it, the portal has been running, unfortunately smoothly for the last two years. He has the scars and eyebags (and trauma) to prove it.

Besides, his mind should be on other things.

Like the goddamn flying snake he’s been chasing across the city skyline for the last thirty minutes. An amphiptere his mind unhelpfully supplies, a word he grabbed nearly two years ago when he first started out as Phantom and was desperately looking up the various ectoplasmic creatures slipping through his parents’ portal.

Some of them didn’t have proper names — like a three-eyed fox he once saw with the tail of a peacock and hooves of a goat. He managed to lure it out of the alleyway it backed itself into with a nasty burger. It tore into it with the fervor of a starving coyote and Danny let it finish eviscerating the burger before sucking it into his thermos.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch at the time, since the thing had an almost beak-shaped muzzle, but now he wishes he was back in the alleyway trying to coax out a ecto-fox-griffin thing rather than chase after what was basically a dragon with no legs — it doesn’t even have the decency to be a wyvern.

He’s only keeping up with the stupid snake due to his grappling hook, something Danny made a year ago in order to keep up with the ghosts flying around the city, and his best fucking self-made invention yet — made from the discarded inventions from his parents’ lab — with his jawbreaker gloves coming in at close second, if only because he gets to call them his jawbreakers.

(It was remarkably simpler than the grappling hook — he just reinforced the knuckles on his gloves.)

Because as much as he likes running, he was going to give himself a heart attack if he chased every ghost he came across on foot. It’d take him all night just to find one. And there was something inherently freeing in the terrifying, adrenaline-rushing sensation of soaring through the air with nothing but hard ground below and endless sky above.

The amphiptere twists its head and looks behind it, and Danny gives it a little shit-eating grin from behind his mask and a small, two fingered salute. The mane of feathers behind the snake’s head puffs up like a frilled lizard, and it opens its maw to hiss — this distorted, almost screeching sound — at him menacingly.

Danny, in response, scoffs under his breath and waves a hand in front of his nose. “Ugh.” he mutters, scrunching up his nose as the snake’s hot breath hits him square in the face. “Someone should throw you one of those dental doggie treats.”

The snake, of course, doesn’t hear him over the sound of its shrieking and the wind. When it twists back around, it dives to the ground, flicking its tail harshly like it’s hoping to hit him as it goes down.

Finally, Danny thinks, dodging out of the way with a twist of his body, and follows it down into the factorial district of Amity Park. It’s already disappeared somewhere when his feet hit the sidewalk, but the buzzing of his ghost sense still tingles on the back of his neck like a seventh sense. So it’s still nearby.

Danny’s grappling hook retracts with a quiet, zipping noise. He hooks it onto the loop of his jeans, and stalks down the side of the road.

Spirits linger beside the buildings. Men, women, and kids wearing clothes from all different time periods congregating in groups and conversing with one another, playing, watching him. Cities never sleep, they doze, and the dead come out at night when the living aren’t there to wake it up. Danny’s spoken to them many, many times.

“Excuse me.” He murmurs, tapping a man in overalls and a railroad cap on the arm. If it weren’t for his faint green glow and how he wisps at the edges, the man would almost look alive. The man turns to him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he sees Danny. “Have you seen a flying snake coming through here?”

The man blinks at him, “As a matter o’ fact,” he says, adjusting the cap on his head, “I have. Flew down the road like a bat out of hell.” The man points down the street, and Danny leans around him to see. “Thought it was gonna knock me righ’ out my work boots.”

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, making a low ‘hn’ sound in the back of his throat. “Did you see if it went into one of the buildings?” He almost hopes it did, he could probably try and sneak up on it that way. Man, he needs some kind of stunner or something.

“Right in there.” The man tells him, pointing to an old brick factory with the windows grimy and cracked. Of course, Danny sighs out of his nose. If he squints, he can see a green glow coming through the glass.

If he’s lucky, he won’t run into the Box Ghost while he’s in there. He turns to the man and nods politely, “Thank you.” And when the man nods back, Danny turns and hurries down the street. He weaves around the spirits congregating around him, he’s heard from one-too-many spirits how irritating it is to be walked through by the Living.

The door is rusted and locked when he finds an entrance, only made worse by the chain wrapped around the door for good measure, with a padlock. Of course. Rolling his eyes, Danny reaches for his pocket and pulls out a lockpick — too many times doing this has taught him to bring one along, just in case.

(Man, he was envious of ghosts’ abilities to just phase through things. It would save him a lot of trouble. And roadburns, bruises, broken bones, and every other injury known to man.)

He jams the lockpick into the padlock, jiggles it roughly, and unlocks it with a soft click. “They need better locks.” Danny mutters, pulling off the chain carefully with quiet, metallic clattering, and putting it on the ground. He jams the lockpick into the door lock, and with a little more finesse, unlocks that one too.

The door opens with a heavy creak that has Danny scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and his mouth pulling back with a sharp inhale. Shit, he freezes in place, darting his eyes around for the amphiptere.

He sees its glow off in the corner, stark ectoplasm green against the red brick walls, half hidden behind empty conveyor belts and forgotten, empty metal barrels. It doesn’t notice him, with the door open he can hear a loud crrrchk-ing followed by intermittent bangs.

It’s chewing on something, wriggling around like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Danny silently creeps in and slips through the gap between the door, closing the door behind him slowly. His eyes never leave the amphiptere. It still doesn’t notice him.

Two years isn’t that long to teach yourself how to be stealthy, but when you’re doing it every night, you learn quickly. Danny keeps himself low to the ground and his footsteps light. The amphiptere is oblivious to him; its clanging, hissing, snarling drowns out the room to any other noise.

As he gets closer, Danny unhooks his thermos again. There’s a quiet click as he opens the lid with a press of a button, and the thermos hums to life in his hand, warming up against his palm. He creeps around the conveyor belt, his breathing slow and steady.

When he reaches the amphiptere, its back is facing him. It coiled itself close to the ground, its jaw clamped around a metal barrel that’s been crushed like a tin can down the middle. Danny clenches his teeth, discomfort shivering down his spine. That could’ve been his arm had it decided to fight back.

Silently, he raises his thermos at the snake, and with his arm steady, his thumb slams one of the buttons. There’s a recoil like he’s firing a gun, and Danny finds his purchase on the ground as a beam of light lashes out and hits the snake.

The reaction is immediate. The amphiptere drops the barrel with a hideous, furious shriek and lashes out, trying to escape from the beam dragging it towards the thermos. But Danny’s long since learned that the pull of the thermos is much stronger than most ghosts, so long as he doesn’t disturb the tractor beam.

One thing is for certain — keeping the damn thing steady is one hell of a forearm workout. His arms used to shake after a fight, and they’d feel sore in the morning. Not so much anymore since Danny started working out with Sam.

(Tucker declined when they asked him if he wanted to join — he’ll stick with his tech and walking on the treadmill.)

When the amphiptere disappears inside the thermos, Danny slams the lid back on and slumps with relief. Finally, he groans quietly, clipping the thermos onto his belt and pressing his hand to his lower back to stretch. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop, and Danny sighs from his nose. He’s calling it a night.

He glances at the time on his phone. It was three am, fantastic. He has school in four hours.

Other than the snake, tonight had been blessedly quiet. Danny spoke to some of the spirits lingering around Third and Main downtown, got some of their information so he could start helping them with moving on — two murders and then a simple fetch quest, — chased down a few other ghosts — most of them just ecto-entities, but there was a young ghost child who he had to play hide and seek with before she would agree to be taken home in the thermos.

He also got into a fight with a fellow teen ghost who wanted to see the “Death-Touched” and if Phantom was as good a fighter as the rumors say he was. Danny’s been called “Death-Touched” since the night he snuck into the lab and released every single ghost his parents had trapped in cages, that wasn’t unsurprising. A little a lot ominous at first, but Danny is nothing if not adaptive.

He’d kicked the other teen’s ass, dragged him into the thermos, and moved on.

But other than that, tonight had been tame. So before Murphy can come and kick him in the teeth, Danny’s calling it a night.

Danny is one step towards the exit when he hears a loud, suctioning noise followed by something akin to a glacier cracking down the middle. His heart sinks instantly to his feet, and the chill of his ghost sense crawls up his throat and freezes the back of his teeth. No mist spills out, yet.

Ah, fuck. Danny stifles a groan, turning back around. There goes the rest of his night.

A portal the size of an acorn swirls into existence right before his eyes, and then rapidly grows. Swirling like a whirlpool, it grows bigger and bigger until it’s half the size of him. The bigger it gets, the tenser Danny becomes — the bigger the portal is, the bigger the ghost that can slip through gets.

Please don’t make him face the snake’s fucking cousin. Danny prays, rapidly scurrying back with his hands raised defensively. He scowls under his mask, and waits tersely for something to fall through. Whatever comes through, he hopes it’s friendly. Or slow. Or maybe both.

Danny doesn’t get another winged snake.

Instead, a child stumbles out of the portal. A non-glowing, living-colored child who couldn’t be any older than six, and who rapidly spits out a phrase in a language Danny doesn’t catch. Danny’s hands drop slightly from his side, bewilderment settling in the back of his throat.

As the child rights himself, the portal dissipates behind him with a hissing sigh. It takes Danny’s ghost sense with it, and the chill evaporates from his mouth.

Oh, oh no.

Danny’s heart drops from his feet straight into the ground. Six feet into the ground. Oh, fuck.

That was a living child. That was a living child. That was a whole-ass living child.

If natural portals were rare, then whatever the hell this was — teleportals, Vlad’s teleports, whatever — was unheard of. The only time he’s seen a portal that transported someone from one place to another on the same plane of existence was Vlad. His man-made teleportals.

Natural portals between one place to another? He’s never heard of such a thing. And one just opened in front of him and spat out a child. A human, living child. A portal just kidnapped a child.

A child who, Danny realizes, is holding a sword. A katana, of all things. One that was designed to match his size. A child who was, for a lack of better words, wearing something Danny would expect a ninja to wear. A child who was dressed from head to toe in black.

A child who looks suspiciously like a baby-faced Damian Wayne. Brown skin and green eyes and all, but with youth still clinging to his cheeks. It couldn’t be Damian Wayne himself — that boy was thirteen, and Danny would’ve heard from Sam if something happened to him.

So this meant either two things: Damian Wayne was just now turned into a child and dropped into Danny’s lap, or this was a clone of Damian Wayne. Danny was thinking it might’ve been the latter.

Fuck you, Murphy, he thinks instantly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. This was mean.

He stares, uncertainty — and perhaps a little bit of nausea — forming a pit in his chest, as the child makes eye contact with him. The air is silent and thick — with dust, asbestos, or just the silence, Danny isn’t sure. Maybe all three. But they stare at each other for a long, suffocating moment.

Then the kid — Damian — lunges at him, his sword quickly unsheathed.

“Shit!” Danny dives back, just barely dodging being grazed by the gleaming blade. That was fast. Danny isn’t around living kids often but that was too fast, that much he knows. Kids don’t move that fast on their own. Not without being taught.

Damian spits something at him in that foreign language, his face twisting with anger, and the kid turns himself and lunges once again. Danny dodges again, swatting the sword away reflexively with the side of his gloved hand.

“I can’t understand you.” He tells him, his voice comes out rougher than he meant it to, and it comes out muffled from his mask. Please tell me you know English, he hopes, hopping up onto the old conveyor belt.

“'Akhbirni 'ayn 'ana walan 'aqtulak.” Damian snarls, chasing up after him with worrying ease. Danny swats away another stab at him, frowning when the blade leaves a cut in his leather glove. It doesn’t reach skin, but the fact of the matter is that Damian still cut his glove.

He doesn’t know English either, great. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Danny backs up on the conveyor belt, twisting away from Damian’s attacks with… well, not relative ease, the kid is faster than Danny’s expecting, but he’s not getting hits in. So some ease.

But Danny’s been fighting ghosts for the last two years. Fighting entities capable of moving at the speed of light leaves you with quick reflexes and even quicker eyes. Damian jumps up to try and kick him in the face, and Danny ducks down and dashes off the conveyor belt, hopping to the next one over.

When his feet hit the belt, he uses the momentum to leap up onto a rusty shelf. His fingers dig into the sides, and he climbs, vaulting his legs up to the top once he’s high enough. He twists around and stares down at Damian, instinctively crouched on his fours. “I’m not fighting you.” Danny says sternly, watching the kid hop after him. “I don’t fight the living, and I don’t fight kids.” Living ones, that is. Youngblood was fair game.

Damian scowls, pointing his sword at him accusingly from the conveyor below. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd wawajahani 'ayuha aljaban!” Then he’s jumping up after him, doing an impressive flip in the air before latching onto the lower shelves and climbing up.

Admittedly, Danny is rooted to his spot with disbelief. What the fuck? “Who taught you that?” He says unwittingly, bewilderment slipping into his voice. Seriously — who taught him that? What six year old knows how to do a backflip at this age? Who made you, kid?

Naturally, Damian doesn’t answer him, and Danny grabs his grappling gun and aims it at the rafters. With a quick pull of the trigger, the hook shoots out and wraps around one of the beams. Danny yanks back, and he braces as the cord yanks him forward in return. When he reaches the beam, he pulls himself up as the cord unravels itself and retracts back into the gun.

Danny shoves his gun back onto his belt, and disappears into the shadows of the ceiling.

Just in time, Damian was at the top of the shelving unit he was just on, and the kid stomps his foot angrily. Briefly, a smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, amusement fizzing out in his lungs. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd!” The kid yells, his hands shaking at his sides. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni ya Lieazir!”

He swivels his head around, his face scrunched up in the dark room as he searches the rafters. Danny silently crawls across the beam, stooping low and moving slowly, and never taking his eyes off Damian.

The kid is wound up like a spring, and jumpier than a war vet on the Fourth of July. It’s a little funny, but as Danny creeps through the ceiling, the kid only grows more frantic. The only light coming through is the muffled, yellow dim of the streets, and the moonlight that was in the middle of waning from gibbous to crescent. Good enough that Danny can see the kid’s face shifting from anger to fear.

“Laeazir!” He yells again, and his voice cracks. Danny stills. “Akhruj huna Lieazir!”

Okay, it wasn’t funny anymore. Danny holds his breath, watching as Damian’s expression fluctuates between scowling fury and wild-eyed panic. He’s twisting on his feet, whatever lethal grace he had earlier from their brief fight is gone now, replaced with clumsy, fawn-like alarm.

Damian breathes in deeply, and Danny can see the whites of his eyes when he turns his head wildly in his direction. “Azhar nafsak!”

He’s scared. Danny realizes, pricking up slightly from the rafter. He’s scared. That’s why he attacked him, he’s scared. Of course he is, Danny thinks, feeling like an idiot. He crawls over the beams again, creeping around Damian, keeping his gaze sharp on the kid’s feet. With how much he was spinning, he’s a little worried he was going to fall off the shelf.

Of course he’s scared, he thinks again. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know any English, and he’s alone. Danny can’t imagine what’s going on through his head — of course he’s scared. He must be terrified. He looks terrified.

Danny raises himself up carefully, gripping onto the rafters, and dashes across quickly. Damian whirls around towards him, his hands flying to his katana at his sheathe. His fear smothers on his face, and Damian tenses up defensively.

The grappling gun finds its way back into Danny’s hands, and Danny shoots it at a beam connected to one of the pillars. When it catches, he leans to the side, and lets himself fall. The cord goes taut, and Danny flicks a small button on the side that allows him to lower to the ground with some relative ease.

With his back to Damian, he hears a quiet scuffle and the shelf creaks. When his feet touch the ground, he tugs on his gun and the cord retracts. Danny can hear quiet, rapid-approaching footsteps coming up behind him, and he shoves his grappler back into its place and whirls around.

And immediately, reflexively, catches the blade being swung at him with both hands. Shit, he wheezes out harshly, eyes widening in shock. The blade digs into his hands, but there’s no sting — his gloves had taken the brunt of the hit. They were probably ruined after this, but Danny’s less upset over that more than he is relieved.

Damian glowers up at him, and this close up, Danny can very barely see a watery sheen covering his bottom eyelashes. His heartstrings pull, but it doesn’t stop him from curling his fingers tight around his katana to prevent him from pulling away.

“Let me help you.” Danny says, rushed. He doesn’t understand him, the obvious part of his mind whispers. He needs to get him to understand him. Damian’s arms tremble slightly, he pushes down harder on Danny’s hands. But he doesn’t budge.

He tries to yank it back instead, and it gives slightly — only for Danny to readjust his grip, despite the fear spiking in his heart. Cold metal kisses at part of his palm. It’s cut through his glove more. “Put the sword down.”

“'Ayn 'ana.” Damian snarls at him, there’s still a tremble in his voice. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni.”

A low, frustrated sound emits in the back of Danny’s throat. “I can’t understand you.” He snaps, if the kid would stop trying to kill him for five seconds, maybe they’d be able to get somewhere. “And you can’t understand me.” But if you’d stop attacking me, I could figure out a way how.

Something takes mercy on Danny — because Damian gives up on trying to take back the sword. He lets go of the handle, and Danny sees an opening. Immediately, he tosses the sword off to the side, ignoring the clattering and skidding it makes against the concrete floor. The kid is fast, but Danny is faster. He wraps his hand around Damian’s forearm and yanks him forward.

Damian yells angrily, and Danny traps his arm against his chest and twists him around so that his back is to his chest. Danny is also stronger. Both as a given from his size, and what he does every night. Trapping Damian against him is easier done and said, and Danny immediately sits them both on the ground once he has a good purchase on him.

“'Utliq sarahi!” Damian yells, thrashing against him violently. Danny simply tilts his head up to prevent Damian from headbutting him in the chin, and wraps an arm around his torso tightly so he can fish for his phone. “'Ayuha alqadharatu! 'Utliq sarahi!”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying but he can guess, and he readjusts his arm when Damian nearly slips out. “No.” He says curtly, and when he gets out his phone, he sets it down briefly so he can pull his glove off. With his other arm preoccupied with keeping Damian still, Danny tugs it off with his teeth instead.

Silently, he inspects his palm for any injuries from the katana. He hadn’t felt anything, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He smiles faintly, relief weighting off his shoulders, when all he finds is a small cut near the meat of his palm. Not even deep enough to bleed. It stings, but it won’t even scar.

He picks up his phone again, and with his mask on he can’t use the facial recognition. Danny taps in his password with his thumb, and quickly pulls up a translator. In his arms, Damian continues to thrash around, twisting and trying to pretzel himself out of his grip.

“'Ana Damian Al Ghul, dam Ras Alshaytan!” Damian demands. Danny is a little worried that he might bite him, and he hoists him back up onto his lap when he tries to wriggle down. “Yajib 'an tastamie li'awamiri ya Lieazir!”

Al Ghul. Danny’s never heard that last name before, and he pauses from his typing to frown. “Hm.” Damian — the original, that is, not the clone in his arms, — went by his father’s surname, and Danny can’t remember if it was ever released what the mother’s last name was.

He quickly swaps the tab on his phone to a new one, and types into the search bar: ‘Damian Wayne mom last name’ and clicks enter. There’s a few seconds where his phone is loading, and then it pulls up the results. And with it, is a chunk of text from the top article: Damian’s mother was kept anonymous for her privacy’s sake. Who she was, what her name is, it’s all unknown other than that she was Chinese-Arabic. A remarkable feat of anonymity in the grand scheme of things and the all seeing eyes of the internet.

“Hn.” Danny’s mouth presses into a line, and he glances down to Damian. Original Damian’s maternal surname was unknown, and now he knows that his clone was calling himself Damian, what was the off chance that ‘Al Ghul’ was a random last name given to him, and wasn’t actually his mother’s surname?

…Not likely. Or it was a low chance.

Putting that aside, he swaps back to the translator and converts what he wrote into Arabic. Damian’s mother was Arabic-Chinese, and the language Damian was speaking didn’t sound like Chinese. So, fingers crossing, he hopes it’s Arabic.

Turning up the volume as far as it could go, he looks back at Damian, whose struggling and yelling has slowly begun to cease. Danny doesn’t trust it, and he smiles a little amusedly, that’s not going to get me to let go. He checks the translation to make sure it’s what he wants it to say, and then hits the play button.

[I can’t understand you, but my name is Danny. I want to help you.]

Damian jerks, hitting his head against Danny’s chest in surprise. “'Utliq sarahi 'ayn 'ana?” He sneers, “'Ana last bihajat limusaeadatikum.”

“I just said I can’t understand you, bud.” Danny sighs, once again adjusting his hold on Damian. The kid kicks at him and misses him entirely. His arm was starting to get tired from the strain of holding Damian on its own, so Danny puts his phone behind him and swaps them.

He honest to god gets hissed at when he has to adjust Damian as well, and Danny pauses for a moment just out of pure wonder at the boy in his arms. He was hissed at, as if he was scruffing a stray cat. He was so telling Sam about this when he gets this kid home.

Smiling faintly, Danny pulls his other glove off with his teeth, checks for injuries, and then with a little bit of contortion, grabs his phone and pulls it back up. Then his train of thought catches up to him, and he freezes just as he’s about to type into the translator again.

Take him home? The kid? Danny can’t do that. There wasn’t any room in the house, and how would he explain this to his parents?

‘Hey mom, dad, this is Damian. He’s a clone of my genetic template’s son! Yeah, yeah, that template, the one who just so happens to be the old college buddy that you accidentally cloned instead of dad? The one who just so happens to be capable of suing our family out of existence if he happened to catch wind of my existence? Oh, where did I find him? Last night while I was out. Why was I out? Oh, because I just so happen to be the Phantom, your sworn enemy and the ghost-hunting vigilante who you are convinced is also a ghost. Can we keep him?’

Yeah, yeah, he can see how well that would go down. He might as well take off his mask and tell Bruce Wayne he had a clone already. But… where else would Damian go? He doesn’t know any English, he was alone in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home, the worst thing Danny can do is abandon him right now.

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, a frown beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

…He could figure something out with his parents, Jazz will help him once he explains the situation. And if he can get Damian to agree to stop trying to kill him, then they can both make it back to Fenton Works before sunrise… Hopefully.

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Danny starts typing into the translator again. [You’re in America right now. The translator doesn’t translate the name of my city well, but we’re in Illinois. You are very far from home.]

Damian jerks once again, twisting his neck to look up at Danny with disbelief. “'Amrika?” He says, the corner of his up curled up. Danny nods curtly, he doesn’t need to know Arabic to know what ‘Amrika’ means. “Hadhih Amirika?”

Danny nods again, “Yeah, America. You’re in Amity Park.” He points to the ceiling, and gestures around them slowly. Damian watches him carefully, his eyes narrowed. “Am-i-ty Park.” Danny says, enunciating the syllables slowly.

Green eyes narrow at him further. “Amity Park.” Damian says, slowly and sharp. When Danny nods, he drops his head and Danny tilts slightly in order to see as Damian casts the room a disdainful look. “Amity Park.” He repeats, voice full of enough venom to kill a full grown man.

He can’t help himself, he snorts to himself and grins underneath his mask. The sound causes Damian to snap his head back up at him, and return his glower full force. He tries to wriggle again, but, like all other times, it’s in vain.

“Sawf tutliq sarahi.” Damian orders, mouth twisting back into a scowl. Danny almost wants to tell him that his face will freeze if he keeps doing that. He’s already got his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Yajib 'an 'aeud 'iilaa aldawrii.”

Danny types into his phone, [I want to help you. You don’t know English, so getting around on your own will be next to impossible. If you promise not to attack me, I will take you back to my home and we can figure out how to get you home.]

It’s… okay. Danny doesn’t really want to help the kid get home. Wherever that is, it’s teaching a child how to kill people, and it’s making clones of people. Statistically, that’s a bad sign. It also means that, for all intents and purposes, Danny should help the kid get home so he can find out whatever this organization is and, hopefully, put a stop to their cloning.

However, Danny has his own city to take care of. Amity Park is full from head to toe with ghosts and spirits, and with his parents playing whack-a-mole with the portal’s door controls, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the city for even a few days. His parents can catch a lot of ghosts in only a few days.

His parents can spill a lot of blood in only a few days.

The evil cloning organization that made Damian will just have to be something Danny can leave in the capable hands of the older, more experienced heroes. For now, he can try and stall Damian’s homecoming and also keep him safe by keeping him housed.

Damian, instead of wriggling again, slumps against him with a throaty huff. Danny peers over his head, checking to see if he was just pouting or had, somehow, passed out. Damian was scowling, his shoulders slumped up slightly, and Danny internally coos.

He’s pouting. It was adorable.

The boy is silent for a long minute, a scowl carved like marble in his face, and Danny is content — no, wait, slightly content. He still wants to get home at a semi-reasonable time, — to wait him out. He is stronger, bigger, and faster than him. Eventually, Damian makes a low grumbling noise, something Danny can almost mistake for as a groan, before the kid slumps against him.

“Hsnan, sa'abqaa maeak hataa natamakan min 'iieadati 'iilaa aldawri.” He says, sounding significantly less full of indignant rage, and more so full of indignant irritation. He also no longer wriggles, and Danny feels hope sparking low in his gut. Did he finally get through to him…?

More seconds pass by with the two of them just sitting there in silence, before Damian wriggles again — but rather than trying to escape, he twists his head to give Danny a dirty, expectant look. Danny frowns, confused, and then jerks — Oh! Oh!

He fumbles for his phone, [Was that a yes? Nod if it was a yes?]

Damian scoffs at him, looking very much like Danny was nothing more than dirt under his shoes. But he nods curtly, “Naeam sa'adhhab maeak.”

Danny cheers, loudly. The hand curled around his phone punches skyward, like a fistbump to the ceiling, and Damian drops his head away from him. He yells something at him — probably telling him not to be so loud, but Danny pays it no mind. He’s only focused on the pure, utter, relief, pouring into his lungs and trying to trick itself out of his mouth as a laugh.

Yes, yes! He convinced him! That’s one less worry to worry about, and as Danny drops his hand with his phone, his other arm starts to loosen up around Damian's waist — something Damian very much notices. As he stiffens up and is halfway through shoving himself out of his grasp.

Danny lets him go, remembering abruptly the mask on his face. He lets Damian get to his feet, but he’s quickly scrambling soon after, not to grab him again. But to scramble for the katana he’d tossed out of the kid’s reach. Damian exclaims behind him, but Danny has his fingers curled around the handle before the kid can chase after him.

When he stands and faces Damian again, the kid is all puffed up with rage again. Danny doesn’t doubt that, if the kid is trained to be some… kind of ninja…. that he has more weapons on him. But Damian looks more focused on his sword, so Danny holds up his phone-hand in a gesture to hopefully make Damian wait before he attacks him.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He cries. Damian does, fortunately, and Danny quickly types into his phone again. [I will give you back your sword, and I will show you my face when we reach my home. But you must promise you won’t attack me once I do.] He pauses for a moment, and then types in as well: [I’ll also show you how to use the translator so we can talk both ways.]

He doesn’t know if Damian even knows what his… father? Looks like, or what his feelings on him are if he does. But Danny was going to cover his bases, and if there was the off chance that Damian held negative feelings for his dad, he didn’t want the kid to attack him, again.

(It probably wasn’t a good idea to do this at home, but at this point Danny just wants to be in his room.)

Damian eyes him up suspiciously, tense as a wooden plank and hunched like he was ready to pounce anyways, but he nods curtly. “Aeidak.”

“Okay.” Danny breathes out, slowly straightening up. He’ll take that as Damian promising not to attack him. “Okay, good. Good.” Lowering his hand, he pockets his phone back into his jeans and flips the sword around so that the blade is pointing downwards. He holds it out for Damian, and the kid, quick as a whip, snatches it back from him and sheathes it into its scabbard.

Great, finally. Now he can leave. Danny’s hands drop to his sides and he wriggles his fingers at Damian, absently gesturing for him to grab his hand. He turns his head away, searching for the door. “Let’s go.”

No hand takes his, which Danny should have expected, so he drops it back to his side and leads Damian to the exit. The kid sticks close to him, but keeps just barely out of sight from his peripherals. His steps are quiet, Danny would say almost silent but that wasn’t the case. If he wasn’t paying attention, though, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Ninja stuff, probably. Danny’s a little, no, a lot concerned that he’s so good at that.

Ancients, bud. He thinks again, disbelief returning like a hand around his throat. Danny keeps glancing back at Damian to make sure he was still there. Just who, exactly, made you?

When they get outside, the night air hits them cooler than it was inside. Spirits were still lingering around the sidewalks, chattering amongst each other and throwing him various, curious glances. Danny suppresses a frown, but can’t stop himself from making a low ‘hm.’

They probably felt the shift in the atmosphere from the portal opening. It may have dissipated, but the excess was still lingering around. Without his focus solely on Damian, Danny can feel it too. Like a fog in his chest. Or, perhaps more accurately, like going through the day in a tired glaze, only to be hit with pin-startling clarity. The spirits were probably trying to soak up as much as possible in order to gain a stronger physical form.

Which, unfortunately for them, wouldn’t happen from this portal alone. Too many spirits trying to do the same thing. Not enough ectoplasm.

He leads Damian down the steps, and over to the sidewalk. On instinct his hand reaches for his grappling hook, but Damian, still loitering in his peripherals, tenses up. Oh, right, Danny thinks, and switches for his phone instead, this is a two-person trip.

It’d probably be rude to just grab Damian and start flying. Damian might try and stab him, or worse, try and get out of his hands again. The mental image of Damian falling nearly fifty-feet in the air flashes behind Danny’s eyes, and he represses a shudder.

Yeah, let's tell him first.

His fingers fly across the screen. [I’m going to use a grappling hook to get us back to the house. It’ll be faster. I’m going to pick you up, hold on tight.]

Damian scoffs at him, but nods. Danny pockets his phone, swaps it out for his grappling hook instead, and lets Damian look at it for a minute before he crouches down and wraps his free arm around Damian’s legs and hoists him up.

Something gets said to him by Damian, harsh and scowly, probably an insult, but he wraps his arms around Danny’s neck and his legs tight around his torso. At this point Danny just rolls his eyes and adjusts his arm to hold him tight around the waist. “Hold on.” He mumbles, and points his gun to the sky.

Flying through the city is admittedly trickier with the extra weight on his front and only one hand free, but Danny takes it as a challenge rather than a problem — if only so he doesn’t think too much on it. Damian’s fingers claw into the back of hoodie the moment his grappling hook pulls them through the air, it borderlines almost painful, and Danny doubts he could drop the kid even if he tried.

There are a few close calls where Danny nearly clips the edge of one of the skyscrapers, but it takes one easy twist and a little bit of spinning to correct the angle. The threat of it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins, and Danny can’t say he didn’t laugh a few times. Becoming Phantom turned him into an adrenaline junkie, he thinks.

Damian doesn’t seem to be having much fun though, his grip suffocating on Danny and his face buried into his shoulder. He’s choking Danny a little, but he wouldn’t dare try and correct it while in the air, and it’s only bringing him mild discomfort.

Not fast enough but all too soon, Danny is touching down near the residential area of Amity Park where the buildings are too small for him to grapple through. He drops onto one of the apartment rooftops, and his feet are barely touching the ground before Damian clambers off him like a wet cat trying to claw its way out of a pool.

With the sound of his grappling hook receding, Danny laughs low under his breath. “Flying not for you, bud?” He asks, slightly breathless and grinning under his mask. The hook clicks into place in his palm, and Danny shoves it back onto his belt.

The kid glares at him amidst brushing off his clothes and patting at his sides. His hand brushes over his sword, and when he feels the hilt still there, Damian drops it. The kid straightens up like a soldier — immediately killing Danny’s sky-flushed mirth in the process — and stares up at him, awaiting orders.

Danny’s smile falls, and he clears his throat. Okay, he thinks, checking himself over for anything out of place, before looking back to Damian. Resolve hardens like cement in between his ribs. He’s not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it.

He moves around Damian and steps over to the roof ledge, swiveling left and right for the direction of his house. Which is unnecessary, he can see Fenton Works from a mile away, but he does it anyways. Anything to distract him from the discomfort that’s been sledgehammered at him. “This way.” He murmurs, gesturing for Damian to follow. Shuffling feet, and Danny can sense more than see the little boy at his side.

Considering the way he saw Damian hopping around earlier, Danny is confident in his ability to roof hop with him — confidence well deserved because Damian follows him with relative ease. Which is still real damn worrying, but he can dwell on it when they get to the house.

Still, he keeps a close eye on Damian the entire time they’re leaping rooftops. The boy was six, he didn’t have the same stamina nor height that Danny did — it’d be too easy for Danny to lose him on the way to the house because he couldn’t keep up, or he decided to change his mind while Danny was distracted and book it in another direction.

They reach the house in no time, and Danny’s fishing for his key from his belt the moment his feet hit the concrete of the rooftop. Damian remains behind him, an ever-constant shadow as Danny ducks under the various legs, wires, and poles of the OPPS Center and unlocks the door to the roof.

Getting to his room is a relief. The strange, buzzing sensation that settles through Danny’s eyes like a thin film whenever he’s using his ‘scary eyes’ dissipates, and he’s kicking off his boots with a low sigh before he can really think it through. He’ll put them back in their place when he’s done — but for now, he just wants them off. Damian pools in behind him, slinking off to the corner of the room as Danny shuts the door.

His room is spotless — a cleaning habit he’s kept meticulously since he wanted to be an astronaut. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, glow in the dark stars muttered against the walls, and posters of astronomy, Dumpty Humpty, and NASA plastered beside the stars. And a large corkboard hanging above his desk.

“Finally.” he groans, twisting his hips and stretching out his back before reaching over and turning on the hanging lights. A soft orange glow fills the room, and Danny turns just in time to see Damian jump in surprise. He’d moved over to Danny’s bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, his body half turned away and tilted like he’d been inspecting it.

Danny stifles a smile, and tugs off his thermos and grappling hook and places them on the desk. Damian straightens up, shuffling away from the bookshelf and back over to him, his brows beginning to furrow with a look of determination.

He marches towards him, “Laqad wasalna 'iilaa manzilika, walan ealayk 'an tafi bikalimatik watakhlae qanaeaka.”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Damian points to his face while he’s speaking so Danny figures it out relatively quickly. Besides, it’s not like he’d forgotten either. He has to take off his mask to sleep, and it’s easier to change when he’s not wearing it. He grabs his phone from his pocket.

[I know, I’ll take off my mask. But remember: you can’t attack me.] He hits play, and watches Damian scoff for the nth time, roll his eyes, and nod. As if to reassure him, or to prove that he wasn’t going to attack him, Damian folds his arms behind his back.

Briefly, Danny feels himself nearly frown again at Damian’s almost soldier-like posture. But he has time to worry about that later, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Danny raises his hands and curls his fingers around the bottom of his mask.

Carefully, mindful of the straps, Danny pulls it off. The cool air immediately rushes over his damp forehead, and he quickly shakes his head with bated breath to get the strands of hair plastered to his skin off. He locks eyes with Damian, tense, and with air trapped in his lungs.

Damian’s eyes widen comically, his scowl softening for a moment. For a moment, Danny thinks that maybe things will be fine…ish. But then Damian’s face is scrunching up again, his face sharpening angrily, and his hands reach for his sword.

“Dijaal!” He hisses, fire lighting in his eyes as he grabs for his katana.

Danny takes a step back and holds his hand out, narrowing his eyes defensively. “Hey, hey, hey!” He hisses back, he points a finger at Damian accusingly, arching an eyebrow. “You promised!”

Apparently, the tone of ‘no takesies-backsies!’ transcends language, because Damian freezes where he stands and simply remains glowering at him. Danny raises his eyebrow higher, locking him in a staring contest, and Damian takes his hand off the hilt.

Great. Good. Fantastic even! Crisis avoided, and no parents woken up in the process. That’s a success if Danny’s ever heard one. He keeps his eyes on Damian, before slowly reaching for his phone again. It’s like having a stand-off with a bull. A tiny, six year old-sized bull with a sword rather than horns, but a bull nonetheless.

He gets his phone out safely, and gets out the translator. Again. [I know I’m a clone of your dad. I didn’t ask to be. I still want to help you.] And he does, he so much does. Danny was a bleeding heart, forever and always. If he can help, he will. He hopes that the blood he is made from won’t stop Damian from accepting that help.

Damian stares him down, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to analyze Danny’s every move. Danny stays still and lets him, waiting for the jurisdiction of the small assassin.

Whatever it is that Damian sees, it causes him to drop his hands to his side with an irritated sigh just like before. He says nothing, but the resigned slump of his shoulders tells Danny all he needs to know, and he beams.

Success, he thinks, laughing quietly in earnest. [Stay here.] He quickly types into his phone and plays. He reaches for his thermos. [I need to release the ghosts in my device, then I’ll show you how to use the translator.]

He plucks the thermos from his desk and tosses his phone over Damian’s head and onto the bed. It bounces, Damian grumbles something under his breath, and the phone bounces again. Danny puts the mask down, and dances out the door and down into the lab with practiced ease.

When he returns, Damian is snooping around his room, looking around his desk this time around. He straightens up when Danny steps into the room, and Danny doesn’t bother addressing it — instead he grabs his phone again and gestures for Damian to sit on the bed with him.

It takes a painfully long amount of time to show Damian how to use the translator, with a ton of repetition and fiddling around. But they manage, finally, to get a system up where Danny will type something into the translator, play it back to Damian, and then hand the phone to Damian. Damian then would swap the translation, use text-to-speech, and play it in english.

Naturally, text-to-speech has its flaws, and Damian is only recently learning how to read, so Danny figures out the translation errors on his own. They don’t talk for long, Damian is shut off, snooty, and reserved to him. All Danny knows is that his name is Damian Al Ghul, and he is the blood son and second heir to something called the League of Assassins.

How cheery. “League of Assassins” sounds definitely evil. Ancients, Danny doesn’t wanna know. He’ll have to get involved if he knows any more.

He lets Damian fiddle with the translator more in regards to searching his closet for clothes for Damian to wear. He doesn’t have any shorts that will fit, but he pulls out an old NASA t-shirt that still somewhat fits him, and tosses it to Damian.

After much arguing, he gets Damian to wear it, and he gives Damian the bed. That takes less arguing — Damian is all too happy to sleep in a bed rather than the floor, and Danny pulls his beanbag chair out from its nook to shove it under his desk.

He’s still awake by the time sunlight begins peeking over the buildings, his eyelids heavy and sore with exhaustion, and his limbs feeling loose and disconnected. He’s fixed up his gloves — torn from the katana, but now half-heartedly sewn up with thread and a lot of muttered swearing on Danny’s part. His mask is shoved in a hidden pocket in his backpack along with his thermos.

Damian is fast asleep in bed, and with nothing else to do, Danny keeps his sharp eye on him. Swamped in Danny’s shirt and curled up under the covers, Damian is teeny. Well, he was small even before that, but it is even more apparent when tucked under blankets meant for people bigger than him.

And, for perhaps the third time that night, Danny is hit with just the sheer longing of how much he wants to help him. Danny is the hand that feeds, and Damian has a lot of teeth. The cut of his gloves is more than proof enough of that. But Danny wants to help him, Damian has no one else here to. Danny, so far, is the only one who can help him.

He is also hit with the sheer magnitude of what he’s just done — the terrifying revelation that Danny’s just taken in the clone of his template’s son. What the hell does that make for him and Damian’s relationship? Genetically, Danny is technically his father, but they’re complete strangers to one another.

What does that mean for Danny? It’s been four months since his parents revealed their betrayal. Their lies. Their backstabbing, earth-shattering, fifteen years of astounding— the truth to Danny about his… birth. Four months isn’t long enough to deal with something like that. He is still questioning everything he does — whether his actions belong to him, or to Bruce Wayne.

And this? This just takes the fucking cake.

Danny breathes in deeply, snapping himself out of the slow-creeping spiral threatening to drag him under the waters of his mind. His eyes flick to the window. It’s too early to think about this. Much, much too early. He slinks into his beanbag with a low groan, stifling back a groan.

He can worry about the identity crisis and his crisis of autonomy later. Later, when he’s not mind-numbingly exhausted and already mentally fragile from that alone. Not when there’s a teeny baby assassin sleeping in his bed who happens to be his son? Cousin? Brother? template’s son’s clone.

With sunlight peeking through the windows, he slinks out from under his desk to prepare for another day.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is a clone #clone^2 #dpdc au #dpxdc fic #dpdc fic #danny fenton is not the ghost king #starry's writing #ao3 tag highlights: Accidental Little Brother Acquisition #Cat Distribution System Except Its A Child #i crave validation and attention so whoops #danny: wow that is a child! Why Is The Child Violent #danny: ahaha i can ignore my identity crisis if i focus on Literally Anything Else

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brucewaynehater101 · 4 months

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I typically go with Romantic which is just. So *oof*. Also, I can just picture it now. Dick asks Tim why he thought this was a good idea at all, why he didn't call someone for a ride and Tim simply replies, "I've been getting back to Gothem on my own like this for years. No need to bother you guys." and before he can even continue theres a chorus of "you aren't a bother" and "what the fuck do you mean?!"

Tim just takes a deep breath and says, "I've been getting back to Gothem on my own since before I was Robin so it was never a Robin or Batman issue, it's always been a Tim Drake thing." of course Bruce demands to know what Tim means by "getting back to Gothem on his own" and he just sighs as he sits on some grain, biting the bullet to just get it over with as he says, "sometimes when I went on trips with my parents they would get into arguments and leave in separate cars. And both of them would think the other one took me with them. And I always showed up at home safe and sound a few days later so they never really questioned it. Ha, first time was actually at a Gala in New York. I remember they were fighting about what dig site to go to and that night Mom got on a flight to Siberia while Dad got on a flight to The Congo. I snuck my little nine year old self onto a gray hound bus and rode it all the way to Gothem and then walked back to the manor."

Tim goes on to tell them about other times, somewhere between venting about his trauma and reminiscing about times he looks back on fondly. The fight that left him in Panama Beach when he was 11, the one that left him in Denver when he was 13, just 3 weeks before he became Robin, the one when he was 15 and was abandoned in Atlanta, the time when they left him somewhere in *Canada* and the time he was left in *Mexico City* when he was 14. He even laughs about having to sneak onto a cargo ship when his parents left him in Paris, France when he was 16. He comments that that one was actually a few weeks after he healed from the Titans Tower fight. Bruce and Jason are both totally not having a near panic attack about that last one.

Tim is living his life and forgetting that what he went through is probably fucked up. If it happened to another kid, he'd label that as criminal neglect. For himself? Meh.

(I know this is possible because, as someone who's been praised for being smart, I can be so fucking dumb. After explaining to my therapist that I've had anxiety attacks several years before and get anxious in social situations, I was shocked when she told me I had anxiety. Fucking dumb of me, but I bet Tim makes similar mistakes).

Just Tim vibing over all the "good times" he had and forgetting that it's fucked up his parents did that. He probably also felt really proud of himself for figuring it out. He was able to solve his issues and navigate complicated problems (like crossing borders without a passport) all by himself! Isn't that so cool!

The poor batfam is having heart attack after heart attack hearing all of this. It's another aspect of Tim that gets added to the piles of "things he hid from us without meaning to" and "why digging up the Drakes to revive and kill them again is a good idea" (Damian and Steph mainly are the ones to propose the second option).

I love the examples you proposed! Tim really was vibing

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #dc au #thank you for the ask!!!!

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idyllic-ghost · 2 months

Text

Title: Don't Forget About Me Pairing: Yeosang x reader Genre: established relationship, fluff, romance, idol au Wordcount: 4k Rating: PG 13

Synopsis: In the bustling heart of the city, two young lovers face the imminent challenge of separation. You and Yeosang haven't been dating long, but that doesn't mean that him leaving on a months-long tour is any easier—you'd even say it's harder. In the midst of you questioning your relationship, Yeosang gives you a gift to make his intentions clear.

Warnings: slight angst, feeling insecure about a relationship,

A/N: idk if yeosang and yunho still live together, i'm just going off the latest dorm update i could find😭

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

Join my taglist // Masterlists

The café buzzes with the hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups, creating a symphony of ambient noise. Aromas of freshly ground coffee and baked pastries fill the air, mingling with the sweet scent of your latte. You sit at a small corner table, your fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty mug, the warmth seeping into your skin like a comforting embrace. Across from you, Yeosang nervously adjusts his glasses, his eyes darting between his watch and the bustling street outside.

He's wearing a cap, and the hood of his hoodie is pulled up, adding an extra layer of anonymity. His sunglasses lay readily on the table, a silent witness to his unease. You should have just gone to meet him at his place—even though you had been wanting to visit this new café with him for a while.

"Busy day?" you ask to break the tense silence, your voice barely above a whisper, blending into the background noise.

Yeosang puts his cup down, finally looking at you. His eyes are heavy with fatigue, dark circles shadowing his usually bright gaze. The weight of his exhaustion seems to press down on his shoulders, making him appear smaller, more fragile. If you were a little more confident, you would reach out to hold his hand—to comfort him.

"The usual," he murmurs, his voice weary and tinged with a hint of resignation. "Practice, meetings..."

He trails off, looking down at his mug, his shoulders slumping as if under an invisible burden. "Yeosang?"

"Hm?" He looks back up at you, and the sadness in his eyes makes your heart clench. The air between you feels heavy with unspoken words and impending heartache.

"What's wrong?"

He's breaking up with you. Someone found out, told the company, and now he's breaking up with you. The thought pierces through you, and you brace yourself for the worst.

"I'm..." Yeosang takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily as he gathers the courage to speak. "We got the tour dates and... I mean, I know we'd be gone for a long time—I just didn't want to think about how long I'd be gone."

"Oh." You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers intertwining nervously. The reality of his words sinks in, a cold wave washing over you. "That's... how long are you gone?"

"A couple months," he says, his voice barely audible, each word laden with regret. "Then we're back to Seoul for a week before going away for another couple months."

The silence is deafening. The café around you seems to quiet down, although you know it's only in your head. You want to be happy that he's at least not breaking up with you, but being away from each other for months isn't exactly better.

You look back up at him with a forced smile, trying to keep your composure. "You'll have fun," you say earnestly, though your voice wavers, betraying your true feelings. "And we can meet up the week that you're back."

"If they give me the time." Yeosang sighs and leans on the table, his fingers tapping anxiously against the wood. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? This isn't your fault." You put your hand on the table, free for him to touch if he wants to—but not so forward as to reach out yourself. "You have to work—you like your work. I don't want to ruin it for you."

"You're not ruining anything." Yeosang sits up straighter, stumbling over his words. He takes your hand, and your heart soars at the contact, a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. "Please, don't think that... I'll just miss you."

Then call me every day—facetime, text, send pictures...

"We'll see each other in a couple months, I'm sure it'll be okay!" You squeeze his hand before letting go to drink the last of your coffee, the warmth now a distant memory.

You can't even get out the words "I'll miss you, too," the tears stuck in your throat are already threatening to come out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It takes a few days before you can see Yeosang again. By then, the tour has been announced, and you find yourself obsessively studying the tour dates next to your own calendar, scrutinizing every detail to see if you have enough days off to potentially travel to see him. Your mind races with possibilities, each one more uncertain than the last.

As the loading screen appears when you click to the next page, you catch your own reflection on your screen. Your eyes look tired, worry lines creasing your forehead, a testament to the sleepless nights you've spent fretting over the impending separation.

"This is stupid," you mutter to yourself, your voice filled with frustration, and click away from the tour dates before the screen could finish loading.

The what-ifs swirl around your mind, a relentless tide of doubt. What if he doesn't want to see you while he's on tour? The thought gnaws at you, and you'd rather stay at home than risk annoying him. Your eyes drift to your calendar, landing on the date marked at the very end of the month. Almost six months of dating. If you remember correctly, he'll be away when your anniversary date arrives—you try not to think about it, but the thought lingers like a shadow.

Your doorbell rings, jolting you from your reverie. You shoot up out of your chair, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you walk over to the front door, you fix your hair and readjust your clothes, trying to compose yourself. Your hand lands on the handle, and you take a deep breath before opening the door.

Yeosang stands there, a warm smile spreading across his face as soon as he sees you. He engulfs you in a hug before you can let him inside. You nuzzle your face closer into his shoulder, breathing in his comforting scent, a mix of his cologne and something uniquely him. He squeezes you extra hard, as if trying to convey all his feelings through that single embrace, before letting you go. That's when you notice it.

"You dyed your hair!" Your hands reach up to his head, threading your fingers through his hair.

"Do you like it?" he asks shyly, his eyes shining with hope.

It's a sweet, hazel brown color that complements his eyes perfectly. You can't help but smile as you run your fingers through his soft locks, feeling the silky texture against your skin.

"I think," you say, letting your hands fall to his shoulders, "that I need to update my lockscreen now."

"You like it that much?" He grins proudly, and you feel the butterflies letting loose in your stomach when he puts his hands on your hips.

You nod, your face turning serious. "It's adorable."

He smiles and leans in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth—a silent "thank you." Your cheeks flush, and you quickly pull away from him. Just as he's about to say something else, you get a message. With a quick apology, you pull your phone out of your pocket to check it. Seeing as it was nothing urgent, you go to put it back down, but Yeosang stops you. He points to your screen.

"You still like that one, right?" he asks, referring to your lockscreen.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you look down at your phone again. It's a black-and-white photo of him, leaning against his hands and sending the camera a cheeky wink—his, then blond, hair messily falling over his forehead. It's your favorite.

"Of course," you say. "Why?"

"No reason..." He clears his throat and turns away from you, moving further into your apartment. "Did you order take-out, or should I?"

The two of you settle into your normal routine: sitting by the TV and eating take-out together. Now, the fried chicken boxes stand empty on your coffee table, and the two of you have slowly gathered up the courage to snuggle closer to each other. You like taking it slow with Yeosang—but it's kind of impossible to avoid. Neither of you wants to take the first step to initiate something, yet the unspoken longing hangs in the air between you.

You're content now, though. Your head rests comfortably on his chest, your legs thrown over his lap, and he's slowly playing with your hair. The movie is still playing, and from what you can tell, Yeosang is still paying attention to it. You, however, are transfixed with the way his heart drums against his chest. Slow and steady beats—thump, thump, thump...

You turn slightly, moving your head from his chest and placing your hand there instead. As you look up at him, you feel his heartbeat quicken under your touch.

"Are you staying the night?" you ask, your voice soft and hopeful.

"I have an early schedule tomorrow," he mutters and, when he sees your face fall, quickly adds, "But I can meet up with you again tomorrow night."

"Aren't you leaving the morning after that?"

"I leave in the afternoon, so there's no rush," he says, his voice soothing. "You can come over and spend the night, if you want to."

His heartbeat beats even faster, and you smile. "That sounds nice."

With much reluctance, the two of you move from the couch so that Yeosang can get ready to go home. While Yeosang is in the bathroom, you decide to take his bag and carry it to the hallway. However, clumsy as you are, you manage to knock it over. Out of the bag falls a black box, tied together with a red ribbon. You pick it up, noticing the piece of paper tucked under the ribbon. It's too big to be a ring box, so you allow yourself to calm down ever so slightly. Maybe it's just a gift he got from someone.

But when Yeosang comes back, his expression tells you something else. His eyes widen in horror as he sees you holding the small jewelry box. With quick steps, he's beside you and takes the box from your hands.

"You weren't supposed to see that yet..." he mutters, his cheeks flushing a deep red.

"It's for me?" you question, your smile widening.

Yeosang thinks you look like a puppy who's heard the word "treat," and he can't help but smile back. His shoulders relax, and he hands you the box back.

"I went to grab it today, that's why I was a little late." You let your fingers glide over the soft material of the ribbon. "I was going to give it to you before I left for the tour."

"What is it?" You go to undo the ribbon, but he quickly stops you.

"Don't open it yet." His cheeks are tinted pink, and he refuses to look you in the eye. "Open it after I've left."

"Not even the note?" you ask.

"Not even the note." He lets out a nervous chuckle. "It's meant to be for when I'm gone."

You narrow your eyes at him as if you could figure out what's in the box by looking at him. "Alright... I will."

"Thank you," he murmurs and presses a kiss to your cheek. "I really have to go."

Yeosang grabs his bag, and you're left standing in your living room with a box in one hand and holding your cheek where he had kissed you with the other.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You try so hard to distract yourself from the box, but it's nearly impossible. Working from home has its perks, but with the box sitting innocuously on your bedside table, your curiosity keeps getting the better of you. Each time you pass it, your eyes inevitably wander to the neatly wrapped present, the ribbon’s delicate bow taunting you with its mystery.

It’s just past one in the afternoon when you finally succumb to temptation. You tell yourself it’s only a quick peek at the note inside. But as soon as you loosen the ribbon, it seems only natural to lift the lid and see what lies within. After all, how could you resist?

The note is the first thing you see, its edges crisp and its handwriting perfectly elegant. “Don’t forget about me,” it reads. The simple message is enigmatic, and you squint at it, flipping it over to check for any hidden clues or additional writing. Finding nothing more, you shrug and turn your attention to the contents of the box.

Nestled on a plush red cushion is a silver necklace, its chain glinting in the light. At the center of the chain is a heart-shaped locket. Your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace out of the box. You fumble with the clasp, finally managing to open the locket. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you see the photo inside—it’s a miniature version of the same picture that had been your lock screen until recently. You had just changed it to a new picture of Yeosang with his updated hair color.

The sight of the tiny image of your boyfriend, his mischievous wink captured perfectly, makes a smile spread across your face. The locket holds an intimacy and warmth that makes your heart flutter.

Later that evening, you arrive at Yeosang's dorm, proudly wearing the necklace. As you approach the door, Yunho greets you with a friendly smile and opens it wide.

“Yeosang, they’re here!” Yunho calls out, then turns back to you with a more subdued tone. “I’m heading out for drinks with some friends. You two have the place to yourselves tonight.” He gives you a playful wink and a charming “goodbye” before practically sprinting towards the elevator.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Yeosang appears, his presence instantly drawing your attention. He’s clad in the cozy hoodie you got him for his birthday, and his smile is a mix of bright excitement and shyness.

“Hi, baby,” he greets warmly, his arms extending for a hug. But before you can fully embrace him, his eyes are drawn to the necklace hanging around your neck. His gaze fixes on the locket, and you feel your fingers instinctively reach up to fidget with it, your cheeks flushing with a shy smile.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

Yeosang’s face turns a deep shade of red as he realizes you’ve read his note. Embarrassment sweeps over him, and he quickly covers his face with the sleeves of his hoodie. You gently try to pry his hands away, your heart aching at his reaction.

“It was sweet!” you insist, though your voice is laced with giggles. “I really liked it!”

Despite your reassurances, Yeosang’s embarrassment is evident. He finally removes his hands from his face, his ears still flushed with a soft pink hue. “You said you wouldn’t,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with a pout.

“I don’t understand why you wanted me to wait…” you reply softly, a hint of confusion in your tone. “Did I upset you?”

Yeosang shakes his head, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “I wasn’t expecting you to open it right away. I wanted you to do it later because... I thought it might come off as a bit cheesy. You don’t usually initiate romantic gestures, so I was worried you’d find it silly.”

His words come with a pout that is both endearing and heartbreaking. It dawns on you that he’s been holding back, concerned about how you might perceive his gesture. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace, and for the first time in a while, you lean in and kiss him first. His hands settle on your lower back, drawing you closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you pull away. “I didn’t know I came off as cold.”

“Not cold—just... indifferent, maybe?” His fingers nervously toy with the hem of your shirt. “I wanted you to tell me you’d miss me before I left.”

Your heart sinks at his confession. “I will miss you,” you admit. “I didn’t say it out loud because I thought it might seem clingy.”

“I want you to be clingy,” Yeosang confesses softly, his voice full of longing. “I want you to hold on a little longer when we hug goodbye. I want you to reach for my hand. I want you to kiss me whenever you feel like it, without holding back. It’s okay to be clingy, because I want you to know just how much I love you.”

You’re breathless, overwhelmed by his heartfelt confession.

“And I do love you,” he adds, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “Very much.”

“I love you, too.” The words spill out before you have a chance to think them through.

“Good,” he murmurs, his eyes lighting up with relief and happiness. “Can we watch a movie now? I’ve set everything up in the other room.”

“… Can we cuddle?” you ask timidly, your heart full.

“Of course,” Yeosang replies, his smile beaming with pride.

“Then, yes,” you say, your smile reflecting his joy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day before your six-month anniversary with Yeosang dawns bright and full of anticipation. You navigate through the bustling corridors of LAX, your heart racing with excitement. The airport’s usual hum seems to fade as you focus on the surprise you’ve meticulously planned for him, with a little help from his fellow Ateez members.

A driver is waiting for you by the pick-up area, holding a sign with your name in bold letters. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, you’re whisked away in a sleek black car, the cityscape of Los Angeles blurring past the window. The drive feels endless, but your eagerness propels you forward.

The car eventually pulls up to the stadium, its exterior imposing and grand. Inside, the cavernous space is empty, save for the few staff members setting up for the evening's soundcheck. The massive seats are all vacant, and you envision them soon to be filled with eager fans in their designer outfits, cheering for their idols.

You’re escorted by the manager to the backstage area, which is located just beside the edge of the stage. With your VIP pass hanging proudly around your neck and the heart locket resting gently against your chest, you feel a rush of exhilaration. The jet lag that usually weighs heavily on travelers seems to evaporate, replaced by the electric buzz of excitement that keeps your nerves on edge.

As the members of Ateez finish their song, the room is filled with the hum of voices and the shuffling of feet. One of the staff members approaches them, instructing them to take a break. The members nod and make their way to the edge of the stage, their casual attire a stark contrast to the glamorous outfits they’ll don for the concert. Each of them flashes you a grin as they pass, their excitement visible.

You’ve managed to keep this surprise under wraps flawlessly. You even told Yeosang to call you on your anniversary so you could celebrate virtually, ensuring he had no inkling of what was in store. As you watch him approach, you can see the moment he realizes what’s happening.

“Y-You—” He halts abruptly, his eyes widening in disbelief. The murmur of amusement from the staff behind you only adds to the mounting anticipation. “What are you doing here?”

Without another word, Yeosang dashes towards you, his arms outstretched. He sweeps you into a tight embrace, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You squeal in surprise, your arms wrapping around his neck as he holds you securely. His warmth is intoxicating, and you plant a few tender kisses on his neck, savoring the closeness.

“Happy early anniversary,” you whisper into his ear, your voice tinged with affection. He clutches you even tighter, his embrace conveying all the love and gratitude he feels.

When he finally sets you down, he pulls back just enough to look at you with a mixture of wonder and joy. “I was so looking forward to our call tomorrow... I don’t even know what to say—this is so much better.”

He draws you in for another hug, and you laugh softly, feeling a sense of pure contentment. “I wanted to surprise you,” you reply, your heart swelling with happiness.

“You definitely did,” Yeosang murmurs, trying to loosen his hold.

“Can you hug me a little longer?” you ask, your voice soft and pleading.

You feel his smile against your neck as he agrees. “Of course.”

From your vantage point backstage, you watch the performance with a beaming smile, captivated by the sight of your boyfriend in his element. The highlight of the evening is when he dashes off the stage and heads straight toward you, sweat glistening on his forehead but his smile undiminished. You embrace him once more, the warmth of his body against yours a comforting contrast to the cool air of the stadium.

After the concert, the excitement of the evening lingers in the air as you and Yeosang make your way to the hotel. The lobby of the hotel is adorned with elegant decor—chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow and plush seating areas inviting relaxation. You had reserved a separate room for yourself, but Yeosang’s insistence that you stay with him overrides your plans. His hand remains firmly clasped around yours, his touch reassuring and steadfast as he navigates the hotel's polished marble floors and labyrinthine corridors.

The corridor leading to his room is softly lit, with dim sconces casting gentle shadows on the walls. The faint sound of distant laughter and the muted hum of the air conditioning provide a comforting backdrop as you follow Yeosang. His presence is a steady anchor amidst the whirlwind of the night’s events, and his warmth seeps through the touch of his hand wrapped around yours.

When you reach Yeosang’s room, the door swings open to reveal a cozy, dimly lit space. The soft glow of bedside lamps and the faint scent of lavender emanating from the pillows create an inviting atmosphere. Yeosang, weary but content, quickly heads to the bed, collapsing onto it with a deep sigh of relief. The luxurious linens and fluffy pillows offer a stark contrast to the hectic energy of the concert.

As he settles into the bed, you move with deliberate care, preparing for a quiet night. You gently help him out of his clothes, your fingers brushing against his skin as you assist him into comfortable sleepwear. The intimacy of the moment is amplified by the softness of the sheets and the calming ambiance of the room.

You then pull the covers up over him, smoothing them with tender care. You brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your touch light and affectionate. His eyes are already fluttering shut, exhaustion etched into his features. You curl up beside him, the warmth of his body providing a soothing contrast to the coolness of the room. Even as he drifts off, he instinctively turns towards you, his arms reaching out to hold you close, seeking the comfort of your presence.

In the stillness of the night, you drift into a restful sleep, cradled by the sound of his steady breathing. The tranquility of the room envelops you both, a sanctuary from the whirlwind of the concert.

The next morning, you awaken to the gentle pressure of Yeosang’s arms wrapped tightly around you. His embrace is firm and secure, a protective cocoon that shields you from the world. You snuggle closer, the soft fabric of his t-shirt brushing against your cheek. Your fingers glide over the fabric, tracing soothing patterns as you bask in the comfort of his embrace.

“Good morning,” Yeosang’s voice comes out as a muffled murmur against the top of your head, warm and filled with sleepiness. The gentle rumble of his voice is like a comforting lullaby, grounding you in the moment.

“Good morning,” you respond, your voice soft and wrapped in contentment. “I slept so well... and you?”

“The best sleep I’ve had in months,” he confesses, his voice tender and heartfelt. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, a silent promise of his affection.

“Happy anniversary,” you whisper back, your voice imbued with love and sincerity. In the serene morning light, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fades away.

feedback is always welcomed!

taglist: @d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @niktwazny303, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy, @hyneyedfiz, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang, @notevenheretbh1 @iamawkwardandshy

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop writer #fanfic #svt fluff #bee buzzed εїз✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*#ateez fluff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #yeosang x y/n #yeosang fluff #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you #yeosang #yeosang ateez #atz

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kaytheday · 3 months

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Dallas Winston In New York Headcanon

I've been wanting to do some of these for a little while because I am fascinated with Dallas's life before the events of The Outsiders.

Story Headcanon's

Dallas had a bad home life. His mother was in and out of the house and when he turned ten she was gone for good.

Later he grew to understand that his mother was a prostitute.

His father canonically hit him and ignored him. I think this messed young Dallas up, and definitely contributed to his ‘look out for number one’ attitude.

He was ten years old the first time he was in jail or juvie or whatever they called it in the 1960s. He was put in jail for a robbery with some other boys.

Being in juvie for the first time also changed him. The reformatory in the Bronx wasn’t a good institution. While he did his time, other boys and the workers there beat on him, boys often didn’t have enough to eat, and the conditions were filthy. He came out hardened and meaner with black eyes and a selfish attitude.

He would be in and out of juvie or reformatory for the rest of his time in New York.

He was twelve when he started middle school and in the same year he started doing favors for an official outfit. He mostly just ran errands or did other low level stuff. Though this didn’t mean that he didn’t see anything terrible. He definitely did.

Later when he got into the 13-14 year old age, they let him do more high level crime stuff.

He saw many murders while living in the impoverished neighborhood that he did. A couple of the ones were similar to the way he died. (getting shot while shooting at the police) Whether or not he got the idea from those shootings or it was in his subconscious can be debated.

When he became an official mob associate, he became very paranoid and careful. After getting beat up by mob members for a stupid mistake, he became worried that he would be wacked.

He was anxious and was always watching his back. He worried constantly about being followed.

He was always prepared for a quick getaway, though he never originally planned on leaving New York City.

He left New York when he was 15 because he did a job wrong and accidentally got someone killed. Due to his paranoia he got out of town quickly and went down to Dallas Texas.

While in Dallas he meets Buck Merrill who offers him a room in return for some work at the bar. That's how he gets into Tulsa.

General Headcanon's

Dallas was born and raised in the Bronx. (I just see him as a Bronxy boy)

He got his St. Christopher's necklace from some Roman Catholic guy who lived in his building. The guy gave him a jacket as a favor and the necklace was in the pocket. He slept on this guys couch more than once because of his dad.

He learned how to bartend by watching bartenders at the Snakehead bar. Which was a gang hang out for some guys Dallas was associating with.

He quickly learned not to trust anybody. He gathered this through his interactions in his home life and gang stuff. Because of this, he didn't have very many close friends and was always disappearing when he thought people were mad at him.

There were some kids in his building that used to beat him up. They stopped when they heard he had gangster friends.

He watched many gangsters die, he threw up the first time but after that he became indifferent to it.

When he left New York, he took none of his parents' possessions. There was nothing he wanted.

There was one night a few weeks before Dallas left for good that his father was beating him. In between hits Dallas managed to get a gun out of his pocket. His father stopped and left the house. Dallas still doesn’t know why he didn’t kill him.

He cried after his mom left.

He stopped crying all together when those kids made fun of him and then beat him up so bad he could hardly walk for the next few days. The next time he cried was in the hospital when died.

Upon comparing the reformatory he spent time at in New York versus the reformatory in Tulsa, he would say that the one in Tulsa was significantly nicer.

#dallas winston #the outsiders #johnny cade #dallas winston st. christopher necklace #headcanon #dallas winston pre-canon #dallas winston before the outsiders #dally winston #dallas winston headcanons #matt dillon

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iamleesi · 2 months

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THE HUNTERS & THE SOLDIER

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x OC! Avenger Reader

Summary: Bucky’s being an idiot once again and you meet someone… quite interesting? Or creepy? You decide. Also a surprise in the end simply because I can.

Warnings: Alcohol, bit of angst (?), gun, annoying lady, allusion to s3x if you squint, mention of Hydra and being watched/ followed -> 18+!!

Other: Forgive me for eventual mistakes but I wrote this in 3 days and I changed my mind about 60 times

-> Masterlist

-> Part twelve ; part fourteen

-> Devil On Your Shoulder (13)

The ticking of the living room clock was the only sound filling the space around you, each second’s click made you lose your hope about Bucky’s return. Hours had passed since Cassandra had knocked at your door and Bucky had stormed out of the house. Sam and Dean had completely disappeared as well - not that you made any efforts in contacting those two, you anger towards them was still very much present - leaving you all alone with the girl.

You hadn’t spoken much to her due to the fear of stressing her out more than she already was; instead, you opted to let her rest in your bedroom for the night, saving the questions for tomorrow.

You had searched the whole neighborhood for Bucky, checking nearby parks or public places he could be at but there was no sign of him, not even his shadow. It was as if he had vanished. In moments like these, you hated to admit how worried sick you were for his safety, knowing Hydra had their eyes on him. If he were to fall into their hands once again because you couldn’t find him, you’d never forgive yourself.

Hours later, that fear consumed your thoughts. You hadn’t eaten anything all day - the scrambled eggs Bucky had made for breakfast were given to Cassandra since she needed it more than you. But you, honestly, weren’t hungry anyway, especially not when Bucky’s phone went straight to voicemail every time you called.

Your attention was caught by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and you turned your head slightly around to see Cassandra coming your way. She was now dressed with some new, clean clothes you had given her, and she seemed to be feeling way better than before.

“Hey.” You tiredly said, as she sat beside you. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Couldn’t find sleep.” She made a small smile your way, resting her feet on the couch to wrap her arms around her knees. “I’m sorry for earlier.” She mumbled. “I’m sure he’ll be back.”

You looked at her and shook your head at her apologetic tone of voice. “It’s okay, it’s a sensitive topic for him. It’s… I don’t know why he doesn’t pick up the phone.”

Your nervousness intensified once you spoke, voicing your thoughts was like confirming your worries. You began to play with the golden ring on your finger trying to get your mind off of it, but unlike other times it did nothing to ease the growing anxiety gnawing at you. He had specifically told you to call him once Cassie had calmed down, and you did, but he ignored you.

And, to be completely honest here, being ignored was the best case scenario your brain could think of.

Cassandra’s voice brought you back to the present. “Do you want me to help search for him? I’m sure he’s not far away, and I know the city.” She offered kindly, worry evident in her tone. Her guilt over what she said was as clear as a day.

“No, no.” You waved her off gently. “You need to rest, so feel free to go to bed. I think I’ll go for a walk to clear my head.” The last thing you wanted was to drag her into your tunnel of worries - not just for Bucky, but for the entire situation. She was still a missing girl and she needed to stay inside in order for no one to find her, so letting her out of the house was out of the equation.

Also, she was the goddamn key to solve the case and she was sitting right beside you while three out of four people working on the case were men (as if that was unfortunate enough) that couldn’t set their priorities straight. There were people that needed to be found, like Fury and Maria, others who needed to be captured - and yet, there you were, all alone.

“Are you sure?” She pressed, her brow furrowing with worry. “I don’t mind staying up with you if it’s going to help. I mean… you’re here because of me. It’s the least I can do.”

You managed to give her a small, grateful smile. “I appreciate it, Cassie, but none of this is your fault. There’s no need for you to worry or stress over it. Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.” You hoped the assurance in your voice was convincing.

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between wanting to help and follow your advice. Eventually, much to your relief, she nodded. “Alright, but if you need anything don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

“I won’t.” You promised, knowing you’d never wake her up in any case. “Also the house is secure. No one can get in without a key, so you’ll be fine.” You reassured her, watching as she stood up, nodded at you, and headed back back towards the stairs.

Once she was out of sight, you finally let out a deep sigh and looked around the dimly lit room. You forced yourself to get up, knowing that sitting around doing nothing only worsened your mood. Especially seeing your phone screen remain dark without a single message back from Bucky added fuel to the fire.

Grabbing your coat from the armchair, your slipped it on and headed towards the door, locking it securely behind you as you stepped onto the street.

It was probably all the emotions you were feeling at the moment, but for some reason you couldn’t quite understand why the atmosphere felt different that night. It was as if the air stood still, and you sensed presences that weren’t even there.

The streets were empty so you must have had imagined it, the only sound being your footsteps on the wet crosswalk. You double checked behind you to ensure your were alone and, in fact, there was absolutely no soul around. Even the neighbor’s dog was oddly quiet since the animal seemed to be possessed at each hour of the fucking night, but the owners left the poor creature outside alone the whole time so it wasn’t really the dog’s fault.

However, feeling watched or not, you needed to have a proper walk and get your mind off of those three stupid ass men for one night. You could almost excuse Bucky’s behavior initially; seeing the hurt on his face was enough to understand what had come over him. Even if you weren’t close to him, living in the same building for so long meant you knew that being seen as a murder was a trigger for him. You didn’t want to hold him accountable for how he reacted to those accusations, it was his own way to deal with it.

What you couldn’t tolerate was that, if he was still out there somewhere, he hadn’t bothered to let you know he was okay or to check how things ended with Sam and Dean. Especially after hearing how they had kept Cassie locked up for a whole day.

Lost in thought, you almost collided with a stranger who stood directly in your path, making no effort to move even as you took a few steps back.

Your already sour mood darkened further, aggravated by his presence and the small, annoying grin on his face. He appeared to be in his late forties, dressed entirely in black. The streetlight above his head flickered intermittently, unlike the others that worked perfectly.

“I need to go that way.” You said, pointing to the street behind him, as he blocked your path.

He stared into your eyes for what seemed like an eternity before finally stepping aside, extending a hand in the direction you were headed. “Forgive me, kid, didn’t mean to startle you.”

His voice was smooth, but carried an unsettling undertone that you couldn’t ignore. You shot him a glare as you reluctantly walked past him, your eyes not leaving his for the slightest second - you didn’t like this man. He gave off weird vibes, way too familiar vibes, and you didn’t like that.

“You didn’t startle me.” You mumbled. “Maybe just don’t stand in the middle of the crosswalk.”

“I’ll make sure to follow your advice from now on.” The man answered with a sarcastic tone, giving you one last glance before turning around to walk away. “Have the sweetest night, kid.”

You stood there for a moment, watching his short figure disappear around a corner. The nickname he used left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, but you didn’t think much of it as you turned back around to continue your night walk.

You didn’t have a place in mind, the cold air hitting your skin was just a way to cool you off - it was a nice, relaxing feeling for you. Even with that, your mind immediately drifted back to Bucky, Sam and Dean; if you survived this, you’d fight to be paired up with women in the future missions because you had had enough. And it had barely been a week.

You tried to focus on the rhythm of your steps and the crisp night air, which gradually started to finally calm you down. You didn’t know how long you had been walking when, at some point, you arrived near the center of the city, which was far more crowded than the area where you lived. Deciding it was about time to get back, you turned around - or almost.

“I don’t think that’s the right direction.”

A voice made you stop dead in your tacks, and you looked ahead only to see the same man from earlier, throwing something heavy into a nearby dumpster. He smacked his hands together to remove some dirt before slipping them into his pockets, walking towards you with that same small grin you had seen before.

He stopped right in front of you, and all your efforts to dissolve the anger you had built up during the day vanished in a mere instant. Great.

Why this mad had such an effect on you, you didn’t know.

“Excuse me?” You raised an eyebrow, which only made his grin wider.

“I said, you were going in the wrong direction.” He repeated, his voice tinged with mockery. He pointed behind his shoulders, as he spoke again. “You need to go that way, he’s having fun over there. You don’t want him to blew the mission, do you?”

“I have dealt with crazy fuckers like you before, alright? Leave me alone.” You shoved him off, turning your back to head back home. Or, at least, that was your intention.

“I see your attitude hasn’t changed in these last ten years. I thought you’d get nicer with age, but I’m glad to know I was wrong.” He called after you, making your freeze for a second. “Has no one ever taught you that it’s best to be nice to strangers?”

You turned back around, studying his expression because he sure as hell got your attention with that. He seemed to be lucid and collected, making you reconsider in an instant your initial thoughts of him as just another street creep. After all, you had encountered way too many in your life.

“What did you just say?” You said, your voice laced with suspicion.

He took a step closer, still grinning. “Ten whole years. I must admit, I never thought you’d get paired up with the Winchesters. But they go wherever trouble is, so I had to see it coming at some point; my bad.” He raised his hands in surrender before continuing. “But as I was saying, I’m happy to see you haven’t changed. Still so quick to judge, so quick to dismiss and so, so slow when it comes to understand who you can trust and who you can’t. You even got a name now, don’t you, my dear Emma?”

Your mind started to race the second you heard your name fall from his mouth with such normalcy. You were transported back to ten years ago, back to the time you were still with Hydra, to try and remember who he was. But everything was blank, you were sure you had never seen this man before; and there he was, talking to you as if you were his long-lost something.

“How do you know my name?” You demanded, keeping your voice steady. You were an Avenger, sure, but due to your request your face was not allowed to be published - therefore, nobody outside of your friends or some of the people you worked with knew who you were.

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, I know a lot more about you than just your name, dear. I’ve been watching you for a long time, not that you could have known. It’s fascinating how you’ve grown, how you’ve changed… yet some things remained the same.”

“What do you want?”

“Me? Oh, nothing.” He shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side. All this… trying to solve creepy mysteries with your gang like some sort of Scooby Doo in real life is quite exciting, but I need you to solve this case quickly because I’m getting tired of you all dancing around it.”

“Do I even know you?!” You asked, as this man was making less sense each passing second.

“No, silly.” His tone was condescending. “So don’t strain your little brain.” He waved a hand in front of your face. “I never bothered to meet you personally, I had more important things to do like…” He trailer off, trying to find the words. “Nothing really, but I’ve been watching you. And let me tell you, that little stunt you pulled when you let that friend of yours escape… what was her name? You used to call her something like Naomi or something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lied, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Nonie.” He smirked, knowing he had your full attention. “Yes, that’s right, because she was anonymous. Brave of you, really, but also quite foolish. She stayed for you, you know? Even after you freed her; she stayed around in the woods and brought John Winchester straight to you, so that he could save you. And what did she get in the end? She was burned alive.”

Your breath caught in your lungs at his words, confirming that the man in front of you wasn’t just some crazy idiot on the streets harassing women. He knew about Nonie, a secret you always kept for yourself (one of the many) and that meant he knew far more than what you were comfortable with. And you still had no idea of who he was or where he came from.

The pain of his revelation hit you like a punch to the gut. Not that you had ever held out much hope for Nonie, considering she had been turned into a Wendigo, but you had convinced yourself to believe that perhaps, somehow, she found some form of peace. Hearing that she was dead, though, was like a knife to the heart. She had been your first and only friend, or the closest thing you had to one, for most of your life.

“What do you want from me?“

“Your loyalty.” He answered, the serious you had seen him all night.

You let out an honest chuckled at that, which only made him roll his eyes. “You want me to be loyal to you? I only just met you and, frankly, you’re not exactly making a great first impression.”

He smirked, unfazed by your sarcasm. “I don’t need to make a good impression, my dear, I just need you to understand that we can help each other. We can make a deal, right here and right now, and I’ll explain everything to you. Starting with the truth about Ella White.”

You hated to admit that you took a moment to consider his offer, truly, the second he mentioned that woman. He did seem to know a lot of things, but you didn’t know him and you didn’t trust him. “Listen, not trying to sound rude here, but get lost.” You finally said him, even if a part of you was burning to know what he was talking about. “You’ve been creepy this whole time saying that you watched me when I was younger and now you want to be buddies?” You raised a brow at his nonsense.

“Not buddies, partners. You know, work together, be a team.” He clarified. “You don’t even know how many things we can accomplish together, we’d have everyone at our feet - do you not want that? Imagine, just imagine, how it could be like to rule the living and the dead.” His green eyes were locked into you as he talked, getting close to you.

“You sound like a dictator. I hate dictators.” You answered. “And if you don’t leave me alone I’ll put a bullet right between your eyebrows.”

He laughed at what you said, and your crossed your arms under your chest quite offended. “You’re funny, girl, I’ll give you that. But if you want to kill me, I think a simple gun won’t do it. It’s not your lucky day.” He said, faking an apologetic tone.

“You haven’t told me your name yet.”

“It’s not important.” He replied dismissively. “I’ll give you time to think about my offer, kid.” With a casual shrug, he began to walk past you.

Your eyes refused to leave his figure, and you were conflicted whether to follow him or not. Not because you wanted to accept his weird offer, but because he was clearly involved somehow and letting him go didn’t seem like the smartest choice. But you had a feeling that your paths would cross again.

“I already said no.” You called after him, raising your voice slightly.

He paused, turning his head slightly to glance back at you. “Go ask Dean Winchester why he agreed to work on this case.” He said cryptically. “And then you might change your mind, I’ll make sure to be there when you do.”

You furrowed your brows, puzzled by his words - but even what he said earlier didn’t make more sense than that. What did Dean have anything to do with this? And why was this stranger so confident that you would eventually change your mind? Sure, Dean hadn’t been exactly the most cooperative person in the last couple of days, but he was making it look as if you couldn’t trust him.

“And before I forget,” He added suddenly. “You might want to go take a look at the bar down the road, see if you can find something interesting, take it as a little help from me.” With that, he turned and walked away. You swore that he vanished as soon as you blinked, but that was impossible… wasn’t it?

Your feet moved before your brain could properly process his words, and you started to head towards the place he told you to go to. It’s true you didn’t have positive vibes regarding that man whose name you didn’t know, but so far he only said things you knew were real, more or less, so you thought it wasn’t a bad idea to go see for yourself what he was referring to.

You hurried down the streets, the sounds of laughter and clicking glasses growing louder as you approached. Hesitating at the entrance, you took a deep breath before pushing the wooden door open, the little bell above it chiming softly. The noise went unnoticed by most of the people in there, except two men who glanced your way and left the second you entered.

The smell of alcohol and smoke was thick, but you ignored it as you scanned the room. No familiar faces met your gaze, and some doubts began to creep in. Perhaps the most logical reason was that the stranger had been toying with you all along. You shook your head, feeling foolish for trusting him even for a moment. Turning to leave, you prepared to step back into the street hoping to not meet any other idiot that was going to mess with your ideas.

Except that then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar face sitting alone in the farthest corner of the room.

Bucky Barnes. He was hunched over a drink, his eyes low as he watched the liquid twirl before taking a sip of it. Relief washed over you upon seeing that he was unharmed, but it was quickly replaced by that very same anger you had for the whole day. He had left you worried this whole time while he was there, drinking his problems away - and he didn’t have the excuse of being drunk because you knew it was physically impossible for him to be.

You weaved your way through the crowded bar, your eyes firm on him. With each step closer he seemed to feel your presence, as he looked up from his glass his eyes found yours in no time. His posture visibly stiffened and a flicker of surprise crossed his face as you dropped into the chair across from him, not so kindly.

“Nice to see you too.” He muttered, barely glancing up.

“You left me worried sick.” You snapped, your voice low but intense in order not to have people overhear the conversation. “I called and texted thinking the worst had happened and you were here drinking? What the fuck is your problem?”

“I needed some time alone, alright?” He said dismissively, taking another sip.

“Time alone?” You scoffed. “You could have at least let me know you were okay, for fuck’s sake. Cassandra said some hurtful things while, mind you, she was scared for her life and you disappeared for hours? We have a damn case to solve, Bucky, people are counting on us.”

He shrugged, still not meeting your eyes. “Believe it or not, I have been working. Didn’t think it mattered whether you knew or not.”

“Didn’t think it-” You cut yourself off, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We’re a team, Bucky. When one of us bails, if affects everyone. We lost a day because apparently I’m paired up with people that run away when things aren’t convenient anymore.”

“How did you even find me?” He tilted his head, ignoring your outburst. “You have the worst sense of orientation I’ve ever seen. Didn’t know you knew the city.”

“I don’t, a man told me where you were.”

“A man?” He raised a brow, his skepticism evident. “You made new friends already? That’s great, honey. Socializing is good for you.”

You blinked a few times, taken aback at his nonchalance. You had just told him that a stranger had essentially been following him, and that was his reaction? His dismissive attitude left your dumbfounded to say the least.

“You’re getting on my nerves.” You said, your patience wearing thin. Not that it was great before.

“Do you know how to get back home?” He asked, not even being fazed by what you said.

“Yes.” You responded, barely masking your irritation.

“Then go.” He said, waving you off. “I’ll get back later.”

He glanced to his left, and your eyes followed his gaze. You immediately understood the reason behind his attitude, and you were not happy in the slightest about it. Dalia emerged from the bathroom, heading straight to your table.

Now that you looked down, you noticed two glasses of whiskey instead of one, and one of them had lipstick mark on it. Of course, that made sense.

“Harry.” She said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t know your wife was going to join us tonight.” Her fake smile grated on your nerves.

“She was just about to leave, actually.” Bucky said, giving you a look that clearly said, ‘do as I say.’ “Isn’t that right, honey?”

You felt a surge of anger at his blatant disregard, clenching your jaw at the way he was acting and at the way she was smirking. “Sure.” You replied sarcastically, standing up. “After all, I wouldn’t want to ruin the night.”

Dalia’s smirk widened as she slid into your seat not even a second after you moved, not hiding the fact she was happy you would leave. “So nice of you, Jade. You know, me and your husband have a lot in common, I might steal him from you.” She chuckled at her own words.

You narrowed your eyes at Dalia’s taunting remark, her words grating on your last nerve. “Ah, good luck with that.” You retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure you’ll have a blast with his mood changes.”

Bucky shot you a glare, but you ignored it. “Sweetheart.” He said, the nickname anything but sweet. “Get home safe, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, I promise I’ll be nice to him.” Dalia chimed in, leaning back on the chair. “Or not.” She added, winking at him.

You gritted your teeth, struggling to maintain your composure at her clearly flirting with your fake husband. “Have fun.” You simply muttered out, noticing how Bucky stopped meeting your gaze a while ago - instead, he was looking at his empty glass of whiskey.

“We will.” She said, waving at you with that annoying smile on her face.

You turned on your heel and headed towards the door, ignoring the tension in the air behind you. As you stepped out, into the cool night air, a mixture of frustration and hurt made their way in your stomach. You didn’t know why you were feeling so pissed at her being there with him, but you imagined it was because he had been doing God knows what all day with the neighbor’s daughter when you had a fucking case to solve.

Pushing aside your emotions, you finally walked back home hoping to remember the way to go there, walking quickly to put as much distance as you could between yourself and the scene inside the bar.

To think you were actually starting to like the guy now that your issues were kind of solved, but maybe Bucky wasn’t really the right person you wanted as a friend if he was willing to jeopardize the mission for a woman he met a few days ago.

You finally arrived home, the exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulder as you shut close the door behind you. Tossing your coat onto the couch still completely in the dark, since you were too drained to bother with the lights, all you craved was a shower and some sleep due to the late hour and the events of the day. However, it seemed that fate had other plans.

As you made your way towards the stairs, the doorbell pierced the silence. With a scoff, you retraced your steps and swung the the door open, only to be met with the sight of the infuriating man in black, his grin widening at the sight of your irritation.

“I told you he was having fun.” He remarked, relishing in your obvious displeasure. “Did I not?”

“More than me for sure.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well… men are weak. Give them a beautiful woman and they’ll forget about their duties. If you need help, real help with this case, I’m offering it. You just need to say yes.”

“No.” You said again, firmly.

“You’re as stubborn as your mother.”

Your heart stopped at that. “My- my what?”

“Mother.” He repeated casually as if dropping that bombshell on you was just another walk in the park for him. “What? Did you think you popped out of nowhere?” He grinned, using the knowledge he had about your past - past you didn’t even know - to manipulate you into joining him.

You struggled to find the right words to respond, but your brain couldn’t process anything concrete.

“Oh, I’ve got your attention for real now, don’t I? Little Emma wants to know about her mother more than you want help for this case. Selfish, I love it.”

You met his gaze with steely silence, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging he was right. He had been right the whole time, if we want to be honest, and in the back of your mind you kept thinking about his words as if there was a little devil on your shoulder that was telling you to listen to him. It was clear now that he knew how to find you, who you were and what you wanted… which wasn’t really great news.

You simply shut the door on his face, and you hoped for a moment of peace - but even that was short lived. The doorbell chimed once more, prompting you to hurry back, only this time you had your gun in hand, ready to get rid of the stranger once and for all.

As you opened the door again with your finger firmly on the trigger, you quickly realized that there was no need to use violence that time. Instead, you lowered your hand with clear surprise and relief on your face, your expression softening as you took the unexpected sight before you.

“Woah, calm down.” A familiar voice remarked, her eyebrows raised at your defensive stance. “A bit on edge, are we? Let me in and explain everything, I’m here to help.”

“Natasha.” You greeted, moving aside to let her in.

Finally someone who didn’t get on your nerves.

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petitelepus · 1 year

Text

FOX’S WEDDING, PART 1

KITSUNE!RENGUKO KYOJURO X FEM!READER

Summary: Things happen and you end up living in a manga cafe when you are offered a new home and an exciting new housemate. You end up making a contract with the interspecies program and that changes your life forever. Good or bad? Let’s find out.

Warnings: None

A/N: Female Reader, Kitsune Kyojuro, Kitsune Senjuro, Kitsune Rengoku, Monster Musume!AU

PART 1 II PART 2 II PART 3 II PART 4 II PART 5 II PART 6 II PART 7 II PART 8 II PART 9 II PART 10 II PART 11 II PART 12 II PART 13 II PART 14 II PART 15 II PART 16 II PART 17 II PART 18 II PART 19

"You can't stay here anymore."

You blinked as the words settled in. Your roommate and her boyfriend, or rather fiance had asked you to come out of your own room and have a chat with them. You were all sitting on the kitchen table, you on one side and they on the other side.

"W-what?" You stuttered, not believing what you were hearing. Weren't you the one that invited her to live with you in the apartment that the two of you shared until her boyfriend moved in also? "W-why!?"

"We have been talking..." The man looked at your roommate and then you, "That this place isn't big enough for four."

"Are you taking someone in? Without asking from me?" You asked and they nodded. You admit that you got mad, but you calmed down the second you saw your roommate hold her stomach and her fiance set a hand on top of hers.

"Are you guys...?" You swallowed, "Are you having a baby?"

"We wanted to make things work, but there is just no room for all of us." The fiance explained and he sounded sincere as was the frown on his face.

"We assure you, we didn't plan any of this!" Your roommate cried out, but then she looked at her stomach and a kind gentle smile rose to her lips, "But this baby is a blessing and we want to have it."

"Ah..." You blinked before nodding, "I understand... You do what you have to do..."

You really did understand. Babies took a lot of space and time. You couldn't be mad at them for planning their and their baby's future together. There just wasn't any room for you in those plans.

"I'm sorry, but we need space for the baby." Your roommate looked genuinely sorry and her fiance frowned, "Can't you go live with your parents until you find a new place?"

You shook your head. That wasn't possible, you had sworn that you would never return there. Not that you had a bad relationship with your parents, but when you had moved out and made it your goal to live as an independent adult, your father said he was proud of you. Just what kind of a disappointment you would be if you returned home with your tail between your leg? No, you couldn't risk it.

"We will rent a space for your stuff until you find a place to live."

"It's the least we can do."

"I see..." You nodded, "Thank you, I'll try to find a new place to live quickly. When do you need me out?"

The two of them glanced at each other and you frowned. That wasn't a good look. Your friend looked back at you, "I'm sorry, but my parents are coming tomorrow to the city and we would hate to put them in some hotel when they want to get to know their future son-in-law."

So they wanted you out today or tomorrow tops. Your disappointment must have shown because the boyfriend quickly added, "We, no, I will help you with your stuff starting now! I don't want the future mother of my child to worry or exhaust herself."

"Oh babe, you're so sweet." The two of them smiled lovingly at each other before they pecked each other on the lips. You nodded but you weren't feeling as hopeful and positive about the future as they were...

~~~~~

You quickly found out that finding a new place to live proved to be a lot harder when you were seeking one alone. You went to see many apartments but you soon found out that even if the place appeared to be perfect, the rent certainly wasn't for your small and empty wallet.

You couldn't even afford a place to stay at, or not at least one with a decent bed. No, you had to resort to staying in a manga cafe when the day would come to an end and night came. It wasn't the comfiest place, but the reclining chair was your bed now and the tiny cube room where you stayed was your temporary home.

It wasn't that expensive, but your savings were running low, eating pre-heated meals weren't exactly healthy and the worst was that no one wanted to hire a homeless person.

You slurped your cup noodles and sighed as you went through some pages on the computer. You had multiple tabs open, some being about open job offers and others about possible apartments. So far you hadn't gotten even one invite to a job interview...

"Fuck my life..." You groaned as you went to close a website, but then a new ad popped up. Thinking that it was probably spam or some commercial, you moved to close it but then it caught your attention.

'NEED A JOB OR A PLACE TO STAY? WANT TO MEET NEW PEOPLE? CLICK THE LINK IN BIO!'

That sounded almost too good to be true. You were about to close the site when suddenly there was a knock on the door behind you.

"Yes?" You called and the voice replied, "Your coffee miss?"

"Ah, yes, come on in." You said and the door opened and a young waitress came from behind the door with your coffee.

"Here you go- Oh, what's this?" She took a look at the computer screen and you panicked, fearing that she would think that you were using their computers to download something bad or worst, illegal.

"Shit, I didn't click it so there shouldn't be any viruses-!"

"No, I don't mean anything bad. I was just taken aback since my friend's cousin got that same invite. Apparently, it's about this new government's Interspecies Exchange Bill. You know, the people who, excuse my language, are related to fantasy creatures?" She said with a light smile, "They clicked the link and apparently it changed their life for the better!"

You blinked. You had heard of them.

In the past governments used to hide these humanoid species from the world but now for one reason or another, they were now starting to live among you humans. You had seen a few during the last year and while you admit, they were cool, you were never brave enough to befriend one.

You glanced at the ad and then at the young waitress. "Honestly, it sounds too good to be true." You said a little sadly because you knew that luck never favored you.

"You never know if you don't try." She smiled as she handed you your coffee and closed the door behind her. You sipped your bean juice as you took a look at the ad.

You never know if you don't try, huh? Fine, you took the bait.

You clicked the ad and a brand new website popped up, welcoming you for a new beginning, asking for your current information, and backgrounds alongside a recent picture of yourself. Talk about suspicious, this could have been a scam or worse... But on closer inspection, they didn't ask anything that could be actually used against you.

"Fine, I'll bite the bait." You nodded as you started to fill in your information and chose the most recent and decent picture of yourself from your phone. Once you had filled out the whole application you hit SENT and smiled by yourself.

"As if this helps..." You muttered as you took a sip of your lukewarm coffee and that is when you heard a bing from your phone, signaling that you had gotten a e-mail. Okay, now you were confused. You used the computer to log onto your e-mail and saw a new message there dedicated to you. Confused, you clicked the message and saw that you had been selected for an interview!

"Already!?" You gasped. You looked at the message and it appeared to be legit and not just some scam. You looked at the message and there was a phone number you were expected to call if you chose to proceed with the selection progress.

You quickly reached for your phone that was resting on a charger by the computer, and input the number but before you called you took a deep breath. You could do this. If you failed then at least you tried. So you hit the call button and put the phone by your ear.

"Hello?"

~~~~~

You swallowed nervously as you looked at your phone. 10 minutes time. You were on your way to the cafe where the man you had talked with on the phone had instructed you to go if you wanted to learn more about the job or possible home you were looking for.

You had put on your best shirt and pants, a classic combo, and some makeup, but you left the perfume out because the man on the phone had asked you to come without any. You felt beautiful and you didn't look homeless so you were winning so far!

Your phone's GPS peeped, letting you know that you had arrived at your destination. You looked up and blinked.

This was a cat cafe. You looked at the info the man had given and you were right, it was this cat cafe. It was certainly different to have an interview in such a quirky place. Shrugging, you stepped inside and you were greeted by dozens of curious little meows. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of cute kitties that came to greet you.

"Good day, ma'am!" Came a peppy voice and you turned to look and you felt your eyes widen. A real cat girl came to greet you, with a human body but with cat ears and a tail. It was the first time you had seen a demi- or pseudohuman up so close.

"Table for one?" She asked happily, and you actually panicked lightly, "Uh, actually, I'm meeting someone!"

"Oh, you're the new girl?"

New girl? Oh God, please don't let this be some sort of trick to turn you into a prostitute! The panic must have been clear on your face because the cat girl giggled, "Please do not worry. Just leave your shoes here and follow me."

You nodded and did as she told you to, following her into deeper parts of the cafe. You took quick notice that everyone working there were demihumans, but no one seemed to mind. No, they all loved it, asking for pictures with the waiters and waitresses.

"Ah, there you are." Came a man's voice and you turned to look and saw a young wearing a suit and sunglasses even inside the cafe. He must have been the man you had spoken on the phone with. He motioned you to sit down and you did as he asked you to.

"We talked over the phone. My name is Smith and you were...?"

You told him your name and the man smiled as he nodded, "Yes, just as was written in your info."

Just like magic, the man pulled a little stack of papers from thin air and looked at them over, "According to these papers you filled out, you're currently jobless and homeless. Is that correct?"

Ouch, he went right to the sore spots. You nodded, "Yes, sir, but I'm young and eager to work for my salary or home."

"I can see that, you're only 20 and already so mature." He smiled as he put the papers down on the table. "We did a little backup check just in case. A daughter, youngest out of three siblings, graduated and moved on your own with the little savings you had? That must haven't been easy."

You were stunned that they had managed to get so much information with very little you offered to them, but despite your info, the man smiled, "But my, you're clean as a whistle. No drugs or any other suspicious substance, not a single note from the police, not even a traffic ticket. I must say, I'm impressed."

"Thank you, sir."

"In fact, I think we are done here."

Huh? Done so soon? But you barely even talked with each other, didn't he have any questions or anything he wanted to ask from you?

You were so stunned that you nearly missed the paper and pencil he slid to you. You blinked and looked at the paper and then the man, "What is this?"

"This my dear is a contract that you dedicate yourself to the interspecies program. I assure you, we take good care of you as you work for the company. We will provide you with a place to live in, money for food, and everyday life necessities, taken that you will be sharing the house with a member of the non-human liminal species or as called, extra-species."

"Extra-species?" You blinked, "Like the people who work here?"

"Yes," The man in the suit nodded, "This is just one of our many agencies that employes extra-species."

"I see..." You nodded. You had nothing against living with someone else, heck, you lived with your ex-roommate for a year and a half before her boyfriend came into the picture. You bet you could live with someone who was a little different as long as they were kind to you!

You smiled, determination filling you as you grabbed the pencil and wrote your name down, sealing your fate. You looked at the man and smiled, "When can I start?"

"Marvelous, I admire your enthusiasm," He nodded as he took the paper and got up on his feet, you copying him, and he offered his hand to you. "Allow me to be the first one to welcome you aboard the program."

You were honestly so happy, you shook his hand and gave him the most excited smile you could muster, "Thank you for this chance sir, I won't let you down!"

"I trust in that." He nodded and once the two of you pulled your hands back, he reached for his jacket's pocket and pulled out a card that he handed to you. "Meet me at this place tomorrow at 1 pm. You will be housed immediately with your matching new roommate."

"Ah, my stuff, it's all in-!"

"Do not worry, the moving men will fetch your belongings from the storage unit." Mister Smith said and you blinked in surprise, "How did you-?"

"We have our ways to make your and your new housemate's life easier." He smiled as he lowered his sunglasses enough to wink at you playfully. You nodded, a little unsure, but mostly you were ecstatic. You got a new place to live and you would possibly get a new friend out of your soon-to-be housemate! Oh, you wished she was a kind one.

~~~~~

That night you barely caught any sleep in your reclining chair at the manga cafe. You were so excited yet nervous also. So when the time came for you to pick up everything you had in person and time to leave the cafe for good came, you were feeling enthusiastic.

The staff that you had grown familiar with wished you good luck out there and that if you ever needed, they would have little room ready for you instantly. You almost felt a little sad, but your happiness was stronger than your sadness. You put the address on the card that mister Smith had given to you into your phone and followed your GPS to your new home.

The walk was a little longer than you had anticipated but when you turned around the corner you saw a moving truck and people. Curious, you walked over there and took a look at the house. It was a gorgeous two-story house that was surrounded by thick walls, a gate being the only way in, a dark red roof, and big windows.

"I take you like what you see?"

You let out a short scream as you whipped around and saw mister Smith suddenly standing there behind you. The man chuckled and you gasped, "You scared me!"

"My apologies. I can be light on my feet." He nodded, "You seem to like this house."

"Oh, I was on my way to-!" You were saying when your phone peeped and you quickly glanced at it. It was the GPS, letting you know that you had arrived at your destination. You blinked, slightly confused as you turned to look at the man before you.

"Is this...?" You looked and saw familiar moving boxes being carried inside. Your boxes, from your storage unit, filled with your stuff, such as books and stuff you had collected during the years.

"No way...!" You gasped, "Is this...! My new home?"

"That would be correct." Mister Smith nodded before pulling his jacket's sleeve back so he could take a look at the wristwatch he had there. "It's about 1 pm."

"Yes?" You nodded and he grinned, "Meaning that your new housemate should be here any minute now."

Just as he said that a car pulled by the road, but not just any car but a limousine! Mister Smith smiled, "Aah, just in time."

You watched the limousine driver get out and move to open the passenger's door and you watched eyes wide how the most beautiful- No, the most handsome creature stepped out of the vehicle.

A man. He was wearing an expensive and high-ranking men's kimono and Japanese sandals and he had long bright yellow hair with red streaks akin to flames, but what caught your attention were two large pointed fox ears on the top of his head and 5 fluffiest looking thick fox tails behind him.

As you gawked, the man stepped aside and a boy that looked identical to this man stepped out. Only this boy had only 1 tail.

Finally, mister Smith gently put his hand on your shoulder and stepped ahead towards the two males, taking you to greet them with him. As you came closer, the fox men turned to look at you and smiled.

"Mister Smith!" The 5 tailed man shouted and bowed lightly, "It is an honor to meet you again."

"Pleasure is all mine, my lord," Smith said back as he bowed also and then looked at you. "Allow me to introduce you to lord Rengoku Kyojuro and his younger brother Rengoku Senjuro. They are Kitsunes or as you may know them Nine-Tailed Foxes."

You blinked, stunned to silence by the foxes' eyes as they looked at you. Golden eyes with red pupils, they were magical, no, magnificent.

Mister Smith continued, "Their family has ruled Japan's extra-species, or as they are called, Yokai, over centuries. Now, as we humans all around the world are welcoming extra-species to our everyday life, they are here on behalf of Japan's department."

Aah, you understood. They were here to strengthen the bond between countries and learn more from each other, both humans and extra-species alike.

"It is an honor finally meeting you, my dearest Hime." The older Kitsune bowed to you and you blinked as you registered what he had just called you. A Princess? You blushed as you bowed back and introduced yourself.

The Kitsune, Kyojuro smiled widely and you felt your heart skip a beat as you saw that bright smile of his and his intense stare.

"I must say, my bride really is a gorgeous human!" He suddenly shouted and you stared at him as his words slowly sank in. You blinked before blushing furiously, "W- wait, a bride!?"

"Yes, I chose you as my future wife!" Kyojuro nodded, "To strengthen our bond, we are to be married!"

"Wait, hold on, marriage!? Me!? Shouldn't we get to know each other first or-!?" You turned to look at mister Smith who just smiled at you, "Yes, that is why you will be living together, getting to know each other, and teaching each other about your different worlds."

"W- why?" You asked, "Why like this?"

"Lord Kyojuro and young Senjuro come from a very traditional Japanese mansion in the middle of the forest so all this modern life and western architectural is new for them." Mister Smith explained and you blinked as you turned to look at the Japanese men, no, foxes.

"Allow us to thank you for teaching us the modern ways." The blond man said as he and his little brother bowed to you. You panicked slightly, not used to such gestures and suddenly everything you knew about Japan and its culture came to your aid.

"Ah, the honor is mine, dear lord!" You tried your hardest not to stutter and you made sure to show respect to them by bowing back to them. You were nearly startled out of your skin when the older fox laughed, "Truly, my bride is the cutest!"

While you were stunned, mister Smith laughed and pulled out a debit card, and handed it to you. "Please use this card to pay and provide food, clothes, or anything that our royal guests or you might need. Buy something nice also."

"I..." You swallowed nervously, "Thank you?"

"You're welcome," Smith nodded and turned to look at the Kitsunes standing there and looking at the two of you. "Now, let's get you guys settled, how does that sound? The house is already furnished, all you need are your belongings and maybe go out shopping together?"

"Hm, sounds good to me!" Kyojuro turned to look at his younger brother, Senjuro, "What do you say Senjuro? Would you like to go out with out lovely hostess?"

"Yes, but, uh..."

"Yes, what is it, young lord?" Mister Smith asked kindly.

"I would like to see my new room?" The young boy admitted shyly, "This house is so big and modern, I can't help but wonder how it looks from the inside."

"Please, step inside and get to know the place." Mister Smith said with a smile, "I'll make sure everything is handled properly."

"Hm, shall we go?" Kyojuro looked at his brother who nodded little and then at you with those amazing eyes of his. "Are you ready, my Hime?"

"Y- yes!" You flinched but he didn't say anything about it. He only smiled as the three of you walked past the fence and into the house.

The lobby was huge as you stepped inside and filled with moving boxes. Your boxes, you recognized them. You noticed that the foxes took their sandals off and you copied them, taking your shoes off and pushing them aside.

"My, how many boxes!" Kyojuro exclaimed as he looked around and you blushed, "I'm sorry, they are all mine."

"Do not worry for I don't mind!"

You still felt a little awful. You tried to switch the topic, "Let's look around the downstairs, how does that sound?"

"Good idea!"

So the three of you took in the house, the kitchen, and the huge living room you could see from the kitchen. You had always admired such a design since you liked the open space and the chance of being able to see what happened in the living room.

"This place is huge...!" Senjuro awed and you felt yourself smile as you looked at the awestruck look on the boy's face.

Then there was a toilet and bathroom, utility room, alongside some extra rooms, you thought were for storing or extra bedrooms if needed. The three of you made your way upstairs and looked around, stepping into a magnificent room with a balcony connected to it. The room was spacious but otherwise empty, save for a big bed and some basic furniture.

"Oh, wow...!" Young Senjuro gasped and you smiled as you glanced at him, "Would you like to have this room for yourself?"

"C- can I really have a room this big for myself?" He asked as he looked at you uncertainly and you smiled as you glanced at the older fox, "If it is okay with your brother?"

"Hm!" Kyojuro smiled widely, "Yes, this room is perfect for my little brother!"

"Oh, wow...!" Senjuro gasped as he looked around, running up to a huge bed with snow-white bedsheets, "Is this my bed?"

"If you want it to be?" You tilted your head in slight confusion, "What kind of beds did you have back in Japan?"

"We slept on a futon that was rolled out for the night and off for the day," Kyojuro replied and you nodded, feeling a little stupid. Of course, they came from a traditional Japanese home where futons were normal.

"If you want, you can decorate the room any way you want." You added and for the first time you saw Senjuro smile like a sun, "I would love that! Thank you so much!"

"No worries!" You smiled and you turned to look at the older brother, "Shall we keep looking?"

"Yes!" Kyojuro nodded and the two of you stepped outside, letting Senjuro explore his new room by himself. There was another toilet combined with a bathroom and two other rooms that you and the older fox turned to look at. The two rooms were almost identical, only the other one was directly next to Senjuro's room.

You were looking at the one furthest from the young fox's room and you hummed as you looked around.

"This is a nice room." You thought by yourself, but Kyojuro's fox ears twitched as he heard you murmur quietly.

"Then you should take this room!" The Kitsune shouted and you blinked as you turned to look at him, "Wait, don't you want it?"

"My bride's comfort is my number one priority!" Kyojuro smiled and you blushed at that as you averted your gaze from his bashfully, "Are you certain?"

"Yes! This way I can sleep next to my dear brother's room!" He nodded and you glanced at him, admiring his passion and how he cared for his brother.

"You're a good brother, lord Kyojuro." You smiled and he absolutely beamed in happiness, "Please! Call me Kyojuro! As my bride, you are equal to me!"

Again, with that bride thing! Your blush just grew stronger and you couldn't look at him directly.

"Big brother!" Came Senjuro's voice and you and Kyojuro turned around to see Senjuro run up to you two. "Can we go look around the city?"

"What a splendid idea Senjuro!" The older fox beamed happily as he turned to look at you. "What would my bride suggest we do first?"

"M- me?" You stuttered as you thought about what you guys would need. You took a look at the two foxes and an idea popped up. "Well, we could go and look for more comfortable clothes for you two? Also, I bet the fridge is empty so we could buy something to eat."

"Of course! Clothes and food sound like a good idea!" Kyojuro exclaimed happily, "Just as expected from my brilliant bride!"

"I do have a name." You hummed quietly and he nodded, "And what a beautiful name that is!"

This damn Kitsune didn't know what he was doing to you with his constant flattery, but you didn't sense any ill will. He was truly and genuinely kind to you. Something that you weren't used to. The least you could do was to return his kindness.

"Okay, let's head out. I'll let the moving men know where to put my boxes." You said and both foxes smiled as they followed you downstairs while you were letting the human men know where to put your things, the brothers put their sandals on and waited for you by the door.

"Ready, my bride?" Kyojuro asked as you joined them and slipped your shoes on. "Ready as one can be."

And with that, you left your past life and stepped into a new one.

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