#i also found i feel fine/shes a woman in a charity shop and the guy at the till was really niceys and talked to me about the beatles 😋

[sgt-celestial]

LOOK AT WHAT MY FRIEND GOT ME FOR CHRISTMAS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖

[pickalilywrites]

hi everyone!!! here’s the eretra au that a few of you might remember from my wip posts a few months (?) ago! i’m really excited about it, so i hope you guys like it. it’s very loosely based off a kdrama called big, although there aren’t very many similarities. i hope you guys enjoy it :) 

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

My First Love Come Back to Me

Eretra. Big AU. 

I’ll Love You in the Rain or Shine Series: Chapter 1

12788 words. 

Read on Ao3!

Eren stands in the deli section of the grocery store staring down at the premade sandwiches that have, judging by the wilting lettuce and stiff-looking squares of cheese stuffed between dry bread buns, been sitting there all day after being passed over by other customers for more enticing premade meals like the colorful, little sushis in their plastic containers or the burritos so stuffed with filling that beans are practically spilling out of the tortilla wraps meant to contain them. He looks at one particularly sad-looking sandwich. Turkey chunks and droopy lettuce leaves are shoved inside a stale bread loaf. Tomato juice from the poor fruit that was cut to make this depressing sub bleeds out from the bun, dripping onto the plastic wrap that can hardly hold the thing together. A strange assortment of veggies also poke out from the bread - bright yellow bell peppers, chunky strips of carrots, and slices of onions - but they look as though someone has carelessly dropped them into the sandwich because they’re not even evenly dispersed through the sub. It is, Eren thinks, the most wretched sandwich he’d ever laid eyes on. 

It’s a little sad, the fact that Eren is spending so much time picking out something to bring to a family dinner that he would claim, if anyone bothered to ask, to not give a single shit about. And, really, he doesn’t, but it makes him feel slightly better about going to those miserable gatherings if he’s able to bring something he knows his stepmom will hate. Except she’s not really his stepmom. To be more precise, the woman is his father’s first and only wife - the bastard having never married Eren’s mother - and his half-brother’s mother. In all honesty, Eren can completely understand why the woman hates him. He is, after all, a constant reminder of his father’s infidelity. It’s not like Eren likes her either and, with all of the snide comments about his upbringing and disappointing career path (although Eren has no idea why that is any of her business), she hasn’t given Eren any reason to. 

Eren looks down at the sandwich again, leaning towards not getting it. As much as he would love to purchase it and slap it down on the dinner table with a cheerful smile, there are only so many times he can buy disgusting sandwiches for his family dinners. He really outdid himself last time with a self-made sandwich with all sorts of odd ingredients (blue cheese, coriander, tuna, onions, cherry tomatoes, the works) that had no business being slapped between the same two buns. He even remembered not to toast the bread buns. Apparently, the only thing his father’s wife hates more than sandwiches are untoasted sandwiches, but not everyone can afford a $300 panini press like she can. Apparently, any panini press with a smaller price tag can’t be called a real panini press. Eren only half-regretted his decision to bring the disgusting thing to his father’s house an hour later when he sprinted out of the house and biked half a block away to empty the contents of his stomach on the edge of a poor neighbor's sidewalk. No, a normal deli sandwich would be a step down from his previous contribution to family dinner, Eren decides. 

He walks up and down the aisle of the grocery store, taking his time even though he’s already a half-hour late for dinner. (He’s doing them a favor. Nobody in their right mind should be having dinner at five when the sun is still high in the sky.) His green eyes glaze over tubs of soup and plastic bins filled with salad. For a moment, he wonders if he should walk through the shelves of chips on the other side or maybe into the frozen food section so he can haul a tub of melting ice cream to his father’s house, but he wonders if that’s too petty. It’s probably best not to, Eren thinks with a grimace. He doesn’t want to ruin junk food for himself forever. 

In the end, Eren purchases a little tub of potato salad, hoping that it’ll be enough to piss off his Disney-esque sort-of stepmother. It’s not perfect, but he supposes it will do. It’s probably not as grotesque as the stuff he’s brought before, but he likes how simple it is. That woman’s definitely going to be miffed that Eren bought potato salad as if he cared so little that he couldn’t be bothered to spend a few minutes in the kitchen to make the same dish. He’s really going to enjoy seeing the vein on her forehead pulse when she sees him standing at the door with the potato salad. 

Eren thanks the cashier for ringing up his purchase, sliding two dollars into the charity box next to the register, and walks away with his tub of potato salad, whistling as he practically skips out of the grocery store. He hadn’t taken as long as he would have liked; there are still fifteen minutes before six and he had hoped he would burn enough time to arrive at six-thirty, but maybe he can take a roundabout way to his dad’s house, Eren thinks as he drops the tub carelessly into the front basket of his bicycle. He unlocks his bike with a click and pulls it off the bike rack before mounting it and pedaling away. 

Taking the direct route would be too quick. Eren quickly pedals across the road as soon as the road is clear and finds his way to the creek that cuts across the suburbs. It’s the same creek Eren used to play beside when he was a child. He fell in there once trying to catch a frog and his mom scolded him for being so reckless. It’s also the same creek that he frequented during the spring of his sophomore year of highschool when he was assigned to do a bug project, which Eren hated especially when the same project was no longer mandatory after his school cut the science department’s funding the year after. Eren doesn’t think he’s visited the creek ever since he graduated from high school. He blames it on college and summer internships taking up all his time and never really allowing him to return to his youth, but the truth is that Eren wouldn’t have sought out his childhood even if he had the time. 

It’s not that Eren had a terrible childhood. In fact, Eren would say that he had a fairly happy childhood. True, he grew up in a (mostly) single-parent household, but his mother was always patient and attentive to him even though he was a pain the ass about 75 percent of the time. Nothing incredibly significant happened. He didn’t win any awards and he never made the honor roll, but his mother was fine with it as long as he did his best. It was strange, but he got a lot more shit about his grades from his sort-of stepmom than he did from his own mother. He’s not particularly sure what his father thought about it. Eren’s father never said much of anything to defend him, but his father hardly said anything to him at all. It was kind of like not having a father at all, so it wasn’t really that surprising when Eren found a way to avoid his old neighborhood completely after his mother passed away after his senior year of high school. 

Eren hadn’t planned on returning so soon. Actually, he hadn’t planned on returning at all after he had left for college. He only came back the summer after freshman year, but he bummed it at his best friend Armin’s house and only ventured as far as Armin’s front lawn. The following summers he crashed at his ex-boyfriend’s house - an art student-turned-tattoo artist who somehow ended up setting up a shop in the city Eren and Armin grew up in - or Armin’s dorm when they were both working at their internships. Somehow, they ended up landing jobs back in their hometown because evidently the big city did not want them and they were too young and broke to go up against the universe. Maybe another day. 

It’s not that bad. Despite renting an apartment near his neighborhood, Eren hasn’t run into any childhood friends that might still remember all the embarrassing things he did as a teenager. He’s bumped into a few parents at the grocery store that would smile up at him and talk about how nicely he’s grown while reaching up to ruffle his hair. Other than a few childhood friends and the “family” he feels obligated to meet due to the biological bond he unwillingly shares with his father, Eren has successfully avoided most of his past. 

He pedals past his old middle school, zooming past the gates and grimacing as he remembers the less pleasant parts of his past - struggling with algebra, running a mile at seven AM, and the terrible school uniforms they forced on everyone in a strange attempt to boost standardized test scores. He’s happier when he crosses the street and is greeted with the lit-up shops - the convenience store where he’d happily slurp down slushies with Armin after school, the Chinese restaurant that his class would frequent every year for Lunar New Year’s, and the bakery store that always smelled of freshly baked tarts and pies. Eren’s pedaling slows as he approaches the bakery and he inhales deeply, his lungs filling with the scent of buttery baguettes and chocolate tarts. The aroma is so distractingly sweet. His mouth begins to water at just the thought of them, and Eren wonders why he hadn’t bothered stepping foot in the bakery since coming back. He’s about to stop his bike and pop in for a brownie or a lemon bar only to realize that he’s biking far too fast and about to crash into someone. 

“Shit!” Eren’s bike screeches as he swerves out of the way and he crashes into a pole so hard that he can feel his teeth rattle. He topples to the ground with a hard thud, groaning as he rolls over onto his side that didn’t get smashed violently against a pole. When he opens his eyes, he sees stars as well as the face of an old man that he had last seen a decade ago. Eren tries to sit up, but his side is throbbing and he can only clutch at his side, trying his best to suppress a groan so as to not startle the man he had nearly collided with. He gives the man a weak smile. “Hey, Mr. Ral. I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

The old man’s mouth, which was already open to begin with after seeing Eren’s embarrassing bicycle collision, falls open a bit wider. “A-are you … okay?” he asks after a while, squinting a bit as he looks at Eren’s face and tries to place a name to it. Eren doesn’t really blame him for not remembering who he is. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen each other and Eren has grown up a lot since then.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little bump,” Eren says, laughing it off. He manages to sit up and pushes himself off the ground, standing up and brushing off the little pebbles that have managed to stick to his face and clothing. He picks up his bike, leaning it against the pole before turning to the man again. “It’s Eren, by the way.” He pauses, observing Mr. Ral’s expression. When he sees that the man doesn’t recognize him, Eren politely adds, “Eren Kruger. I’m Zeke Jaeger’s younger brother.” 

A spark of recognition finally lights up in the old man’s eyes at the mention of Zeke’s name. Eren’s not going to lie, but it kind of hurts. “Ah, Zeke,” Mr. Ral says fondly. Eren shifts from feeling hurt to feeling slightly jealous. “How could I ever forget him? And you, of course. You two used to play with my dear Petra back in the day.” 

Petra, a name that Eren hasn’t heard in years, and yet hearing it still makes him blush like a young schoolboy. He ducks his head, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he prays that Mr. Ral doesn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How is, ah, Petra doing?” he asks. He had meant to ask the question casually, but he stumbles over the words a little too quickly. 

“Petra? She’s well,” Mr. Ral answers with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and his laughter lines deepen. He doesn’t seem to notice how flustered Eren is. “She just started teaching at the same university that Zeke is teaching at.” 

That’s certainly news to Eren. Zeke hadn’t mentioned that at any of the family dinners Eren had attended recently. It could just be because Zeke hadn’t run into her yet or it had simply slipped his mind, but Eren kind of doubts it. If Petra’s father knew, then it’s highly unlikely that Zeke didn’t know. As much as Eren wants to frown, he fights the urge to turn the edges of his mouth downward and gives Mr. Ral a thin but polite smile. “That’s great to hear. What does she teach?” 

“English,” Mr. Ral replies, his chest puffed out proudly. It’s endearing how much he adores his daughter. “She teaches some upper-division classes on creative writing and a few classes for freshmen on critical reading and writing.” 

Eren’s smile is more genuine now, more fond as he listens to Mr. Ral speak about his daughter. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She was always really good with words.” He remembers lazy summer afternoons lying underneath the shade of a tree and pretending he was sleeping so that he could listen to Petra talk to Zeke on the front porch. It wasn’t even that he wanted to eavesdrop. He just liked the sound of her voice. Eren wonders if it’s still as wonderfully soothing and soft as he remembers. 

“And what about you?” Mr. Ral asks, snapping Eren out of his reverie. The old man seems to ask out of polite obligation. It figures that he isn’t really interested in Eren’s life. After all, he hadn’t remembered that Eren existed until five minutes ago. 

“I just graduated a few months ago. I majored in child education,” Eren replies. He looks down feeling slightly embarrassed although he’s not sure why. It feels like a step down from Petra’s accomplishments. His sort-of stepmom would certainly agree. She enjoys rubbing Zeke’s doctorate in Eren’s face whenever she gets the chance. Eren clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been working at Liberio Daycare. It’s near Shiganshina Elementary.” 

It’s unclear whether or not Mr. Ral recognizes the name but he nods and reaches over to give Eren a pat on the arm, a grin on his face as if the old man is actually proud of him. “That’s good! Your parents must be proud.” He doesn’t notice the way Eren flinches and carries on. “It’s good to hear that you’ve been well.” 

“Likewise,” Eren says. His eyes wander towards the bakery. It hadn’t occurred to him to look for Petra before, but now that he knows she’s back in town he can’t imagine doing anything else. He half hopes that she’ll be inside, maybe clearing the display for the night or wiping down the countertops, but all he sees is a girl his age at the register munching on some lavender bars that hadn’t sold. Before he can stop himself, Eren finds himself asking, “Is Petra in?” 

“Petra?” Mr. Ral asks with his eyebrows raised. Maybe it does seem out of the blue that Eren’s asking. Petra was always more Zeke’s friend than Eren’s. Mr. Ral gives Eren an apologetic smile and a shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. She told me she was eating dinner at a friend’s house. I’ll let her know you stopped by. Maybe you two can catch up sometime.” 

Eren shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but he can feel himself deflating at Mr. Ral’s words. He really doubts Petra would want to meet up with him. It’s not as if they were incredibly close before. Still, he gives Mr. Ral a gracious smile and says, “That would be great! I should probably get going. I have to, ah, eat dinner…” His voice trails off and he looks to bike only to find the front basket empty. Eyes straying further, he finds that his tub of potato salad had rolled out of his bike basket and onto the ground where it lay pitifully. Thankfully, the tub hasn’t broken and the potato salad hasn’t spilled out, but somehow the salad looks even more pathetic than it did when Eren purchased it. It’s something Eren would have been happy about fifteen minutes ago, but it’s embarrassing now. Quickly, he goes to pick it up and drop it into his bike basket with the slim hope that Mr. Ral wouldn’t think much about it, but Eren has never been that lucky. 

Mr. Ral must find him pitiful because he asks, “Why don’t you take some dessert home?” He’s already heading back into the bakery, gesturing for Eren to follow him despite Eren’s protests. “If you don’t, they’ll just go to waste. Or into my employee’s stomach, and goodness knows that she’s already eaten enough desserts today already.” 

“Thank you so much, sir,” Eren says, humbly bowing his head. 

“Sasha,” Mr. Ral calls the girl at the register. “Could you ring up a few things for Eren?” 

The girl’s head snaps up at the call of her name, her cheeks filled with pastry and crumbs all over her mouth. “Sure thing,” Sasha says, gulping down the last of her lavender bar and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She walks over to the side, Eren following her on the other side of the counter, and washes her hands hastily. As she wipes her hands dry with the hand towel, she looks at Eren brightly and asks in a chipper voice, “Do you have anything you want in particular?” 

Eren’s eyes scan over the display, but he doesn’t really look at anything in particular. He just wants to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. He’s embarrassed himself quite enough for today. “Just … whatever you’d recommend,” 

“Alright-y,” the girl hums, taking a bag and stuffing it full with little tarts and tea cakes and croissants. Eren looks at her briefly, realizing that he doesn’t recognize her. She must have moved here sometime during the past six years when he wasn’t around. 

As Sasha finishes preparing the bag, Eren walks over to the register and gets ready to pull his wallet out but Mr. Ral walks over, shaking his head. “No need to pay for it,” Mr. Ral says. He reaches over the counter and takes the bag from Sasha, presenting it to Eren with a smile. “Consider it a treat. Really, you’d be doing me a favor just taking it. They would have gone to waste otherwise.” 

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says, his face flushing once more. He takes the bag from Mr. Ral with a small bow of his head. “It was great seeing you again, Mr. Ral.” 

“Likewise,” Mr. Ral says with that same crinkly smile. He walks Eren to the door, watching as Eren packs the desserts alongside his potato salad. “Take good care of yourself, Eren, and tell your brother I said hi.” He waves as Eren assures him he’ll do just that, returning to the shop only once Eren has biked away. 

This is not how the night was supposed to go. Eren was supposed to be wandering around the neighborhood with his potato salad before waltzing into his father’s house an hour late, his sort-of stepmother silently fuming at the dinner table while the family sat and waited for him. He hadn’t planned on bumping into his childhood crush’s father, and he certainly hadn’t planned on looking so incredibly pathetic in front of Mr. Ral. He can only imagine what Mr. Ral will tell Petra when she sees her dad tonight. Maybe something about how he grew up to be such a loser even though his half-brother managed to graduate with a Ph.D. and is now a successful anthropology professor at the local university. It’s not something that usually gets Eren down, but thinking about it now is making him feel especially miserable. 

Eren’s not sure why the thought of Petra knowing how his life is so embarrassing. He hasn’t spoken to her in years, so her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. And even if she did have an opinion of him, he’s sure it wouldn’t be unkind. Petra had always been nice to him even when he was a kid and just being an annoying third wheel to her and Zeke. When his childish admiration of her turned into puppy love and eventually evolved into a full-fledged crush, she never brushed him off or thought him annoying, although there was a chance that she just never noticed. He couldn’t blame her for that when Zeke, honor roll student and valedictorian Zeke, was always standing right in front of her. He wasn’t even surprised when they started dating. It was inevitable. And when they eventually broke up for some reason that Eren still isn’t quite sure about, Eren knew he’d never be able to compare so he never tried to pursue her. It���s not surprising that he and Petra ended up losing touch. 

As much as he would love to blame Zeke for it (and it would be incredibly easy for him to blame Zeke), he can’t. Maybe it’s strange that he doesn’t harbor a deep hatred for his half-brother. Their relationship has all the makings of a classic sibling rivalry - a complicated family history, stark differences in accomplishments, and affections for the same girl - but Eren could never bring himself to hate Zeke. Even if Zeke’s mother liked to hold all of her son’s accomplishments over Eren’s head, Zeke himself never bragged about them. In fact, he was quite humble and would even offer to help his younger half-brother if he was struggling with something in school. Oftentimes he would invite Eren to hang out with his friends even though their age gap made it a little awkward. He even remembered Eren’s favorite snacks and would make sure they were in supply whenever Eren came over to visit. If Zeke’s mother was an evil Disney stepmother come to life, Zeke was that one fairytale sibling that was kind to the tragic main character, so Eren had no choice but to like Zeke. Even when Zeke broke up with Petra and Eren couldn’t understand why, when Zeke told Eren that it “just happened,” Eren kind of left it at that and accepted that because he couldn’t imagine Zeke doing anything wrong. 

Could Eren be classified with an inferiority complex with regards to his brother? Probably, but most siblings can. Eren would have to challenge whether or not someone with inferiority complexes would admire their brother as much as he does, but they might in a weird way. Eren’s sure that he and Zeke’s relationship would still be complicated even if they didn’t have all the weird history with Eren and Zeke’s parents. 

Eren sighs as he flies down a dip in the road, letting gravity carry him down instead of pedaling. He really doesn’t feel like he’s in the right headspace for this family dinner. Usually, he lets all of that woman’s snide comments ricochet, but his armor has grown weak and he can just imagine her landing the right thinly-veiled insult, her words burying into his skin and hitting right where it hurts. For a moment, Eren considers calling the dinner off with an excuse that will be sure to piss his stepmother off — probably something about how he has to restructure his lesson plan for the upcoming week — but he glances down at the potato salad and bag of baked goods in his bike basket and realizes that he really doesn’t want to eat them all by himself. If he’s going to suffer, he might as well make the rest of his family suffer alongside him. And besides, he’s pretty much already at their house anyway. 

His bike slows as he approaches the white-picket fenced house. He takes the potato salad tub and the bag of baked goods before leaving his bike on the driveway, not bothering to chain it to the fence because nobody would want to steal the old thing he bought from a garage sale anyway. The sight of it lying in front of the house instead of properly locked up will be sure to piss off that woman too, which is just an added bonus. With a sigh, Eren marches up the front steps, shifting the food all on one arm so he can ring the doorbell. The familiar chime rings out, muted from behind the wooden door. A muffled voice mumbles something Eren can’t hear, but he already knows that the speaker has nothing good to say about him. 

The door is thrown open and Eren looks down to see his stepmother glowering up at him, blue eyes a raging storm. “You’re late,” she hisses. She doesn’t even give him a greeting; she just stands there in front of him silently fuming. Behind her stands Eren’s father. As expected, he says nothing to defend his son’s tardiness. The man just stands there, uncomfortable as he quietly observes. 

“Sorry, Dina,” Eren says, squeezing past his stepmother who makes an indignant noise. He dangles the food he brought in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she snatches the bag from him only to wrinkle her nose in disgust when she sees the potato salad. “I brought dessert, too. Do you want me to put it somewhere …?” 

Dina snatches the bag of desserts from him too, still huffing. “We have a guest tonight too. Do you know how rude you’re being?” she says, continuing to nag at him even though Eren has stopped listening to her years ago. 

Eren’s father gently grabs Eren by the elbow, subtly ushering him inside to avoid any more conflict but Eren yanks his arm away. 

“Well, maybe if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have showed up on time,” Eren snaps. He sounds angry as he says it, but he really does mean it. It’s one thing to be rude to his stepmother, but it’s another thing entirely to be rude to a guest he doesn’t know. He’d at least wait for introductions before deciding whether or not to show any manners. 

Before his stepmother can say anything more, Eren stomps off into the dining room where Zeke and the guest are waiting. He keeps his head down, cheeks burning, as he pulls out his chair - the one furthest from everyone - and slumps down into it. “Sorry, I’m late,” Eren mumbles, still looking down. 

“Eren,” says a deep voice that Eren recognizes as Zeke’s. Hearing the voice of someone other than his stepmother’s makes Eren relax a bit and he rests with his back against his chair, a little more at ease now. He can hear Zeke’s small smile as his half-brother asks, “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke who sits across from him, and then at the guest. He looks so quickly at first that he doesn’t register exactly who he’s seeing until he does a double-take, his green eyes widening as they take in the woman sitting there. It’s someone he hadn’t expected to see ever again, much less sitting at his family’s dining table, and he’s so surprised that he almost chokes. For a moment, he thinks it might just be a doppelganger, but there’s no mistaking the soft dimples that appear in her cheeks as her lips curl in a smile. “...Petra?” 

“Hi, Eren.” Petra’s voice is still as gentle and soothing as Eren remembers, the sound of it so honey-sweet that he feels his cheeks bloom a soft pink. There’s so much about her that’s different, but there’s so much more that’s the same. Her hair is shorter now, no longer falling right at her shoulder, but curling right under her chin in a short bob. It’s the same shade of ginger it was when he was a kid. If it’s under the right light, it would probably burn a fiery gold. Her doe eyes are the same pretty amber, sweet and dangerously entrancing at the same time. She’s even dressed differently, her button-up blouse and slick gray trousers such a departure from the casual jeans and t-shirts she wore ten years ago when Eren was still in high school. Eren feels horribly underdressed - his ratty university sweatshirt over a thin cotton tee and his ripped jeans are so shabby in comparison - but a glimmer of silver on Petra’s wrist attracts Eren’s attention to the charm bracelet she wears, jangling with charms that Eren remembers her collecting in her high school days, and he feels a little less like he’s meeting a stranger and more like he’s reuniting with an old friend. 

“How are you?” Eren asks shyly, his smile bashful. 

“I’m well,” she answers, and Eren feels himself melting into her voice the same way he did when he was thirteen. When she smiles, her head tilts ever so slightly to the right just the way it did when he first met her and her dimples deepen into her cheeks. “How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers because he doesn’t trust himself to string together more than a word or two at a time. He wonders if she realizes how he’s unraveling at the sound of her voice or if she’s as oblivious as she was the last time. 

“I’m glad,” Petra says, and the warm look Petra gives Eren reignites a flame in the pit of his belly that he had thought he extinguished long ago. Her head tilts a little bit more to the side, her eyes twinkling. “I missed you,” Petra tells him, and Eren finds himself in love once more. 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

There are rules to dealing with your ex-boyfriend after you’ve broken up, Petra knows, but it’s been ten years and she figures that these rules can be bent. So what if the last time she saw Zeke she was broken-hearted, crying in the rain as he turned his back on her? She was younger then, her feelings out of control for someone who didn’t care for her nearly as much as she cared for him. And, sure, maybe it’s terrible that she never received the closure that she deserves, but she can’t hold a grudge against him forever. They work in the same university and cowering behind the nearest trashcan every time they meet doesn’t seem to be a viable option. Petra’s older now and so is Zeke. They’re mature. They can be friends like adults are after they’ve broken up, so the universe should be able to understand her accepting Zeke’s dinner request that evening even if her friends couldn’t. 

She only started to regret her decision when Zeke offered to drive her there after his classes ended - saving gas and the planet, he explained - and she agreed. Although Petra repeatedly told herself that it was a simple family dinner and that such an invitation was extended to Zeke’s other friends on occasion, she found herself sitting impatiently in her office, biting her nails down so close to the quick that her fingers started to bleed. Having to bandage her fingers as she waited did absolutely nothing to soothe her nerves. 

“I don’t see why you’re so nervous,” Levi tells her over the phone. He taught in the mathematics department, but they had met after Petra had nervously stumbled into the wrong building and into his office on her first day at the university. The man has a perpetual scowl on his face, and that very same expression had nearly sent Petra running until she weakly explained that she must have gotten lost and he kindly redirected her to the building her office was located in. She thought that was going to be the end of their interaction until he emailed her shortly after asking if she had gotten to her office alright. Finding him a kindred spirit, he had become her first (and sadly only) companion at the university aside from Zeke. “If you’re friends with him, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.” 

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t really seen him since we, you know, broke up,” Petra explains, but she doubts that Levi understands. She had told him her history with Zeke a few weeks ago after he asked her why she was so jittery at the faculty luncheon, but he didn’t have much of a reaction. It was sort of nice having someone to talk to that wasn’t as hyperbolically reactive as the rest of her friends, but it was also painfully difficult when Levi didn’t show her any sympathy. 

“You saw him last week when you were at the library to look for reference books,” he reminds her as if it were the same thing. “I don’t know why this dinner has you in a panic. You left me nearly a hundred messages while I was teaching class.” He hadn’t even replied to her texts, the bastard. He had simply left her on read until midnight before sending her a thumbs-up emoji to let her know that he had read her messages, which was not exactly the response Petra was waiting for. 

“This is different!” Petra insists, but she knows Levi will never see it that way. 

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be,” Levi says. She can hear him scribbling something on the other end, probably correcting exams for his differential equations classes and marking a poor student’s paper in an abundance of red. “Either cancel or just go to dinner with him. You’ve had family dinners with him even before you guys got together right?” 

“Yeah, but that was back when we were kids,” Petra mumbles, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

“Then you’ll be fine,” he tells her. 

“You’re horribly unsympathetic sometimes,” she sighs. 

“If you wanted sympathy, you shouldn’t have called me,” Levi says with a cluck of his tongue, but he chuckles when he hears her groan on the other end. “Really, it’ll be fine. You’re just overthinking it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And you said the kid will be there, right? His brother, so it’s not as if you’ll be alone with Zeke and his parents.” 

Petra lays with her head on her desk, her phone pressed against her cheek. “Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbles, but her lower lip still sticks out in a pout. The thought of Eren being there, sweet little Eren with his eager puppy eyes and wide smile, does make her feel better if only a little. She probably hasn’t seen him since she broke up with Zeke. She wonders if he’s changed very much. He’d be in college now? Or maybe he graduated. “I haven’t seen him in awhile though. What if he hates me now?” 

“You’re overthinking again,” Levi says. He sighs on the other end. If Petra didn’t know him very well, she would think she was bothering him, but he’s always like this. “Are you going to be okay?” 

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Petra sniffs. She looks sadly at her bandaged fingers and picks at the ends of one of them. “Should I just cancel? Maybe I can tell him I fell down the stairs and had to go to the hospital or something -” Someone knocks at the door and Petra lets out a startled yelp, nearly falling out of her chair because she’s so surprised. When she looks at the door, she sees Zeke’s silhouette against the frosted glass pane. The sight of it makes her want to hide behind her desk. “God, he’s here already!” 

“Too late for you to run then,” Levi says, not even bothering to hide his snickering. He’s such a sadist that Petra doesn’t even know why she’s friends with him sometimes. “Have fun at your absolutely normal dinner with your friend and his family.” Click!

“Asshole,” Petra mutters under her breath before shoving her phone in her bag. There’s another knock at the door — the same long, slow knocks that are a signature of Zeke’s —  and she hastily shouts, “I’ll be right there!” before shoving her papers in her bag and stumbling out of the door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She must look like a mess because Zeke raises an eyebrow at her when she emerges from her office. Petra catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window and winces at her frumpled shirt and the hair falling out of her bun. She mumbles an apology as she pulls the hair ties out of her bun, her hair falling in loose curls around her face. 

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Zeke asks. 

“No! God, no,” Petra says, inwardly cringing at every word that comes out of her mouth. Even she can tell how awkward her responses sound, a little too quick and desperate. What is she being so anxious for? It’s just dinner with a friend —  an ex-boyfriend, but a friend nonetheless. Petra clears her throat and asks as casually as she can manage, “How are your parents?” 

“Hmm? They’re well, I suppose,” he answers. Everything about him is familiar. He’s grown just a bit taller since Petra last saw him, his shoulders a bit broader and his jawline a bit sharper, but he still wears the same double-bridge glasses and the right corner of his mouth still quirks upward just the slightest bit when he speaks. He even walks the same way, his strides a little too long and quick, and Petra finds that she still has to struggle a bit to keep up. If Zeke notices the same thing about her - how she still wears the same shade of lipstick, how she still has that habit of wrapping her hair around her finger when she’s nervous like she’s doing now, how she bites her lip when she’s not sure what to say next - he doesn’t mention it. “My father’s still working at the hospital with my grandfather. He’s been promoted to director of the orthopedics department.” 

“Oh, congrats!” 

“And you know my mother has been at the hospital now that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore,” Zeke says. It’s strange how casually he says this, as if he doesn’t remember that the last time he spoke about his mother to Petra was when they were still together. “She really missed being in the OR. Says she’d rather be doing surgeries all day than taking care of me.” 

“It’s nice that she can go back to it.” She nearly stumbles over a step but catches the railing before she can. When she looks up again, Zeke is already on the sidewalk and she hurries after him, a little breathless. “And Eren?” 

“Eren?” Zeke seems a little surprised by the question although Petra doesn’t know why. He leads her to a car - a slick Mercedes with a shining blue exterior and tinted windows that don’t quite match Zeke’s academic profession —  and opens the car doors with a click. 

“Your brother,” she clarifies as Zeke walks over to the driver’s side and slips into the car. She opens the passenger car and slides into the seat beside Zeke, setting her bag down next to her feet. The door swings shut behind her. “He’s coming to the dinner too, right?” 

Zeke turns on the engine and the car comes to life with a pleasant hum. “Most likely,” Zeke says as he checks the side and rearview mirrors before pulling out of the parking space. He even drives the same way, his arm resting on the side with his hand tapping against the door while one hand is on the wheel. Just watching him makes Petra’s chest feel tight. 

“Ah, that’s good. I haven’t seen him in so long,” Petra says. For some reason, knowing that Eren will also be there makes her feel a little more relaxed about the dinner. “Is he still in college? I think he should have graduated by now.” 

“He graduated a little while ago. He’s teaching now. Still on probation, but he says his colleagues like him so he’s not too worried about getting tenure after the probationary period is over.” He slows the car to a stop at an intersection and leans over, fiddling with the radio dial. He sets it to the jazz station and the sound of smooth brass and relaxed percussion fills the car. 

Somehow, driving down the streets with Zeke is far more nostalgic than it ever was when Petra drove on her own. Some nights Petra drove home by herself, and all it ever felt was lonely. Maybe it’s the familiarity of having Zeke beside her like when they were teenagers, driving back home after watching a movie downtown or returning from a basketball game at their high school. 

Petra doesn’t ask any more questions about Zeke’s family. She figures she can catch up with the rest of the Jaegers when she sees them at dinner. Instead, she asks Zeke about his classes and finds that conversation with him comes more easily after she stops stumbling over her words. He tells her a little bit about teaching anthropology (“Far less painful than you think it would be, at least when the kids aren’t just taking it to fulfill their core classes,” he says), his plans for the upcoming week (“It’s midterms, but the students should be fine if they actually look at the study guide.”), and the butterfly exhibit opening up at the museum downtown (“I’m thinking of putting it up as extra credit. Who knows, they might actually look at the other exhibits while they’re wandering around.”). Petra also fills him in on her own life, mumbling about how she still has to make the answer key to her own midterm and expressing interest in the butterfly exhibit Zeke mentions. 

They pull up next to Zeke’s house, the very same one he grew up with. Not much has changed from the outside. The white picket fence is a little worn and the rose bushes have been replaced with peonies. The house is still the same shade of cream, but Petra is sure that the Jaegers had it repainted over the summer like they usually do. She looks up at the second-story window where Zeke’s room should be and vaguely wonders if it’s still his room or if he’s moved out and hasn’t mentioned it yet. 

Walking up the brick steps to the door is a bit surreal. Petra doesn’t realize just how silent she’s been until the chime of the doorbell startles her and Mrs. Jaeger opens the door. As with most of Zeke’s family members, Petra hasn’t seen Mrs. Jaeger since she broke up with Zeke, but she had an amicable relationship with her. She can’t recall Mrs. Jaeger ever being angry, so she’s surprised when Zeke’s mother opens the door with a terrible scowl on her face. 

“Mom, you remember Petra,” Zeke says, moving aside so that Petra can enter first. 

The scowl quickly slips from Mrs. Jaeger’s face, replaced with a smile that Petra is more familiar with. “Petra, of course! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her voice strained. She waves Petra and Zeke in, shutting the door gently behind them. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Petra mumbles. She looks at the kitchen doorway where Zeke’s father leans and gives him an awkward wave. The man, just as silent as he was when Petra was young, gives her a polite smile and a nod in acknowledgment. 

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” Zeke apologizes as he shrugs off his coat. He walks over to the dining room, Petra and his mother trailing behind him. “A student wanted to talk to me and it took a bit longer than I thought it would.” 

“No need to apologize! Eren hasn’t arrived yet anyway. He’ll probably be late. Again.” There’s a harsh tone in Mrs. Jaeger’s voice that Petra hasn't heard before. When she looks up, she sees Zeke’s mother hovering around the table and arranging dishes, the same polite smile on her face as she does so. “Your brother, of course, didn’t bother to send a text to notify us that he’d be late.” 

Petra wonders if Mrs. Jaeger usually speaks about Eren with such disappointment in her voice. Maybe she had always spoken about Eren like this and Petra had never been around to witness it or maybe it’s something that developed while Petra was away. Whatever it is, Zeke and his father seem used to it. Zeke merely shrugs, pulling out his phone to flip through his phone while his mother continues to mutter about how disrespectful her stepson is. Mr. Jaeger continues to stand at the doorway, not bothering to join them at the dining table, his eyes fixed on the carpet. He doesn’t bother to defend his son. 

“Maybe he’s busy,” Petra says, interrupting Mrs. Jaeger mid-rant. She feels rude for speaking while Mrs. Jaeger is talking, but sitting in silence while Zeke’s mother speaks ill of Eren doesn’t feel right either. All eyes are on her now - Mrs. Jaeger a little surprised, Zeke with an eyebrow quirked upward as if in amusement, and his father with a look that’s almost relieved. Petra clears her throat and continues. “He’s a teacher, right? It must be difficult teaching so many children every day — making the lesson plan and everything. Maybe texting slipped his mind. He’ll probably be here soon.” 

God, she hopes Eren will be here soon. Her cheeks are starting to burn bright red and she’s thinking that perhaps speaking up might not have been the best decision. 

“Ah, you’re probably right.” Mrs. Jaeger seems a little more composed now, perhaps remembering that they have company over. She settles down in the chair across from Zeke and flashes a pleasant smile at Petra. “He can be quite forgetful of these things. Of course, you’d never worry your father like this. You’ve always been so responsible.” 

Has talking with Zeke’s mother always been this difficult? Petra’s head is starting to spin, unsure of what response would be appropriate. She feels as if she should defend Eren, but she doesn’t want to make things awkward either. In the end, she smiles awkwardly at Mrs. Jaeger as if accepting the woman’s compliment and reaches out for the glass of water in front of her, raising it to her lips before she can say anything else that she might regret. 

“Dear, come sit next to me,” Mrs. Jaeger calls. She gestures for her husband to join them at the table and Mr. Jaeger stiffly walks over from the doorway before taking a seat at the head of the table. Mrs. Jaeger folds her hands on the table, her gaze still on Petra. “How have you been, Petra? We haven’t heard from you in a while. How long have you been back?” 

The series of questions leave Petra tongue-tied and unsure of how to answer. It’s so strange how casual the Jaegers can be about asking after her, like she hadn’t been such a large part of their lives — or at least Zeke’s life — ten years ago before disappearing completely. As if they didn’t know the real reason she hadn’t kept in touch. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to act as oblivious as them. 

“Er, I’ve been back for a while now,” she replies. She bites her lip when she sees the look of surprise on Mrs. Jaeger’s face. When she glances over at Zeke, he doesn’t look back at her. He’s returned his gaze to his phone screen, ignoring her. Nervously, she laughs. “I guess Zeke didn’t tell you, but I’m teaching at the same university he is. A few undergraduate English classes and then a graduate course on nature and romantic poetry.” Petra doesn’t know why she feels a lump at the back of her throat or the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She nibbles at her lip again, looking down at her lap so that she doesn’t have to look at Zeke or his family. She doesn’t have a reason to feel hurt or upset. Maybe Zeke was busy and didn’t have the chance to mention it to his parents or maybe it just slipped his mind. It isn’t a big deal. 

“Oh, that must be nice!  Who knew you two would be working together after all these years?” Mrs. Jaeger says. She subtly pushes the cheese plate on the table towards Petra, gesturing for her to take one. 

“Mmm,” Petra says, nodding as if she agrees with Mrs. Jaeger. It’s not as if she’s wrong. Petra certainly didn’t know any of this would happen. She knew some of it would — getting her degree, teaching at a university, eating dinner with Zeke’s parents — she just hadn’t predicted other things like Zeke breaking up with her, not speaking with him for ten years after knowing him her entire life, or having to pretend that she’s okay. 

Petra reaches for a cracker and a spread of raspberry goat cheese and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, hoping that she won’t have to answer any more questions. 

“The university is nice,” Zeke’s father murmurs. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night. The sound of his voice startles Petra, but the other Jaegers don’t seem too surprised. “It’s near the museum too. Very convenient.” 

“Ah, the museum!” Mrs. Jaeger clasps her hands together and looks at Petra expectantly. Petra nearly chokes on her cracker out of nervousness. “Have you been there yet?” 

“Er, not yet,” Petra says hastily, wincing at the pain in her throat. She takes a quick sip of her water to relieve it. “I haven’t really found the time, I guess.” 

“Oh, you should absolutely go!” says Mrs. Jaeger brightly. Petra had never thought Mrs. Jaeger was one to love museums, but there’s probably a lot about the woman that Petra doesn’t know now. All Petra really remembers about the woman is that she stayed at home during the daytime and worked at the hospital at night. She’s bound to have found other ways to occupy her time now that she doesn’t have to worry about Zeke anymore. 

“You sound as if you really enjoy it.” Petra nibbles at another cracker. She feels as if she should smile right now, but she’s not sure if she’s able to. “Are there any exhibits you would recommend?” 

“Oh, they’re all good! The staff especially …,” Mrs. Jaeger gushes, but her voice begins to trail off. Her eyes flicker over to Zeke as if waiting for a sign to proceed, but her son pays no attention to her. He simply reaches over for an almond on the cheese plate and pops it into his mouth. His mother’s smile tightens and she continues, “The butterfly exhibit that’s opening soon should be exquisite!” 

Petra looks from Zeke to Mrs. Jaeger. Aside from Mrs. Jaeger’s forced smile, Petra really can’t tell what’s wrong, so she puts on a false smile of her own and nods. “I know. Zeke was telling me about it on the ride here.” 

There’s a long and awkward silence. Zeke puts no effort in speaking and neither does his father, who still sits and stares at his lap. Only Mrs. Jaeger and Petra seem to be putting in any effort to pick up the conversation, both trying to appear calm as they search for some common ground to work with. Instead, the doorbell rings and Petra swears she hears a sigh of relief escape Mrs. Jaeger’s lips. 

“It seems Eren has finally arrived,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her chair scraping across the floor as she gets up from the table. As she turns to leave, she flashes Petra an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry you had to wait so long.” Petra is about to tell her that it wasn’t a problem, that she didn’t mind waiting (even if it was a lie), but Zeke’s mother has already disappeared into the next room with Zeke’s father following silently behind her. 

For a moment, Petra wonders if she should try to talk to Zeke so more. It’s not that the quiet bothers her, but she’s never felt comfortable sitting silently next to others unless she was completely comfortable with them. Ten years ago this would have been fine, but now sitting with Zeke beside her without saying a word is making her skin crawl and her throat dry. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his interest. 

Zeke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the silence at all. He’s still scrolling through his phone, occasionally reaching out to pluck a cracker or another almond from the cheese plate. If he’s fine without any conversation, Petra figures she shouldn’t bother him. She settles down with her back against her chair rather unhappily and tries to occupy herself another way. 

Petra tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation going on in the other room. First, she stares down at the lace tablecloth, gazing at the delicate pattern until the floral designs are burned into her corneas. Mrs. Jaeger’s voice begins to drift into the dining room, her tone just as cold and harsh as it was when she spoke about Eren earlier this evening. Another voice floats into the room as well, a voice like Eren’s but a bit deeper and rougher than Petra remembers. As the two continue to talk, Petra finds herself straining to listen to the conversation, but she can’t quite make out the words. The words exchanged don’t sound incredibly pleasant though. 

“...if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have shown up on time,” Eren hisses as he walks into the room. He’s taller than he was when Petra had seen him last — probably as tall as his brother if not taller — but he walks with his head down and doesn’t seem to notice Petra seated at the table even as he pulls out a chair to sit down. Without looking up, Eren mumbles, “Sorry, I’m late.” 

Zeke looks up, his expression amused. “Eren,” he says, setting down his phone for once. He rests his chin in his hand, mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says, mumbling into his lap. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke and then Petra, but he doesn’t really register who Petra is until he takes another glance. His eyes are huge like a doe’s. He’s always had big eyes even when he was a child, large and green like gemstones. He’s grown into them more since the last time Petra has seen him, but they’re still enormous, growing wider as he recognizes her. His mouth falls open in surprise. “... Petra?” 

She can feel her lips curling in a smile. “Hi, Eren.” 

Eren smiles back at her, a little nervous but a lot more relaxed than he was when he first arrived. He’s still shy when he smiles, looking up at her before glancing down at his lap again. “How are you?” He sits up straighter in his seat, no longer slouching. 

“I’m well. How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers.

“I’m glad. I missed you,” Petra tells him, and she means it. 

His smile is a little wider now and Petra feels the most relaxed than she’s been the entire night. It’s nice to know that, despite everything, at least Eren hasn’t changed and she feels less awkward being at a Jaeger family dinner after ten years of estrangement. 

Mrs. Jaeger puts down a tub of what looks like a potato salad on the table, opening the container with a frown. “At least you didn’t come empty-handed,” she comments wryly. 

Eren winces but doesn’t say anything. 

Petra sits up. “It looks, um, delicious.” It doesn’t. It looks like a pile of mush and not at all like anything edible, but Petra begins to spoon some on her plate anyway out of politeness despite the look of alarm on Eren’s face. “Eren, your brother told me you started teaching recently. Where do you teach?” 

“Just, um, down the street. Not really elementary … it’s a daycare,” he says distractedly as he watches her help herself to his potato salad. Eren hesitates for a moment before taking the spoon from Petra and switching their plates. He does it absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he notices everyone looking at him peculiarly. Flustered, he explains, “It’s not, ah, I don’t think it’s very good. So.” As if to prove his point, he puts a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth, gagging on it as he swallows it down, and scrunches his face up in disgust. 

Mrs. Jaeger looks rather smug as Eren chokes. “I’ll just put this away then,” she says, removing the tub of potato salad from the table. She gestures for Petra to help herself to the other food on the table. “Help yourself to everything else, Petra.” 

“Er, thank you,” Petra says. She does feel bad about not eating the potato salad, but Eren looks pretty relieved. Because she’s talked Zeke’s ear off in the car and doesn’t know how to carry on a conversation with the Jaeger parents, she decides to continue her conversation with Eren. “Daycare seems like it would suit you. I bet you’re great with kids.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren mumbles as he pushes the potatoes back and forth on his plate, but he’s hiding a smile on his face, secretly pleased. He’s never been that good at hiding his emotions, which Petra thinks is an endearing trait. “Teaching at a university is probably harder.” He freezes for a moment and then hurriedly adds, “Your dad told me you work as a professor now. I ran into him before coming here. He mentioned that you taught English …?” 

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, casting a side glance at Zeke. She thought Zeke would have mentioned that they were working at the same university, but maybe it never came up in conversation between the brothers or they just weren’t as close as they were before. Forcing a smile on her face, she nods, “Yeah, I teach English, but I wouldn’t say teaching university is more or less difficult than handling a daycare. They have their own challenges, right?” 

“Yeah,” Eren replies, voice soft. His smile grows wider and, after Petra asks him about what it’s like teaching at the daycare, starts animatedly talking about his students. He seems very endeared towards a young girl named Gabi, a very mischievous but sweet troublemaker, and her companion Falco, a young boy that often has no choice but to be dragged into all of Gabi’s shenanigans. 

Talking to Eren makes the rest of the dinner go by easily. He’s always been easy to talk to even when they were teenagers and she was dating Zeke. Sometimes she would wait at the Jaeger house and talk with Eren while they waited for Zeke to come back from baseball practice. Eren was always so animated when he talked, using his hands and sometimes bouncing up and down his seat when he got excited. He still does that now as he talks about his work at the daycare, listening intently whenever Petra or even Zeke exchange their own stories about teaching. It makes her feel as if the past ten years hadn’t really happened, like Zeke and Eren had been a part of her life the entire time. 

“Oh, I brought dessert,” Eren says brightly. Before Mrs. Jaeger can say anything, he gets up to collect the paper bag on the kitchen counter and plops it on the dining table. He pushes it closer to Petra. “Your dad gave me some while he was closing up his shop.” 

She laughs. “I eat too many of these as it is,” Petra says, but she plucks an almond cookie from the bag. Her teeth sink into the cookie, savoring its subtle nutty flavor on her tongue, and sighs. “Don’t tell my dad. He won’t let me eat anymore when I get home.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Eren grins. 

Petra peers into the bag. “Did he give you any chocolate croissants?” She looks over at Eren. “Those are still your favorites, right?” 

Eren looks surprised. “Ah, yeah,” he replies, blinking. “You remember?” 

“Of course, I remember,” she snorts. She manages to find a pain au chocolat and places it delicately on Eren’s plate. It’s a little smooshed from the ride here, chocolate spilling out of its side, but Eren still looks at it hungrily. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Zeke leans forward. “I like the lemon bars. Let me know if there are any in there.” 

She laughs and actually does manage to find one, but it’s a lemon-lavender bar. Zeke assures her it’s fine, picking off the little bits of lavender that are on the top of the bar. They eat like that for a moment and Petra feels an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. It’s probably unhealthy to yearn for the past, but Petra wouldn’t mind if things somehow ended up the way they were before. 

When their dishes are scraped clean and the conversations begin to fade away, Zeke pats down the corner of his mouth with a napkin before announcing that they should stop for the night. He has papers to grade tonight, he explains to his parents who nod understandingly. The wooden legs of his chair scrape against the carpet as he gets up from the table and Petra slides out of her own seat, ready to follow him. 

“Ah, Petra,” Zeke says, pausing like he’s just remembered. He looks at her, head tilting slightly. He’s stopped by the door to the living room, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Do you mind calling an Uber to pick you up? I’d drive you home myself but …” 

“I …” Petra blinks, feeling like a deer in headlights. If she looked around, she would see that the rest of the Jaeger family has a similar expression. She’s not sure why she feels so surprised. Maybe it’s because she had expected him to drive her home, but maybe that was too much to ask of him after he had taken the trouble to drive her here in the first place. It’s not even that far of a drive to her house, but it’s probably too cumbersome for Zeke, who’s busy with grading papers and preparing for tomorrow’s lectures. There’s an awful lump in her throat like she had swallowed an egg whole, but Petra forces a smile on her face as she begins, “Sure, let me just call my dad -” 

“I’ll take you home,” a voice says suddenly. Everyone turns to see Eren standing up from his chair. At first glance he looks angry, but Petra blinks again and there’s only concern on his face as he collects his jacket and walks over to Petra. He shrugs it on and smiles down at her, his expression a little apologetic. “Er, you don’t mind riding on a bike, do you?” 

Petra has to lift her head to look at Eren and she wonders when he had gotten so tall. It must have been after she left for college. “No, that’s fine,” she replies numbly, too shocked to really think about it. She shuffles silently after Eren, mumbling a brief “thank you” when he helps her into her coat. 

“It was lovely having you over again, dear,” Mrs. Jaeger says to Petra, a smile pasted on the woman’s face as she saw the two out. She doesn’t say anything about Zeke not offering Petra a ride back. “Do come again sometime.” 

“Of course,” Petra says, although the promise feels empty. She’s not sure if Mrs. Jaeger notices or even cares because the woman shuts the door in her face before Eren and Petra are even out in the driveway. It’s not a cold gesture, but it’s a change from the days when Mrs. Jaeger would wait until Petra was almost out of sight before shutting the door and disappearing into the house. 

Petra shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and follows Eren down the driveway, watching as he runs to the bike he had carelessly discarded on the ground before entering the house earlier. Embarrassed, Eren hastily picks up the bike, brushing it off and mumbling something about how he had been in too much of a hurry earlier to properly lock up his bike. Petra assures him it’s fine. She’s only half-listening anyway. 

“You can just sit here,” Eren says, patting a padded seat on the back of his bike. He throws a leg over his bike easily and looks at Petra, waiting expectantly. 

She hadn’t objected to the ride home before, but now she looks at Eren’s vehicle of choice skeptically. “Are you sure you’ll be able to pedal with me on it? I’m a whole other person.” Petra hovers beside the bike, but she doesn’t get on. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It was fine when my boyfriends were riding in the back, and they’re a lot heavier than you,” Eren replies. It takes him a moment to register what he just said and then his face begins to color, cheeks glowing pink even in the dim moonlight. “I mean my ex-boyfriends. I rode around with my ex-girlfriend too, but she was really tiny too. She was …” He probably would have babbled on and on if Petra hadn’t sat down. 

“Your exes?” Petra asks, eyebrow raised. She hadn’t really thought about Eren dating, but it’s funny to think about now. She doesn’t remember if he ever dated anyone when he was in high school. She probably shouldn’t tease, but she can’t resist grinning at the boy and saying, “It looks like you were busy in college.” 

“Not that busy. Just … probably as busy as your average college student,” Eren mumbles under his breath, face still flushed. He gestures at Petra’s hands and then makes a motion around his waist. “You can … around me if, you know, you’re comfortable with it.” 

“Oh, right.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around Eren’s waist and wonders briefly how someone so tall can have such a thin waist. “Do you remember the way to my house?” she asks. 

“Of course,” Eren says. “It’s not that far from here.” 

For some reason, the way Eren answers makes Petra feel warm. Maybe it’s just the heat transfer from resting her cheek on his back. She closes her eyes, feeling the wind rush around her as Eren bikes her back home. 

It feels so comfortable, clinging onto someone so familiar and breathing in Eren’s scent, something like pinewood and a little bit of peppermint. He feels strong too, sturdy like a redwood tree. Petra doesn’t know why she doubted his ability to bike with her additional weight. He’d probably be fine having someone twice her weight in tow. She experimentally gives Eren’s waist a little squeeze. It must have been too sudden of a squeeze because they come to a screeching stop, Petra’s face slamming against Eren’s back and the two of them nearly go flying. 

“Oh, ouch,” Petra says. One arm is still wrapped around Eren’s lithe waist, but she raises a hand to rub her stinging face. “That hurts.” 

“S-sorry!” Eren stammers. He twists around to get a good look at Petra, forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly I was just … surprised.” He brings his hand down to where Petra’s arm is hooked around his waist, but he snatches his hand away as soon as their skin brushes as if he’s been burned. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Petra assures him. Her nose is throbbing dully, but it’s not bleeding. “It’s my fault anyway. I was just surprised. You’re a lot bigger than you were the last time I saw you.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren says with a shy laugh. He pushes off on the bike and starts for home again, pedaling easily despite Petra’s weight. He doesn’t startle when Petra leans against him again, her cheek rubbing against the cotton of his hoodie. His breath hitches a little when Petra wraps her arms a little tighter around his waist, but it goes unnoticed by her. 

“Were they nice?” she asks. Eren makes a confused noise, and she can’t help but smile. Clarifying, she says, “Your exes. Were they nice?” 

Eren pedals in silence for a while before responding. “Yeah. They were nice.” 

“That’s good.” Petra sighs against his back, not noticing the way he shivers as if he can feel her breath on his skin. “You deserve to date nice people.” 

Petra might have imagined it, but she thinks she hears Eren say something in reply. He says it quietly, though, and the wind carries it away too quickly for her to hear. She straightens her back, lifting her head from where it rests against Eren’s back, but he doesn’t repeat himself and she doesn’t ask. Maybe it’s just one of those things that are meant to be spoken aloud but not heard by anyone. 

They don’t speak much the rest of the way home. Petra figures Eren is having enough trouble biking with two people and holding a conversation would only tire him out more. She just lets herself rest against him, watching as they pass streetlight after streetlight. It probably would have been more convenient to call a Lyft or an Uber, but Petra thinks accepting Eren’s bike ride isn’t bad either. It saved her from having to wait awkwardly for her driver to find the house while Zeke’s parents waited for her to leave. 

She wonders if she should have gone to dinner in the first place. Maybe Zeke had only invited her out of politeness, but she had taken it to mean more than it did. She’s stupid to think that arriving at the Jaeger house meant that things could go back to the way things were. It was noticeably tense in the house. At first, Petra thought it was because of the strained relationship between Mrs. Jaeger and Eren, but now she’s not so sure. It’s not as if Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger had met her with open arms. They hadn’t been hostile, but they were polite in the way that people were polite to house guests and not in the way they would be to a childhood friend of their son. God, she’s so stupid. She should have just declined Zeke’s offer politely and never spoken to him again since he was obviously content with not speaking with her for ten years. 

Burying her face in Eren’s hoodie, Petra gives him another squeeze. Eren doesn’t brake this time. He just lets out a surprised “oh!” and falters for a bit, bike slowing, before picking his pace back up and continuing on their way. 

“We’re almost there,” Eren tells her. As he approaches Petra’s house, the bike begins to slow before stopping completely in front of the driveway. When Petra lifts her head, Eren is looking at her, smiling. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Petra nods. She gets off the bike and pats down her windswept hair, brushing some stray locks out of her face. She manages to smile back at Eren. “Thanks for the ride back. I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.” 

“It’s fine.” Eren sits at his bike, his smile a little lopsided. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes. It’s only when Petra turns around towards her house that he opens his mouth. “Hey, Petra?” 

Petra’s hand rests on the gate of her wooden fence, just about to open it. She looks at Eren, watching as he fidgets with the handle of his bike. “Yeah?” 

“Did Zeke …?” His voice trails off and Eren’s looking everywhere except at her face. He nibbles on his bottom lip and Petra wonders what he’s so nervous about. His expression looks pained as if he’s scared whatever he has to say will hurt her, but Petra’s not sure why it would. After a moment, Eren swallows and forces a smile on his face. “Did Zeke tell you that … I work near your university?” 

“You do?” 

Eren nods. He looks a lot less nervous now, his shoulders relaxed. “Well, it’s not that far by bike.” 

“Really?” Petra hums. “I should come visit you some time then.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to -” 

“Or you could visit me?” she suggests. 

He blinks. “I can?” Eren asks. “Is that really okay?” 

Petra almost laughs. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You should just let me know beforehand if you’re coming,” she tells him. She walks over, pulling her phone out of her purse and handing it to him so he can add his number. “Text me or call me. I might not respond right away because I might have a faculty meeting or a lecture, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” 

“Oh, alright then,” Eren says. He types away on her phone, handing it back to her as soon as he’s finished. He watches with wide green eyes as Petra sends him an emoji — a simple “Hi, Eren! It’s Petra 😊” — and looks back at her with a grin. “I’ll come visit sometime.” 

“That’d be great,” Petra says, and she really means it. “Thanks again for the ride, Eren. I really appreciate it.” 

“It was no problem,” Eren tells her. He waves as walks through the gate and up the steps of her porch. He’s still waving when she opens the door and turns around, his smile a little goofy but cute at the same time. “Have a good night!” 

“You too,” Petra says before shutting the door gently behind her. She takes a peek out the window and sees Eren still on the sidewalk with the bike. He stands there with a pensive look on his face before pushing off his bike and riding off into the night. Petra watches until he’s a tiny speck down the road. When she blinks, he’s gone. 

Petra finds her dad waiting for her in the living room, sleeping because he can’t stay awake for very long after dinner. In his lap sits a half-finished crossword puzzle. Petra smiles affectionately at her father before pressing a soft kiss on the old man’s brow. 

“I’m home,” she whispers as her father begins to stir. 

“Ah, Petra,” says her father. He looks at her, eyes still bleary with sleep, and gives her a drowsy smile. With a hand, he pushes up the glasses that were slipping off his nose during sleep. “Did Zeke drive you home?” 

Her lips press into a thin line. “No. He was busy,” Petra replies, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Eren took me home instead.” 

“Eren?” her father repeats, not seeming to remember the name. 

“Zeke’s younger brother,” Petra reminds him. She leans against the back of her father’s armchair as she tries to describe the half-brother. “He was a few years younger than me. Brown hair, big green eyes, kind of gangly.” 

“Oh, Eren,” her father says, nodding. Petra’s not sure if he actually remembers or if he’s just being polite, but then he suddenly says, “I saw him earlier this evening before I was closing up shop. He’s very polite. He’s a nice boy.” 

Petra leans over to rest her head on her father’s shoulder while her arms lay folded on the back of the armchair. She thinks about her ride home, how it could have been cold and miserable and lonely. And maybe her thoughts were all of those things, but the ride wasn’t. She can still feel the warmth Eren emanated from underneath his hoodie, how comforting it was to have someone to hold.

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” Petra says softly. 

[perfeggso]

Noir (yutae)

Week II pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4  |  Chapter 5  |  Chapter 6  |  Chapter 7  |  Chapter 8  | Masterlist 

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies) 

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 4.5k (will progressively get way longer)

A “foot soldier,” as it turned out, was the smallest of small fry in the syndicate.  They were mostly responsible for manning the many front businesses that Inagawa used for small change, low-level intimidation, and charity work.  Taeyong found that he did get to carry a revolver around with him but was forbidden from using it in non-life-threatening situations because he had only been a yakuza for about a week and had only gotten the opportunity to practice firing the thing twice.  This was both for his own protection and for the protection of the gang; almost nothing could have been more damaging than the misfiring of an illegal gun by a rookie.

All Taeyong had needed to do to leave his mechanic job was to submit a letter of resignation, which in honesty was the most obvious solution.  People were allowed to resign without a specific reason – his boss didn’t own his soul.  And Taeyong wasn’t too sad to leave since he hadn’t been close to anyone working there.

After a week, Taeyong found himself leaning over a yellow plastic desk at the entrance to a miscellaneous electronics shop in Akihabara, bored to death and resigned to people-watching.  Taeyong usually avoided Akihabara because he wasn’t particularly interested in electronics nor in otaku culture.  More than that, he hated how the few times he had come to the neighborhood in the evening he’d been approached by creepy middle-ages men trying to entice him to go “chat” with some “lovely young ladies.”

But now he was here among the neon lights with nothing more to do with himself but try to look inviting to customers.  If he was being honest, part of him wanted to sabotage the whole racket by looking purposefully glum and driving people away.  Despite his sweet face, Taeyong did have an aggressive streak in him but he always considered himself principled about those who got hit by it.  For instance, swindling major corporations out of millions of yen, as he was vaguely aware that Inagawa did, seemed perfectly ethical to him.  Selling faulty electronics to innocent working-class people on the other hand…

“Taeyong!” Mark yelled from behind him, forcing him out of his contemplative rabbit hole of Robin Hood ethics.

Taeyong turned around to see Mark walking up to him, a stack of colorful business cards in one hand and a badminton racket and shuttlecock in the other.  What a fuckin’ weirdo , thought Taeyong, although he couldn’t help but like the guy.

Mark had been the first person Taeyong had spoken to as an unofficial member, he supposed, of the Inagawa-kai, as he was the one responsible for escorting Taeyong back to his apartment and spending the night there to ensure that he did not try to run away or go to the authorities.  Taeyong didn’t sleep that night because his head was full of too many questions, and Mark wasn’t allowed to, so the two instead got to talking – as much as they could given the supreme awkwardness of the situation, anyway.        

“What do you need?” Taeyong asked and in response, Mark passed him the stack of cards as if that were an explanation.  Before he got around to illustrating his intentions with words, he began bouncing the shuttlecock against his racket, twisting the string bed 180 degrees between each contact.

“I need you to stand on the sidewalk and hand these out to people,” he finally said, still focused on his game. “They say we’re having a promotional sale.  It’s supposed to drum up more business which we can handle with the three of us here instead of two.  But for this to work, you need to stop scowling.  Show off that charming smile of yours.”

Mark was sure a cheeky bugger.  If Taeyong did stick around in this gang, he’d eventually use his age advantage to mess with the kid once their gap in experience wasn’t so large.

“Was this your idea?” Taeyong asked.

Mark shook his head no, pausing his game of hand-eye coordination.  “It was our Shategashira ’s.”  

“Nakamoto?”

“Hasn’t he told you to use his title?  Or just Yuta if you want to use his name.”

Taeyong huffed a sigh.  This ‘ Shategashira ’ of his had really become an exasperating figure in his life over the past week.  They’d barely interacted, but the coolness and ease with which Yuta always addressed him made him feel funny; as if he truly had no control over the trajectory of his life anymore simply because he was dumb enough to follow some sounds in an alley.  But who was he kidding?  His life might as well lead him to being in a gang.  Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted?  And anyway, there was a reason the Inagawa-kai had an entire Korean division and some Korean leadership.  Taeyong had just imagined more bombastic motorcycle rides and fewer junk computers.

“Yeah I remember now,” Taeyong said, shuffling the business cards in his hands and making his way out from behind his desk.  “So how do I get people to take these?”

Mark walked with him to the front of the shop, his hand on the older man’s shoulder.  “Just smile and say ‘promotional sale: premium consumer electronics.  This week only,' or some shit and try to get these into the hands of everyone who walks near you.  I think you can handle it.”

“I will try,” said Taeyong.

He found it was easier to get people to take the cards than he had expected, although his success didn’t seem to go further than that, as most people who took a card only regarded Taeyong with a confused scowl once they had it in their hands.  After about an hour, a woman came walking towards Taeyong on his side of the street, and she was truly the first person Taeyong fully noticed his whole shift.  He noticed her because no one could have not: she was slightly taller than average, especially in heels, with long black hair blown out, a green bodycon dress, black heels, and a gold chain necklace.  Taeyong thought she might have the prettiest face he’d ever seen on a woman.  He also noticed her because she was staring right at him as she approached.  Taeyong wasn’t fazed because he was used to nice looking girls coming onto him.  They would inevitably be put off either by his ethnicity or by his lack of interest in them – whichever they perceived first – and then bad things would happen.  However, the intensity in this woman’s gaze felt different as she came to stand just a few feet away.

“Momo-hime??” Taeyong heard Mark yell from somewhere within the store.  Huh?   Soon enough both he and Jungwoo had emerged and were greeting the gorgeous young woman.  Taeyong stayed frozen to his post because he didn’t know what to make of the situation nor of his role in it.  She was a ‘princess’ anyway.  What business did a street rat have introducing himself to her?

Soon, though, Taeyong found he didn’t have to.  She exchanged a few words with his coworkers, and they nodded, pointing her his way.

“Lee Taeyong,” said the woman, bowing once she had finally gotten close enough to greet him.  “I’m Hirai Momo.  It’s good to meet you.  Yuta told me you had been brought on.”

Taeyong was so confused he felt like he was floating, but he bowed back despite himself.  “Nice to meet you too.”  The name Hirai sounded familiar but Taeyong took a moment to place it.  Then, like being slapped in the face, his brain found the missing puzzle piece that allowed him to make an association.  The Hirai family ran the entire operation, didn’t they?  Shit .            

“Why are you here, Neechan ?” asked Jungwoo.

Momo smiled.  “Yuta sent me to retrieve you, Taeyong,” she answered, causing Mark and Jungwoo to raise their eyebrows in unison.

Taeyong could feel the blood rush through his veins, and it felt cold.  “I – did I do something?”

“Don’t worry,” Momo assured.  “Everything’s alright.  Yuta-san just wants to make sure you’re adjusting alright and to have you get some more target practice in with your new piece.  How does that sound?”

Yuta was turning out to be the most involved boss Taeyong had ever had.  He still had no idea what was going on, but at least he wasn’t in trouble and if he was being honest, he liked firing the gun and looked forward to another sanctioned opportunity.  Taeyong chided himself as he noticed a piece of his mind wondering churlishly what this girl was to Yuta.  That doesn’t pertain to you , he told himself.  

“That’s fine,” he said.

“Great,” said Momo, winking like a girl from an animated television show or something.  “So, you’ll go to headquarters and meet him right after your shift, got it?”

Got it.

***

The Inagawa-kai Tokyo headquarters was located in a simple, box-shaped black building on the edge of Aoyama.  It wasn’t a short structure – it had about seven stories – but compared to much of Tokyo’s architecture it remained strategically unassuming.  Once inside the building, a tall man with dark hair and a patchwork of tattoos and scars across his exposed skin approached Taeyong and told him he would escort him to the meeting.  At first Taeyong didn’t recognize him because he hadn’t gotten a good look the first time, but he soon realized that his companion was one of the men who had essentially arrested him a week ago, a fact which made his throat tighten.  Taeyong also cautiously noted that the man had a fresh stump of a pinky finger on his right hand covered in bandages.  Must have gotten in a bad fight.

The man led Taeyong down a series of identical concrete hallways until they reached a sliding door made of oak, at which point he left Taeyong to enter the room by himself.  Taeyong hesitated for a moment but was stunned into action when he heard Yuta’s expressive voice anticipate his presence from inside with the simple utterance of two syllables.

“ Douzo .”

Within, Yuta sat at the same desk where Taeyong had first met him, surrounded by expensive Scandinavian furnishings, walls of glass and concrete, and a pristine bonsai tree on a ledge behind him.  Yuta himself wore black pants, a silk shirt, and a yellow velvet smoking jacket of all things.  Taeyong felt something twist in his gut at the sight of him and his intent gaze but decided to file the feeling away somewhere very deep for the purposes of later contemplation.

“ Shategashira !” Taeyong greeted with a salute, as he was now pretty sure he was expected to.  “Would you like me to sit, sir?”

“At ease,” said Yuta, waving him off and letting Taeyong relax a bit.  “No need.  I’ll accompany you to the range right now, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, Shategashira .”

And with that, Taeyong let himself be led back under the florescent lights of the complex’s maze-like hallways.

“How are you adjusting, Taeyong?” asked Yuta.

Taeyong was constantly surprised that the couple times he had seen Yuta since their initial meeting, he always made sure to check up on him.  He didn’t know what to make of this.  He guessed it was just standard practice – a measure to make him feel protected and ensure his devotion, or something of the sort.

“It’s alright, I guess,” Taeyong responded.  “I like Mark and Jungwoo.  Johnny seems like a good guy too.  In all honesty, I don’t have a lot to do right now.  But I do appreciate having the position at all!”  Taeyong’s tone was absolutely all over the place, not knowing where to stand between familiar and deferent.  Taeyong thought he saw his little speech provoke a smile in Yuta, and suddenly that knot in his stomach was back.  Well, fuck.

Yuta spoke.  “I acknowledge that you don’t have the most exciting posting.  But that’s partially why I wished to speak with you today.  After you.”

Yuta left that tease there.  They had come to the end of a hallway to an orange door with chipping paint and a black symbol indicating that protective equipment for eyes and ears was recommended inside.  Yuta held it open and Taeyong passed through.

Once in the vestibule of the shooting range, Taeyong set himself up where he was supposed to stand and aimed his revolver at the target on the other end of the room as Yuta leaned against an acid-white wall with his arms crossed and his chin raised slightly.

“Relax your shoulders,” Yuta said, and Taeyong cleared his throat, shimmying his shoulders lower on his back in response.  He took a deep breath and focused on the red bull’s eye placed on the heart of a human-shaped target, both hands on the gun.  He had to refrain from grinding his teeth.

“Wait until you’re ready,” Yuta coached, voice low and commanding, “then focus your energy and count down from three before you pull the trigger.  Simple as that.”

“Yes, Shategashira .” Taeyong did as he was told, steadying himself, focusing his eyes on his target, and counting 3…2…1… BANG!

Taeyong felt himself sway backwards for a moment after firing but regained his balance quickly – something he had not done the first time he had shot the thing.  That time, he ended up on his butt, confused and embarrassed as Mark thrashed around on the wall in a fit of performative laughter.  The practice he’d had since then had helped, but so did the pressure of Yuta’s gaze.

After a moment, Taeyong heard clapping coming from next to him and he realized he had been closing his eyes.  When he opened them, he saw that a chunk of the wooden target was missing on its inner thigh.

“We can work with that,” Yuta remarked, finishing his short round of applause.  “Certainly enough to cripple, and that’s important.  However, I get the sense you weren’t aiming there, hm?”

Taeyong’s breathing fumbled when Yuta began to stalk towards him.  “What we need is to teach you some precision and confidence,” he explained. “We’ve got to work on your kill shot.  Do you mind?”

Yuta was asking for the gun, so Taeyong handed it over with an “of course, Shategashira .”        

Yuta took a sideways stance, holding the revolver out with one arm, and proceeded to shoot five times in fast succession, obliterating the plywood head of the target cutout until it was nothing more than splinters.  Taeyong did not care to imagine it as belonging to a real human.  When he had finished, Yuta turned to regard Taeyong, and to Taeyong’s surprise and horror, he broke out into a wide grin.  God , thought Taeyong, I’m alone with a psychopath and a gun .  Although, once that thought had passed, Taeyong couldn’t help admiring the princely charm of the way the smile had spread like a sunrise over Yuta’s face.  What the fuck was going on?  

“You see?” said Yuta, ebullient, “you’ll be doing that soon enough.”

Soon enough .  Right, Taeyong would need to sort out his future, and soon.

“Let’s try again.  Go back to your stance.  We’re going to stay with two hands for now.”

Taeyong took the gun back and repositioned himself in his starting position, holding the weapon with his outstretched arms and lining it up with his sternum.  Yuta came up beside him and held his hands over Taeyong’s shoulders.

“May I?” he asked, and Taeyong nodded, allowing Yuta to press down onto his shoulders and straighten his spine.  Taeyong could feel the other man’s breath and it was sending his nerves into a state he did not need them to be in, heat crawling up his neck.      

“Do the countdown again,” Yuta instructed, “deep breath, and then fire.  Don’t let your eyes close, alright?  And try to stay still as much as possible.  You can if you really engage your core.”

Taeyong nodded at all the advice and tried to follow it – attempting also to avoid noticing the watchful smile blooming on Yuta’s face in his peripheral vision.  He took in a deep breath of the room’s stale air and counted down again, eyes trained on the cutout’s heart and intent not to shut.

A BANG rang out once more throughout the vestibule.            

Taeyong did narrowly refrain from closing his eyes, but they seemed to have gone out of focus.  Once he blinked the fuzziness from them, as if erasing an etch-a-sketch, he could see that he’d succeeded in blowing a hole through his target’s crotch.

Yuta giggled and slapped Taeyong over his right shoulder.  Taeyong’s head spun.  Was he supposed to be scared of this literal mob boss or not?

“I have a hunch you weren’t aiming there either, huh?” Yuta asked, and Taeyong shook his head no.  “That’d definitely be an effective shot though, wouldn’t it?  Might actually be better than aiming for the heart in some situations because you can make them talk while they bleed out.”

Holy shit.   In an instant, Taeyong became painfully aware of his reality.  He was practicing shooting because he might be in a situation where he’d need to – where others would be aiming at him the same way he was aiming at this outline of a man.  What if it was him who got shot in the heart, or worse, shot in the dick and forced to bleed out horrifically?  Taeyong felt lightheaded but managed to squeeze enough air from his lungs to speak.

“Do you mind me asking you a question, if it’s not too forward?”

Yuta raised an eyebrow.  “Shoot,” he said, obviously amused by his own word play.

“Why am I here?” asked Taeyong.  “What am I doing here now?  What am I training for?”  That was three questions, but oh well.  Taeyong didn’t feel like being measured.

Yuta sighed and cocked his head, eyes fluttering to regard the floor.

“I had a feeling this would come up,” he said, smiling wryly this time.  “Keep practicing and I’ll fill you in.”

Taeyong nodded and prepared to shoot again, hitting the target’s left shoulder this time when he pulled the trigger.

“Getting closer to the heart,” Yuta observed, appreciative.  “You see, Taeyong, there are only two favorable outcomes for you now that this ball has gotten rolling.”  Taeyong relaxed his arms and watched Yuta begin to pace, his face steeled by caution.

“The first, which would be preferable to the family, is that you stay on with the Inagawa-kai and devote yourself to our line of work.  However, I understand that what has happened was not your choosing, and you may want to return to your normal life as soon as possible.  Whichever path you choose eventually matters little to what I need you to do for now, so don’t worry about it yet.” Yuta paused, giving Taeyong a moment to recover from the way his emotions had just gone topsy-turvy like his image in a funhouse mirror.  Then Yuta gestured towards the gun Taeyong was now pointing at the rubber floor.  “Please continue,” he said.  Taeyong hit the target in its stomach and caught a hum of approval from Yuta.    

“Either way,” Yuta went on, “you will need to establish trust here.  Even if you want to leave, you will have to stay on long enough and perform well enough to prove that we can trust you to be an ally even in the civilian world.  Does that make sense, Taeyong?”

Bang! Left hip.

“It does,” Taeyong replied, resigned.  This was all his own fault anyway.  He couldn’t help his curiosity though.  “Is this something that happens often?”

Yuta chuckled slightly.  Bang! Sternum.  Taeyong was quickly gaining enough balance and confidence to keep himself still while firing.

“Similar situations have occurred although we obviously try to avoid them.  For instance, the two men who brought you in to me have been duly reprimanded for their carelessness.”  

Taeyong was preparing to fire as Yuta said this and was immediately thrown off when his mind returned to the image of his abductor’s freshly severed finger, putting two and two together.  Is that what a mistake gets you here? Worse, did Yuta purposefully assign that guy to escort Taeyong as some kind of warning? Taeyong was already pressing down on the trigger when this thought came to him and it caused him to misfire wildly, hitting the wall on the other end of the range a few feet from the target.

“Fuck!”

“Do you need me to stop talking?” Yuta asked.

Taeyong held the gun in his left hand while shaking out the wrist of his right, as if the problem had been purely physiological.  “No!  Er – sorry, just give me a moment please, Shategashira .”

“That’s alright,” said Yuta.  “You’re doing pretty well for a beginner.  Take a break for a bit.”

Taeyong nodded, feeling defeated but somewhat relieved.    

“Similar situations,” he mused “Like what?  If you don’t mind telling me.”

“Take Jungwoo, for example.  He worked for a circuitry and computing firm that was under our thumb.  He knew nothing about it – he was simply a technician and didn’t have access to the books – but when the small company had defied our understanding with them one too many times, Jungwoo happened to be unlucky enough to witness the consequences.  We gave him the option to make it up to us by working for us.  It was difficult for him at first, but now his closest friends are in our ranks and he gets to do what he loves while never needing to worry about money.  So, it worked out in the end.”

Jungwoo, huh?   Taeyong had thought the guy seemed a bit too cheery to be a natural gangster.

“I see.  I don’t really have a thing though, that I love doing, you know?”

Yuta shrugged, then smiled in a way that was meant to be reassuring.

“Well, you may not love it, but you know about vehicle mechanics, right?  That will be useful to us.  However, to be honest I do feel for you, Taeyong, I really do.  You caught my attention immediately and have weighed on my conscience.  I want to help you make the best of this, and the best thing you can do now is quickly prove your loyalty both to me and to the people I work for.  That way, you will get the most flexibility in the least time.  That’s why I’m scheming to fast-track you to that point.”

Taeyong was mystified as to why his superior, who had implicitly threatened him into becoming a yakuza in the first place, was being so nice to him; so reasonable.

“What does that mean?” Taeyong asked, eyes going wide in anticipation.

Yuta leaned back against the wall and watched Taeyong from under his bangs.  “I’m in the middle of a project that it would be nice if someone helped me with.  It’s not inherently dangerous and it’ll give you a good idea of how we operate.  If you do a good job you will both understand the world you’re now living in and if you want to stay in it, and hopefully, gain enough trust to be allowed to make that decision when the time comes.”

Taeyong’s thumb skimmed nervously over the textured handle of his revolver, eyes searching the vestibule for some sense of reality.  He felt almost dizzy with exhilaration at the idea of helping Yuta out and spending more time with him - studying him.  “What’s the project?” he asked.

“An investigation.”

“An investigation…” Taeyong repeated.  What did he know about investigations?

“Yes,” said Yuta, “I’m gathering information on a certain executive at one of the nation’s largest companies.  For blackmailing purposes.”

Taeyong almost laughed at how upfront Yuta was about this.

“Okay…”

“Is that a yes?”

“Do I have a choice?” Asked Taeyong.  Yuta smiled, something almost predatory in his expression.  “What would I have to do?”

“Accompany me when I go out following leads, be my lookout and my sounding board for ideas when no one else is free to help.  You can be more involved depending on how well you do with that.  Think you can handle it?”

That didn’t sound too out of the box for things Taeyong could do.  Besides, Yuta had said “lookout” not “bodyguard” or something.  Taeyong was used to fighting, but his dustups were usually with hoodlums from Shin-Ōkubo, not with armed career criminals.

Taeyong nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Yeah I can.”

Yuta pushed himself off the wall.  “Perfect.  Before we finish here though, I’d like to get you to hit your target.”

The way Yuta said it so flatly made it clear to Taeyong that this was a command, not a suggestion.

“Yes, Shategashira .”      

“I think I know how to help,” said Yuta, “it’s something I used to do when practicing.  Do you have someone you want that to be?  Someone you hate so much it makes your toes curl?  Makes you want to smell their blood?”

Taeyong pictured the leader of the Specters – the boy who’d beaten him black and blue until he couldn’t hear or think; the boy who had only refrained from dragging Taeyong from a chain on the back of a car when he heard sirens coming for him, and all because Taeyong had dared to be zainichi .  Sure, Taeyong wouldn’t mind a little payback.  He nodded at Yuta, both men’s eyes going dark and focusing on the target.

“Good,” said Yuta, placing his hands on Taeyong’s shoulders and squeezing.  This time, Taeyong’s mind had gone too cold to let the contact affect him.  “Now, don’t let them get away with anything less than a bullet to the heart.”

With that, Yuta pushed away and Taeyong imagined his victim, ugly smug face and rising sun headband appearing in his mind’s eye with chilling detail.  Relax, breathe out, 3, 2, 1, BANG!

Taeyong was steady as the bullet passed an inch or so from the bullseye and the sight caused a great sense of relief to wash over him, like stepping into a hot tub on a snowy day.

When he turned around, Yuta was watching him with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest.

“When do I start, Shategashira ?” asked Taeyong.

Yuta’s smirk morphed into what Taeyong could only describe as a proud grin.  “You start now.”    

[itzagothamcitysiren]

There’s Only Us Left Now

So 2020 can go away now please. The last couple of days have been extremely rough mentally and I just didn’t have the energy to write or do much of anything. I’m still feeling a bit meh but I don’t want to leave you guys hanging so I wanted to update this before work today. Thank you to everyone whose been reading this! 

I Had a Dream I Was a Vigilante’s Side Kick pt. 3

           Wayne Enterprises had always been a place Halley was unfamiliar with. She’d only gone into the building a mere handful of times since being a Wayne but regardless she knew exactly where she was going. She still had her id badge Bruce had given her, hoping it still was active. She flashed it to the security at the door, gripping onto the new folder filled all the information she needed for this visit.

           She felt as if she permanently burnt a bridge with him after that night long ago when she broke out the Joker with the intent to kill him. She wasn’t mad that Bruce stopped her. She had grown to be thankful for it. The normalcy Halley had come to embraced until quite recently wouldn’t be possible if Bruce hadn’t been there to stop her. But there was still that voice in her head that told her that he hadn’t forgiven her.

           Dick and Alfred would tell her others and she had hoped them to be right. Bruce did start sending her invites to Gala’s and the likes about a year ago. He also made unannounced bank transfers into her account that Dick had set up for her when she started college. Bruce had done so quietly, not even telling Dick and had never tried to reach out to her for explanation.

           When she questioned Alfred about it on one of their Sunday lunch dates, the butler just said, “Master Wayne still cares. He wants you to be taken care of.”

           Halley bit the inside of her cheek at the memory and the feeling of still being unable to reach out. Even with forgiving Bruce, there was still a part of her that was bitter for stopping her. Jason’s words about how sending criminals to Arkham was the same as sending them through a revolving door were proven right by his death. And she also couldn’t stop herself from thinking that Bruce was only doing what he was doing for appearances. People started talking, wondering why his daughter was no longer appearing at events or spotted with the family.  

           Halley pushed herself back into focus, smiling at the guard as he granted her access into the building. She was relieved that it was only Batman Inc. that he revoked her access too after all. Taking a deep breathe she walked through the large lobby of the building, hearing the heels of her boots clicking against the tile floors.

           Her visit was unannounced but she felt confidence raging through her in determination to make her case heard and understood. She had thought of just sending her file of research straight to Alfred but she wanted to make sure that Bruce knew she meant her piece. She didn’t want him to just look over it with a shrug or scoff or whatever way he might. She wanted him to know that this Tim Drake meant trouble and wasn’t just another lost boy for him to take in and use.

           The elevator ride was long having to constantly stop on multiple floors of one of the tallest buildings in Gotham City but eventually she heard the ding for her floor. She exited and began to walk down the long hallway passing the large board room and other conference rooms until she reached the desk and secretary sat outside of Bruce’s office.

           “Excuse me,” Halley cleared her throat to gain the woman’s attention. “I’d like to talk to Bruce,”

           The woman looked up with her confused, unfamiliar of Halley’s face since she’d been out of the public eye for such a long time. The woman cocked her eyebrow up unsure who the girl thought she was to just walk in here and expect to see the big boss. Halley found herself chaneling her younger self, her own persona she had made to wear during Bruce’s charity Gala’s and such when the woman clearly wasn’t budging an inch.

           “I’m his daughter, Halley Wayne,” she gave a fake smile. “It’s a family emergency and I really need to speak to my father.” She hated the sound of her own voice but she pushed past it and hid the sneer she wanted to give at statement. She flashed her teeth at the woman again, raising the badge up to confirm she was who she was claiming.

           “Oh! Miss Wayne!” The woman’s attitude changed, rushing to stand and move to Bruce’s door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Let me just let him know you’re here, he’s in a call.”

           Halley watched as the woman disappeared behind the large oak doors. Halley bit her lip, looking around the room, trying to hide her impatience. She saw the large portrait hug on the opposing wall of the door of Bruce’s parents and smiled softly at it. As she gazed at the portrait she also noted the one Alfred had forced them to do hung right next to it. It was one of Bruce, herself and Dick and Jason. She frowned at that painting.

           “Halley?” Bruce’s concerned voice tore her out of her loathing. He stood by the open doors, his secretary making her way back to her desk. “Is everything okay?”

           “Hey Bruce,” Halley nodded to him, turning around to face the man.

           She looked him over seeing just how worn down he looked even though to the average person he’d look fine. She could tell from his eyes. He looked at her with mixed emotions. He was shocked to see her and she felt somewhat prideful. She had managed to pull one over the big bats. She shook the thought away knowing that she was here for a reason.

           “Can we talk?” She asked, gripping the folder tighter.

           “Of course come right in.” He said moving out of the way and motioning for her to enter his office first.

           She made her way in and waited for him to close the door before turning to face him. She knew he had his office under tight security and knew she could speak freely. She didn’t wait a second longer and held up the manila folder she had held securely the entire walk and train ride to the building. Bruce took note of the folder and looked at her silently asking for an explanation. She handed it off to him. He opened it and quietly browsed through the pages she had placed inside.

           “His name’s Timothy Jackson Drake.” She spoke at he looked at the first couple of pages. “He’s fifteen years old; lives in the East End. He has an IQ of 142 and actually got the Wayne Scholarship for a full ride through Gotham Academy.” She started, as Bruce stopped reading and looked up at her.

           He didn’t yet question the significance or relevance of the information, knowing it must be important if it brought Halley to him after all this time. He wore a serious look as she didn’t falter and continued on,

           “His parents are Jack and Janet Drake. Jack’s a business man. Not to your caliber but good enough. He’s attended some of your Gala’s and charity events. His mother’s a stay at home mom, only works a couple of shifts at a local flower shop.” She spoke, finding herself moving to look around the office, as if it would help her get through this faster. She paused as she stood in front of the large windows overlooking the heart of Gotham.  

           “I did some more digging though because it seemed too clean and there were a couple of transactions in Jack’s accounts that just didn’t add up to me.” She explained. “Jack’s found himself tangled up with Oswald Cobblepot after taking out a couple a loans from him to help pay the rent” She frowned as Bruce meet her stare.  “Like I said he’s a business man but not like you. He was down on his luck and I guess making a deal with the Penguin seemed logical.” Halley huffed rolling her eyes at the man’s stupidity.

           “What does this have to do with the boy?” Bruce asked looking back into the file; most of the information wasn’t on Jack but instead his son.

           “Well, his son knows about us to start.” Halley said bluntly causing Bruce too look at her with firm eyes. “He figured it out. He recognized Dick after seeing him in action a few months back on TV with the Titans; he had seen the Flying Grayson’s as a kid and he quickly put two and two together. He came to me and told me he knew who we were. He asked me if he could be Robin.”

           Halley paused, hesitating on telling him about that but she knew she had too. As much as this was killing her she had to be fully transparent about this. She felt like the kid’s life could be at stake if she wasn’t honest to Bruce. She stored back any pettiness she had left and continued,

           “I think he knows about his father and Cobblepot.” She said looking down and shaking her head. “I think he wants to become Robin to try and help his father or something; I don’t really know that part but Bruce, he can’t. He-,”

           “He’s just a kid.” Bruce finished, lowering his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair before walking over to his desk and placing the folder onto it. “Who else knows about this? Have you spoken to Dick?”

           Halley shook her head no. Dick had sent her a text asking if everything was alright after getting the notification of her being in his safe house. She had lied and said she needed a quiet place to work on her paper. She didn’t want him to worry, so she decided to keep in him in the dark for now at least.

           Bruce nodded at his former ward, placing his hands in his pants pocket. He walked out from behind the desk and made his way back over to her near the window. “Thank you for coming to me with this. I’ll look into it; make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.” Bruce paused.

            Halley bite her lip and nodded to him hesitantly. It was as if she was beyond uncomfortable in his presence. He frowned at this and opened his mouth to speak again, “Thank you for feeling like you could come to me with this. I know it’s been a while since we’ve last spoken and I am truly sorry for how things left off. I was just doing what I thought was right.”

           “I’m not here to talk about that Bruce,” she snapped, glaring down at her feet. She felt the sharp pang of awkwardness take over after she lashed out and cursed to herself. She had gotten better with that and here she was again.        “I’m sorry, I just-“She sighed, looking up at him for real this time. Bruce didn’t apologize and if he did it was very rare. “I forgive you, Bruce. I forgave you a long time, I just wasn’t sure if you had forgiven me.” She admitted.  “You had done the right thing and I should be thanking you.” She smiled just a crack, finding her voice again. “Just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid okay?”

           She started to head towards the door knowing that she had nothing left to say but was stopped when Bruce spoke up again, “You could help me with this, you know. I think you’ve proven to yourself and me that-,”

           “No; thank you but no,” Halley cut him off, shaking her head at the thought. “I’m not a hero and the days of me pretending to be one are long over.”

           Halley left without another word feeling her mood shift once again as she closed the door behind her. She gave the secretary a fake smile again before heading back down the hall to the hallway towards the elevator. She tapped her foot against the floor anxiously waiting and hoping and praying that Bruce wouldn’t come after her. And for once luck was on her side as the door opened before any such thing could happen.  She entered and pressed the button for the ground floor immediately suddenly wanting to get as much distance from herself and this place as soon as possible.

           She felt multiple ranges of emotions. Satisfaction, reluctance, confidence and temptation. She had finally talked to Bruce; she had finally gotten the justification of knowing that he didn’t think so lowly of her. Maybe all of his quiet attempts to reach out weren’t just some show? But she still was hesitant to believe it. Actions spoke louder and he had never personally and verbally tried reaching out. He had only ever done so in hiding. And then she had also stood her ground. She went in and said her piece without once wavering. But then he had to go and ruin it. He just had to go and tempt her by offering her a place back in the life that had almost ruined her.

           She tried to shake the thoughts out of her head pushing herself to walk as quickly but unsuspiciously out of Wayne Enterprises. She had done her part. She had made sure the information had gotten shared and she could get back to her life and put any invitation of her old life back where it belonged. She had more important things to worry about, like school papers and homework and other more tasking things.

           What a joke, she chuckled to herself. There was a time when the things she had just listed off didn’t even come close to importance and now here she was putting them higher up on her list. The thought made her spiral back into the thoughts of her old life and how it really had going on close to three years this April since Jason’s death and her giving up her mantle. It had been even longer since she first met him and became Nightshade; longer since she was face to face with her father.

           “Stop,” she whispered to herself before she walked to the sidewalk to hail a taxi.

           It wasn’t long before she was able to get ones attention and quickly told the driver to bring her to Gotham University. She had more important things to concern herself with than Batman and Tim Drake; she had a paper she still needed to finish writing.

[elenatria]

How to turn a London Con trip into a “Chernobyl” trip.

I’m home so I can finally make this post.

Where to start.

Okay-

Let’s start with “Chernobyl”. It happened a few months ago, fell on our heads like a nuclear bomb. We all loved the protagonists but Viktor Charkov, the KGB chairman, is also a memorable, creepy, hateful character who got under our skin with the cold truth of his words, the harsh reality of his behaviour. He was too real, too pragmatic to be ignored. From stories I’ve been told in person, he’s no different than the executive arms of tyrants we had here not more than forty years ago. He exists. People like him live among us.

As for the actor himself, so strange. See, there is no mention of Alan Williams’ age on IMDB or Wikipedia and that’s enough to show that, apart from his theatre, TV and film work, little is known about him. Where to find him, contact him, he’s too old to care about social media and apparently he never was too sought out, not with a “face like a bagful of donuts” as he jokes.

But I was thrilled. I wrote the first chapter of “A single bullet” after watching “Chernobyl” and I just had to show it to this elusive low-profile thespian who inspired me. Because... I don’t know, because. Just to say “Thanks for doing a magnificent job. Thanks for helping me understand evil.”

So I tried contacting his agent. I gave her my name and nationality. I thought I’d just send her the link and forget about it.

Apparently, she forgot about it too because I never heard from her.

After a month London Con was upon us, but what to do in the evenings? Plays of course. I booked a ticket for “The woman in black” and “The Hunt” with Tobias Menzies. Then I searched and searched for Alan Williams plays but, to my dismay, he had finished playing Ivan Romanovich Chebutykin in “Three sisters” at the beginning of June and his new play, “Faith, hope and charity”, wouldn’t premiere before September. Just my luck to be in London in between the two plays. No stage door queue, no autographs.

After spending a full Saturday at London Con and Sunday at the British Museum, Monday had to be a day of leisure. A free concert at St Martin-in-the-Fields before lunch was all I was capable of attending, drag my steps towards the closest bus stop that would drop me off… wherever. I didn’t care.

But then I decided to read my post from the previous day about managing to buy a ticket for “The girl on the train” at the very last minute and meeting Alex Ferns, the naked miner. The unexpected ticket, the unexpected hug.

Now how difficult would it be to meet an actor who is NOT doing a play at the moment?

Very very difficult, confirmed one voice.

He’s rehearsing for ‘Faith, hope and charity’, isn’t he? disagreed another. He must be. It’s almost August and the play opens in September. He’s at work right now. He must be!!!

I googled and googled for almost an hour. I found that “Faith, hope and charity” would be staged at the Dorfman theatre near Waterloo station so I called the stage door. I explained to the receptionist that I did not know Mr Williams in person but I was visiting London for only a few days, was a big fan of his work in “Chernobyl” and I would really love to greet him. The man on the phone was very helpful revealing that this was their first day of rehearsing (the incredible coincidence!) and they had started only… an hour ago. He asked my name and I said “Well… you can say Eleni”, I mean, who needs my complicated surname, right? The guy said he’d save my number and let Mr Williams know.

Oh god.

But I couldn’t just sit there waiting for a call, I’d never get that call, come on.

So I rushed to the Dorfman Theatre. I was breaking my brain trying to figure out how I could get the Charkov chapter of “A single bullet” printed in a district with no stationary shops whatsoever. I was hoping I could… shove it into his face I don’t know, and later imagine he’d be reading it. He didn’t really have to read it, just nod condescendingly and lie that he would, and that would be enough to put a smile on my face. Just like all those toys and drawings people give to celebs at cons that end up in the hands of volunteers, assistants or charities, if not in the trash.

When I got there I talked to a different receptionist, a very professional, very unhelpful young man. For safety reasons he wasn’t supposed to disclose neither the time they’d finish nor the time of recess. For safety reasons I had to go through Mr Williams’ agent to get to him. Outrageous, the woman didn’t even forward my story to him, let alone give me permission to meet him. I was hopeless, I was being turned down. I was being an idiot.

“But they must have a lunch break, right??” I insisted. “Can’t I just wait outside?”

That guy was a goddamn sphinx, and the helpful guy was still talking on the phone or to some lady there, I don’t remember, so I couldn’t reach out to him. Suddenly I felt unnecessarily needy as if I was sitting on the subway floor, shaking my hat to passers-by, clinging my few coins. How humiliating.

With heavy steps I exited the theatre. Why is it so complicated, why do I need someone else’s “permission”? I’m not a child. I looked around, it was a sunny day, people were sitting in coffee tables out in the patio. Some tables were empty but I didn’t care, I just sat on a column by the entrance, far enough to not be seen by the receptionists and feel like shit for lingering, close enough to catch anyone exiting.

For an hour and a half I crouched over my phone trying to figure out how to contact the agent without sounding too stalkery. I called the agency but the girl on the phone gave me the same email address where I had sent my fic. Fine. I changed the wording of my message again and again so as not to sound too needy or creepy even if I knew it wouldn’t work.

I knew I had missed my concert for no reason and I would soon have to leave because who doesn’t like giving up? It’s better to give up than stress over something that’s never gonna happen. It always is.

I was seconds away from clicking “send” and making a fool of myself to the agent for a second time when I thought I saw someone, a towering presence stopping a few meters away, looking over, hesitating, waiting.

I raised my head.

There he was, three-dimensional, bathed in sunlight. Not an image in my head anymore.

Believe me when I say that I was staring at Gandalf, Santa Claus, the Grail Knight from “Indiana Jones”, the Big Bad Wolf.

I honestly don’t know what I was staring at.

But there he was, in all his elderly silver-bearded glory. A myth in my mind, in the flesh. How did he know I was there? I didn’t tell anyone. I was supposed to be hiding.

After nanoseconds of deer-like stun I did the polite thing and jumped on my feet, ready for a handshake. I mean, I had to stand up, right? He had come out just for me.

Shit. What had I done? The nerve.

The first thing I remember noticing when I got closer were his faded blue eyes with a distinguishable light-shaded rim circling the iris. The rest was just word vomit, how we all love him on tumblr, write fics, make memes etc.

Memes?

I described to him the “Try me, bitch” edit we all love, courtesy of @two-screaming-rats.

He didn’t get it at first, then he laughed so HARD, so damn hard. You guys have to see Charkov laughing his heart out.

He said he only had a few minutes before he had to go back to the rehearsal so I decided to start the conversation with the Charkov fanfics. He was quick to apologize for not answering my email. “I’m sorry but… but I honestly don’t know what to say when someone sends me a story,” he admitted humbly. “I read all of them but… I mean I’ve been sent stories based on my characters before but I really wouldn’t know what to say.”

Okay first of all, he read my story. I don’t know if he read it a month ago when I sent it or minutes before he exited the theatre to greet me but he did.

Secondly, there are more stories about his characters? WHERE.

“I’m not a writer anyway,” I said apologetically.

The unexpected reassurance. “But you are.”

I guess one doesn’t have to be The Writer™, they just have to write. What a way to be courteous to a fan though.

Then I mentioned how we love Charkov’s trademark, his glasses, how we’re frantically looking for ‘80s-looking glasses, how we obsess over specific frames and brands.

“They’re not a brand,” he clarified, “they were specifically made for me, they’re an exact replica of Viktor Chebrikov’s glasses. Just like our clothes that were made by seamstresses who worked during that era.”

Naturally I praised the production’s attention to detail that has us ranting, how beautiful and “European” it all looked, how true the script was to Lyudmila’s story as it was described in Svetlana Alexievich’ “Chernobyl prayer”. I talked about my thoughts when I first heard there would be a “Chernobyl” TV series: the Americans made a TV show based on events that affected Europe, now that’s a new one. He mentioned Russian media admitting that they should have made that show, not the Americans. I agreed but also added “That’s the thing, it may be beautifully made, it may be the truth, but it’s still propaganda. Just because it’s true, just because the Soviet government did all those horrible things, that doesn’t mean that the show is not serving someone’s agenda.” He disagreed saying that the Soviet people were shown in a good light for their bravery and sacrifice. Well, we knew that, didn’t we.

I said how impressed I was by his portrayal of Charkov because we were told about people like him by dictatorship victims at school. People who had been tortured in the ‘70s came to us, talking about their time in underground cells, in the hands of sadists like Charkov. I told him about my uncle who was arrested and executed by the Nazis for distributing left-wing leaflets, about my grandmother who had to escape to the mountains during the civil war that followed the German occupation because she was a communist. I explained how real it felt to me, his last scene with Legasov in the kitchen. How bleak and horribly accurate.

He mentioned “You’re one of us, Legasov”. To him Charkov was just doing his job, working for the greater good and he agreed with the quote in my fic, that Charkov “couldn’t wait to retire”.

He then joked about Charkov being blasé after the committee meeting, “Meh, I’m done with arresting people, I let others do it for me”.

I assure you all those questions were answered in a couple of minutes, and I was certain our meeting was about to come to an end.

But then… he gestured toward an empty table.

Don’t let an aged man standing, was my spontaneous thought. I was reminded of my father.

Then I realized. He gestured toward an empty table.

Table. The two of us. On a sunny day.

Time, he was offering me his time.

And… oh my god, this was practically an interview, why was I not recording this, he was answering my questions so effortlessly.

No. That would be rude, that would be greedy.

Just relax and enjoy the moment and try to remember fucking everything.

I asked him what his inspiration for Charkov was, if he based his portrayal on other actors or historical figures. He paused to think and explained that the script was very strict anyway, very defined. However he did mention  Charkov’s line, “I know you’ve heard the stories about us. When I hear them, even I am shocked” and how that reflected Stalin’s hypocritical quote, “What do I know, I’m just a peasant”.

His favourite line was “Trust but verify, and the Americans think that Ronald Reagan thought that up”.

“Is that really an old Russian proverb…?” I wondered.

“I… don’t know!” he laughed.

During the rest of the conversation he mentioned his friend whose job was to translate the Pravda, and his years in Canada where he met Czech-Greeks, namely Greek communists who were driven away by our right-wing government after the Second World War. Even the Soviets didn’t want them so they were sent to the Czech Republic and ended up in Canada. These people belonged nowhere.

I didn’t know that, and he didn’t know about Vladimir Gubarev, the writer of the play “Sarcophagus” and science editor of the Pravda who was the recipient of Legasov’s tapes. I quoted him saying “Why call the protagonist Legasov since that’s not how Legasov was, they could have used a character who’s a scientist and give him any other name.” Like Ulana, I added, who’s a composite character, or Chebrikov/Charkov, mostly fictional.

Our conversation was coming to an end; he asked me what plays I saw in London and he smiled when I mentioned Alex Ferns in “The girl on the train”.

It was truly overwhelming; I was torn between being swept away by the moment, focusing on nothing but the faded blue of his eyes, bathing in the calm rhythm of his voice, and actually paying attention to what he was saying. Only once did my eyes dart at his left hand spotting the unusually thick golden ring on his finger. When one’s mind plays tricks the best way to discipline is a glimpse at The Ring because if he didn’t have nearly my father’s years I’d probably be having a horribly inappropriate crush.

“Time to go,” he apologized.

We took a couple of photos and I pulled out Svetlana Alexievich’ book, asking for an autograph.

“Where should I sign?” he asked.

“Wherever you want.”

He flipped through the pages noticing my page markers, notes and underlinings. “What are these for?”

“Just… just notes. Do you want my—” I suggested grabbing my big-ass permanent marker.

Without a word he gave a knowing smile and, like an experienced conjurer, he pulled out of his jacket an elegant little sharpie. Delicate pens for delicate words.

I didn’t dare read what he wrote to me then, I could only make out his name through that intelligible doctor-like writing. Surely my name wasn’t there because I hadn’t introduced myself. Still, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

Time to go.

We shook hands and I said how honoured I was that he had spent time with me. I tried not to stare as he disappeared into the theatre but before I left I ran into the foyer, quickly thanked the receptionist to whom I had talked on the phone and stormed out of the building with that huge wave of adrenaline pumping violently in my ears.

As I crossed the street I was grinning like an idiot. I knew I had to stop right there and write down everything before I forgot - but it was pointless. I’m not a recorder to have to write down everything the minute it happens. It’s enough to remember the pale rimming of his eyes.

Now, two days after meeting him, I’m still torn between pride and embarrassment. What the hell was I thinking? Doesn’t a man deserve to work in peace?

But as I’m writing this and attaching his signature on the first page of “Chernobyl prayer” I dare for the first time read what he wrote to me.

Pleasure to meet you.

People say they have religious moments when meeting their favourite celebs.

Mine was poetic.

What a darling, darling man.

[lamiralami]

TMA Retro 4: Page Turner

I was touched to see some tag commentary on yesterday’s post! Honestly, it gave me an emotion - I am traditionally very anxious about engaging online, it speaks to my immense love of TMA that it brought me to Make A Post At Last. It’s very affirming and reassuring to get some response to my lunatic treatises. Y’all are all right. 💜

Anyway, grab some lighter fluid and a sturdy wastepaper basket, time to torch your haunted novel in MAG 4: Page Turner

It’s ironic that this statement is about the Vast when it is one dense motherfucker. so many dangling plot threads are introduced here, each ready to hook you and start reeling. we’ve been into the meta plot since episode one but this episode is the first time the audience is made aware of such.

seriously: Jurgen Leitner and his library, Gerard Keay and Mary Keay, Michael Crew. the figures introduced in this one thirty-minute installment loom large over the rest of the entire run

you could, your first time through, even file this away as a one-off scary story if not for the fact that Jon knows what’s going on (enjoy it while it lasts, my son). He’s heard of Jurgen Leitner. He alludes to an incident with his library in 1994. Deeper than that, he immediately takes the statement at face value and treats the claims within it as authentic, which is a complete 180° on the first three episodes

and this is such a smart story choice? Jon shapes our perspective into this universe and up until now he’s been utterly dismissive of the validity of the stories he’s telling. To go from practically rolling his eyes to scheduling a meeting with his boss about tracking down more haunted books - that tells us that Jon takes this seriously as a threat. And that makes us take it seriously too, makes us take note that strange books are dangerous things in this world. Any offhand mention of books in future statements will be enough to make us sweat

And! It starts winding the narrative tension on a character level. Why and what does Jon know about Jurgen Leitner and his library? Why does he say his name with such venom? And if he’s so sure about the supernatural nature of these books, why is he so loath to believe the other statements?

(and then it takes 80 + episodes to fully answer these initial questions. Jonny enjoys a slow roasted torment)

love that the statement giver presents, as proof of his iron-clad sanity, the fact that he works as a theatre technician. speaking as someone with an unfinished theatre degree: theatre people are feral my good buddy, try again. I mean, we refuse to say the name of one of the most famous plays in the English language because we think a ghost will trip us for the indiscretion. this is not the trump card you think it is.

a quick sidebar for the Red String Brigade: The Trojan Women is an ancient Greek tragedy that involves a baby being thrown off a city wall. The Seagull’s first published English translation was done by Marian Fell, and also a seagull is a bird and birds can fly. Much Ado About Nothing is very good and you should all watch the version from 2011 with David Tennant and Catherine Tate.

it’s interesting that these early episodes seem to take a cue from urban legends in some respects. Nathan Watts gets extremely drunk at a party and then is almost skinned by a monster while having a smoke. Joshua Gillespie is approached while engaging in a whirlwind of debauchery and has to take care of a cursed coffin after accepting money for what he thinks is a drug trafficking gig. Amy Patel regularly spies on her neighbour for her own entertainment and then has to watch him be replaced by a malevolent entity only she can perceive. and now Dominic Swain pushes past his guilty conscience to score a valuable book off an unknowing charity shop and...gets a bit dizzy and haunted by a phantom stink for a few days then gets ‎£5,000, well anyway, the point is he got spooked! spooked after doing something kind of iffy! that is pure urban legend procedure; modern day fairy tales imparting dire  consequences onto societal transgressions. in a horror story this structure offers a false sense of safety - if you’re a good person, the monster won’t come for you. I can’t recall which upcoming statement yanks the rug out from under us with the first completely random victim.

cannot comprehend how this guy didn’t start plugging the book into google translate the second he got home. that probably saved him from being taken by the book but I am still judging him for not even trying it. yeah you’d be sucked into some sort of sky hell but at least you’d know what’s in the book!! could never be me

(yes I am aware in this universe I would have been eaten years ago. I’ve made my peace with that)

grbookworm1818 slays me. I don’t know which is better, the idea of Gertude carefully curating the most sixty-five-year-old-on-goodreads username she could as a cover for her cursed purchase history, or her actual sixty-five-year-old brain just expressing itself naturally because Gertrude is a very busy woman who doesn’t have time to immerse herself in the ins and outs of internet culture, she just wants to buy the demonic tomes she’s selected for destruction and get on with her day thanks.

did Gertrude know what a meme was? which Archivist could convincingly pose as a millennial best, Gertrude Robinson or Jonathan Sims?

The Key of Solomon and its former keeper, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, are both real historical figures. the book is basically Renaissance-era magical au fanfic of the Bible, and the man was a 19th century British occultist (and likely drinking buddy of Jonah Magnus) who founded a Very Serious Secret Society. this is a picture of him whiiiiiich rather dispels any sense of menace he’s meant to invoke. what kind of cosplaying nonsense

Mary Keay is such a striking figure. “She was very old and painfully thin, but her head was completely clean shaven, and every square inch of skin I could see was tattooed over with closely-written words in a script I didn’t recognise.” a Look, a vision!

I’m guessing that Our Gerard was blasting heavy metal at 2 am to try to drown out his undead mother while waiting for her manifestation to dissipate. I like to imagine him frequenting Reddit advice posts about dealing with toxic family members, poor lad

oh my gosh Mary refers to Gerard as “her Gerard” is that where Jon got “our Gerard” from?? I feel betrayed??

whatever, I’m reclaiming it. Our Gerard is meant with affection now babey! 

the eye portrait is a bit puzzling. the inscription - ‘“Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call.”’ - could almost be read as an invocation against the Eye? But in general Gerry is fairly Eye-aligned, so...shrug emoji

(honestly my main takeaway from the eye portrait is that it’s finely detailed and near photorealistic so we can add “tortured artist” to our list of Gerard Keay traits and is it any wonder that he’s so Fandom Beloved?)

Mary is Not Good at negotiating sales. her main technique involves terrible tea, bringing up repressed childhood trauma, and getting her magic book to drop animal bones onto customer’s shoes. I’m guessing Pinhole Books was in bad shape even before the police investigation and murder charges.

hahaha, the Vast pushes Dominic down the stairs. classic. you gotta grab what opportunities are available

so did Gerard have to follow Dominic back to his flat and wait awkwardly on the doorstep at like 3 in the morning, hoping none of his neighbours would notice and call the cops

the revelation that Mary’s been dead the whole time! this episode may be more intent on world building and plot set-up but damn if it isn’t still a good little ghost story.

kind of rude of Gerry to just burn a book in this guy’s flat without asking and then steal his wastepaper basket.

Jon may not call the statement giver a liar for once, but never fear, he’s still our petty bastard man. accuses Gertrude of filing statements without reading them, has Sasha double-check Martin’s research, grumps about his general misfortune . he’s stressed from the Archives’ disorder and having flashbacks to a certain picture book but by Jove, that won’t stop him making snide comments on what’s supposed to be an official audio transcription!

[harveywritings92]

Batboys scenario: Secret Model Girfriend. 1/2

The following is a non profit fan based story Batman, Red hood, Nightwing etc. belongs to DC Comics please support the official release.

_

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs  and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

Batboys Scenario 1: secret model girlfriend.

Boys are dating a nerdy, clumsy and very plain looking girl, not knowing she's a very gorgeous model they've been obsessing over and one day they're invited to a shoot to meet s/n [Stage name] and let's just say the boys say some pretty hurtful shit, needless to say they get the biggest shock of their life when the model sounds an awful lot like their girlfriend!

Dick Grayson: Kori got him backstage he was so giddy about meeting [S/n] he has a lot her posters on his old bedroom back at the manor and a few cleverly hidden magazines hidden back at his and Y/n apartment, His girlfriend has no idea he's here...His eyes wonder around the set ladies of every shape and various stated of dress eye him, some flirtatiously, other curiously and few could care less.

You meet a lot of attractive men in this industry so the more seasoned models have learned *not to flatter yourself, chances are he's just window shopping or fishing for attention.* Then she came into his view [s/n] she looked more stunning in person than on paper.

She wore a dark blue cover dress over a white bikini, her short/long glossy hair was flowing, her plump red lip were curled into a friendly smile that brighten the room her eyes were covered by sunglasses, Dick felt butterflies in his stomach as the [y/height] woman approached the he caught wisps of her perfume in the air...

that caused Dick to stall for moment. It was familiar he quickly pushed that aside and introduced himself. Y/n being the ever good actress she was used her s/n's [accent], They hit it off pretty well they talked about the show and her up coming tour and eventual somehow got on to relationships. "So.. Kori says you have a girlfriend, what's she like?"

the model asked as the raven haired snorted, not his cutesy 'OMG I thought you'd never ask!~' snicker this was a sarcastic snort. "Oh...yeah, she's nothing special... pretty boring really." Kori and S/n both gawked at as he continued. "It's not serious, I'm only with Y/n because of a dar-" he was suddenly cut off by a seething Kori "Richard! that is Y/n!" she snarled ready to pummel him.

Dick's stomach suddenly felt like it was full of sand a lumped formed throat as the familiar little hiccups his girlfriend would make when she was trying hard not breakdown crying filled the very quiet set. he swallowed hard as S/n took off her wig and sunglasses letting her natural hair fall over her face, as her teary e/c eyes looked up at him in betrayal,

 before Dick could say anything she pulled the keys to their apartment off her key-ring and threw them at him before running off sobbing, Kori went after her while all the other models gave the flabbergasted man the evil-eye, now Dick really was living up to his name sake.

Jason Todd: Artemis was your bodyguard when she wasn't with the outlaws, Jason got curious where the amazon was getting her extra cash from and followed her. to say he was excited was an understatement, S/n was he dream girl, 

he had her posters,magazines and a few of her interviews saved on his phone, he used to and still does have a few inappropriate dreams about her, So, when he saw the Amazon talking the the Model who was in a red  bunny girl outfit; Jason was over the moon.

While Artemis was very against the idea of letting Jason meet S/n..."He's going to hurt you." she said in hush tone, But you brushed it off saying that you've known Jason since before he was the hood and knew he wouldn't do anything! 

Sure, he's S/n fanboy, but he loves you...Or so you thought! It's seemed like a normal interaction he asked for S/n's autograph and talked about her her travels and shoots then...got bad, Fast!

One second Jason was talking about his time in Japan talked about the cherry blossom festival how the petals reminded him of pink snow, the model felt a little off by this...he never talked to Y/n about this maybe thi...no, she was being silly! 

"Oh, I've always wanted to go during that time, but scheduling is a bitch." She suddenly Jason's hand on hers the model cocked a brow looked up at the raven haired man, He said he was in the country for an escort mission got to spend a few night in a traditional hotel in the mountains...it was pretty relaxing.

"And it just so happens they gave me a free trip for two the next time I was there, how about it?" he smirked as S/n pulled away from him "Artemis tells me you have a girlfriend why d-" Jason's smirk immediately dropped then S/n mentioned Y/n who was hoping Jason was just joke flirting with her alter-ego. 

But was soon throw out the window along with your broken heart! "Oh..her..Yeah, she a real prude, just dead weight" Y/n felt her anger boil over as he continued talking shit about her.

Y/n didn't even realize she punched Jason in the face, till she heard a crunch, and felt pain erupt in her left hand that was now broken. When her vision cleared she saw Jason on the ground clutching his now broken nose looking up at her shocked. "What the fuck? You broke my nose!" he snarled as the model took off her wig and sunglasses and his eyes widened in horror and awe as his girlfriend glared down at him tearful and angry.

"Fuck your nose! and fuck you!" she spat before running off, Artemis looked between them both before helping Jason up as she glared the raven haired man in anger and disappointment. "I told her this was a bad Idea..." the amazon huffed as she gathered Y/n's things and went looking for her, all while Jason just stood there too stunned to move as his mind kept repeating...

*Y/n is S/n...Y/n is S/n,*  Y/n his small mousy (ex) girlfriend who he's known and trusted since his Robin days, was the pin-up model glaciers would sprout a pair of legs for, and earn a degree in linguistics just the for the off chance that she'll talk them?!...and he just fucking ruined it!

Tim Drake: Stephanie who found out S/n's true identity by accident, was the one who convinced Y/n to tell Tim about her other life, he was getting suspicious about her business trips, and late night phone calls...However, every time she had the opportunity to say something she'd chicken out or something would come up for either Y/n or Tim leaving it for another day of cancelled plans or Tim giving her the silent treatment for standing him up.

Then she came out of her bathroom to find Tim going through her phone! "What are you doing?!" The h/c demanded the raven hared man lips formed a tight line. "Who's Grant?" he huffed ignoring her question. "Nobody, just a co-worker!" she hissed trying to snatch her phone back but Tim kept it out of her reach. "Really? then how come I've never met him?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

"He's been overseas the last few months, It's a lunch meeting we're discussing filming locations?" Y/n said wasn't a complete lie she did say she worked in a photography industry, And Grant was a fellow model who also doubled as location organizer for the firm, But Tim was still skeptical he could tell she wasn't being truthful.

"Really, Just a co-worker?"

" Is that a problem?"

"Yeah..actually you're my girlfriend, why hell is he calling you his sweetheart and baby?!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize my friends needed your permission to call me nicknames!"

Y/n snapped as Tim's jaw set indicating he was furious. "OH! So, now he's a friend, what the hell happen to just a Co-worker?!" The raven haired man demanded as the h/c flinched at his raised voice, This wasn't fair this wasn't fair at all! "I don't see that the big deal is, I don't give you shit for hanging out with Stephanie or Cassie?!" She huffed bringing his exes into the mix big mistake..."Well at least I can trust them!?" Tim seethed shoving passed her.

"What are you talking about?!" Y/n demanded she already knew where he was going with this. "I know you're cheating Y/n, So just save us both the god damn time and just tell me!" Tim snarled as Y/n looked affronted she knew it was coming, but it still stung that her Timmy would assume that she was sleeping around!

 "Fine! You want the truth Tim? Well here it is, I'm S/n!" She said crossing her arms as Tim gave her a once over a sneered. "The model?...Right, If you're gonna play around at least make up a better lie then that..." He spat storming out of her apartment... leaving a sobbing Y/n in his wake.

Later while on patrol with Spoiler, Tim let her know that he and Y/n broke up when the blond demanded why? He told her how he went through Y/n's phone and found her texting Grant and how the H/c had the audacity to lie and tell him she was S/n the pin-up girl! "Tsk, can you believe her?" he snorted then noticed how nervous Steph suddenly got.

"Uh, Tim she wasn't lying..." the blond said meekly as Red robin looked at her incredulously. "Wh-What you mean?" he asked feeling clammy all of the sudden, Stephanie explained that Y/n pulled a Hannah Montana and really was S/n..Grant is gay and her set manager they really were just co-workers...

She was actually going tell him in the morning before she left for her meeting, But he had to be jealous,distrustful and nosy...then the reality slowly crashing down on him like bucket of cold water... He broke up with Y/n over nothing, he went back to her apartment intending to apologize, but it was locked down tight and Y/n was gone...

Adult! Damian Wayne: Y/n was bored she was stuck at home playing Skyrim and eating junk food, "Well I can't be having a worst time than Dami." she mumbled to herself, her boyfriend Damian Wayne was stuck at some conference in Bludhaven...the poor guy. After doing the thieves guild quest line, the h/c got bored and decided to watch some TV when she switch over she was met with a Vicky Vale live at a Wayne charity gala...

*Gala? Damian never mentioned a Gala.." Y/n was confused as she saw Dick,Tim even Jason on the screen with dates...Did Dami lie? She though for a moment. No, he's up-tight but Damian isn't a liar...The h/c stomach dropped when she saw her boyfriend on screen with some d-listed blonde wrapped around his arm.

Y/n's face contorted into anger as she shut the TV off, What the hell! why didn't he tell her about the gala?...She looked at her reflection from the floor length mirror, She was wearing her big glasses, no make up and a Transformers t-shirt...Was Damian embarrassed of her? the h/c felt tears welling in her eyes then shook her head and wiped them.

She'll show him! But first she needs a date! Y/n pick up her phone and called her friend Robbie Reyes (ghost Rider)."Ey, Robbie! It's N/n are you still in Gotham?" The Latino man confirmed that yes he was still in the city. "Good, there's this charity thing downtown and I need a date." 

She smirked as the mechanic said he'll go but, he doesn't have anything to wear. "Oh,don't worry about that I got you covered." Y/n already called her stylist and the formal wear shop they got there the same Time Robbie did.

by the time they were done getting dress S/n and Robbie Reyes looked like a Hollywood couple. She in a dark purple gown with gold flowers decorating the front and dipped low in the back, and Robbie was in dark tux with a matching purple shirt and gold tie.  

"Remember, I'm only doing because we're friends...And you promised an autographed poster to Gabe." the Latino chided causing the model smile that's Robbie always big teddy bear when it comes to his little brother! "Don't worry I haven't forgotten.." She eyed him int the tux and smirked Y/n was Robbie was fine.~ "Y'know you should clean up more often! you'd be a real chick magnet...you could use a girlfriend."

the man next to her snorted and rolled his eyes annoyed "You sound like my brother..." he sighed as they pulled into the Hotel parking lot a few men whistled in amazement at the black 69 Charger. the Valet took Robbie's keys eagerly, but not before the Latino gave him the 'don't hurt my car!' speech causing Y/n to roll her eyes...Men and their cars, She doesn't get it and never will, She looped her arms around his left arm as Vicky Vale zeroed in on them.

"Oh, speaking of late arrivals S/n has just arrived with a Bad boy!~ could love be in the air in Gotham?" The reporter questioned as S/n fans booed or cheered as as the 'couple' walked along the carpet. "Is it always this bright and loud?" Robbie whispered in the model's ear cringing as some girls squealed at the little interaction and the camera flashes went off around them.

"Yeah, but it get's pretty quiet once you get inside." She whispered back to the camera's it looked like they were flirting, as the blond reporter asked about their relationship, "Sorry, everyone but, Mr. Reyes is just dear friend of mine, he's got more important things going on then dating at the moment." The [fake/h/c] explained with a tight smile Robbie confirmed causing Vicky to pout as the two got inside.

Robbie was immediately blindsided by a man Y/n recognized as Jason Todd who started asking the mechanic about that sweet 69' outside! the two men started mingling and talking about cars.

 while Y/n rolled her eyes and wandered the ballroom the model surveyed the room for Damian and found him and his little tart...Taking a deep breath Y/n made her way over to them, when she got close enough to hearing what they were saying.

her heart hurt as the man she loved told his fake entourage how plain and frigid she was not worth bragging about! Dick who knew about S/n looked very uncomfortable and disappointed in his little brother. then he noticed you and looked stunned to see you there, Damian must told them you were sick or something... feeling more determined Y/n stood up straighter and spoke.

"Really now, because an hour ago you were telling me how much you loved me..." She hissed in her normal voice Damian stiffened shoved his date away and whirled and looked around in a panic.

 "Down here love." She said in her S/n accent his green eyes looked at her bemused as his date and 'Friends' all looked at Damian like he grew three heads. "Dude, your dating S/n??!" One of the men said befuddled remembering all the crap he was saying about his girl...they all pictured some librarian spinster type! Not one of Gotham's top desirable women.

"More like he was...oh, here take this I don't need it anymore." she huffed taking off the necklace he'd giving her for their anniversary and handed it to Damian, She got close enough for him to see some of her natural h/c peeking out from under her wig and the outline of her contact lenses. "I...But." Damian still in shock tried to figure out how to talk,

 It was too late he dug his grave and he dug it deep. "It's been fun, Now if you'll excuse me I gotta find my date and go..." She said calmly and walked into the crowd disappearing in the sea people, Damian snapped out of his stupor and followed after Y/n just in time see her get in a black muscle car with an unknown male and drove off into the night....  

[crispychrissy]

Love and Hate

Summary: Finding yourself in a tight situation with Dean during a hunt, your adventure takes you to places that help you discover new things about your friendship with Dean. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 5881 Warnings: Angst, fluff, humor, sexuality, smut, some dom!Reader and sub!Dean, dirty talk, bit of a cum fetish because it’s me A/N:  I have no self control anymore, but I always say it’s never good to limit your imagination. Sorry this story is late, but as you all know I’ve been preparing for my surgery next week and my brain has been frazzled. This was beta’d by @kittenofdoomage and the gif made by me. Enjoy!

“I hate you.”

Dean grunted a laugh and shifted, pressing his body up against yours. “No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. It’s your fault we’re trapped in this stupid freaking closet!” you growled, pushing at his shoulder and making him stumble backward a few inches before his back hit the wall behind him.

“What would you have liked me to do? ‘Oh hello, Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield, my name is Dean and this is Y/N. Don’t mind us, we’re just going to continue robbing your home. Have a pleasant evening.’ Come on, Y/N.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you narrowed your eyes at him. “First, keep your voice down. Second, we could have just explained to them that the antique katana they bought a few days ago has the very angry spirit of a Samurai tied to it, and that we need to destroy it so it doesn’t kill them.” Dean blinked a few times and raised a brow at you, making you sigh. “Yeah, that sounded better in my head.”

“I know you haven’t been hunting very long, but you learn that it’s better to not ask permission, especially when it comes to saving someone’s life.” He shifted closer to the door and pressed his ear against the wood before continuing, “I’d rather steal and destroy a haunted sword than have to sit and explain hunting and monsters to some dude wearing a suit that costs more than Baby.”

“I get it,” you whispered, “but I don’t like breaking and entering… especially when the owners of the house come home early and we end up getting stuck without our phones because someone decided it was going to be a quick in and out and we could leave our stuff in the car.”

“Listen… we just have to stay put until they go to bed,” Dean replied, turning around to face you. “Once the coast is clear, we can search the far side of the house. Once we find it, we can go out the back door, same way we came in.” You nodded and leaned back against the wall behind you, feeling around in the darkness and admiring the softness of the several fur coats that surrounded you. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t,” you growled back. “It’s too dark in here to even try to find one that fits me, anyways.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but soft voices coming from the other side of the door made his eyes widen and his mouth snap shut. He pressed a finger to his lips and pointed at the door before pressing his ear to it once more. Straining you hear, you could only make out some words.

“... purchase… successful… benefit… tomorrow… bed… tired,” a higher pitched voice said, likely female.

A deeper voice replied seconds later, “... shopping… services… sleep... golfing.”

Muffled footsteps thumped up the main staircase and you heard a door shut moments later. Dean turned and looked at you as you shifted toward the door, holding a hand up and tapping his ear. A few seconds later, another door shut and Dean smiled.

“I totally called it,” he whispered.

“Called what?” you inquired.

“They don’t sleep in the same bedroom. I’m guessing their marriage is just for show at this point,” Dean said with a shrug.

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to him. “And how the hell could you possibly know that?”

“There were no photos of just the two of them in any room we went in before they came home. The only photo I saw that had them both in it looked like it was from some charity ball, and they were frowning and not touching each other. Instead of a couch, they have two separate recliners.” Dean smirked. “Oh, and I found a bra stuffed into the desk in Mr. Mansfield’s office that is definitely two cup sizes bigger than Mrs. Mansfield.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you said, grimacing.

Dean nodded and sighed deeply. “I guess some people don’t realize that loving someone and being in love with someone are two very different things. It seems like they treated their marriage like some kind of business merger.” Dean shook his head and clicked his tongue. “So now Mr. Mansfield gets his physical contact from some kind of call girl he can’t satisfy while he and his wife sleep in separate beds. And they’re both trapped in a dead and loveless marriage that neither of them know how to fix.”

“That’s pretty deep coming from a guy whose last form of ‘physical contact’,” you did air quotes with your fingers, “was with a stripper named Stardust.”

Dean spun around and glared at you. “I didn’t pay her to sleep with me. No cash for ass, Y/N. She came onto me and asked me to meet her outside the club.” A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and he bit his lip. “And believe me, she was completely satisfied.”

With a snort, you patted him on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, stud muffin.” He pouted, and the pathetic expression only made you giggle before you changed the subject. “Do you think the coast is clear?”

He clenched his jaw, dropping whatever snarky reply you knew he was going to say, before he spun around, pressing his ear to the door. “I don’t hear any movement, should be good to go as long as we’re quiet.”

You couldn’t wait to get out of the tiny closet, and you quickly moved forward. Unfortunately, you caught your foot on something, making you stumble forward. You crashed into Dean’s back with a grunt, but he barely moved, shushing you as you righted yourself.

“I’m fine, thanks for your concern,” you hissed quietly, slapping Dean on the shoulder with the back of your hand.

“If I got concerned every time you tripped, I wouldn’t be able to do much of anything else. You’re the clumsiest girl I know. Worse than when Sam lost that rabbit’s foot.”

Your nose crinkled as you raised a brow. “What rabbit’s foot?”

“Story for another time,” Dean muttered, slowly turning the knob on the door until he could push it open. Quickly and quietly you both slipped from the door and tiptoed down the hallway straight in front of you that led toward the opposite side of the house.

Most of the house had been searched before you were interrupted by the Mansfield's coming home, but there was still one wing of the spacious home that had not been touched. Since neither of you had found the katana in question yet, it was likely down in one of those rooms.

Dean quietly sneaked across the foyer, making sure to stay on the balls of his feet as he walked. You followed quickly behind once it made it to the hallway, being careful to close the closet door again before you ventured across. Dean directed you to the left side of the hallway while he searched the right.

It only took about ten minutes of silent searching for you to realize the katana wasn’t in any of the rooms. There was only the garage left and Dean joined you in the hallway as you stared at the large door in front of you.

“I’m regretting not grabbing the flashlights,” Dean admitted in a whisper.

“Or our phones,” you added, smiling at the grunt he gave in response as you slowly turned the knob and and pushed open the door. There was no light coming from anywhere inside the room, and you could barely see more than two feet into the room with the ambient light coming from the hallway behind you. “Why don’t we just turn on the light?”

“And get caught if one of them decides to come downstairs for a drink of water? Pass.” Dean stepped forward and reached his hands out, trying to feel his way.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Dean was already in the room, shrouded by darkness. After a quick glance behind you, you followed him into the room, slowly feeling your way along the shelves lining the right side of the room as you walked.

“I can't see anything,” Dean grunted from somewhere to your left.

“Hold on I'll set something on fire,” you replied, pulling out your lighter. A flick of your thumb ignited the flame, and you grinned, bringing it close to Dean’s hand so he could feel the heat of it.

“Ow!” Dean yelped softly, jumping away from you and rubbing the singed hairs on his hand. “Don’t light me on fire, crazy woman!”

“Relax,” you laughed, holding the flame out in front of you to light the way. “I didn’t mean you, and you of all people should know how difficult it is to burn a body. You need some kind of accelerant.”

“Yeah, well, last time I checked, clothing was very flammable. And I’d rather not go up like a roman candle.” Dean began to laugh, but you heard a thud followed by a crash, and the back of Dean’s head disappeared from view. “Ouch.”

“Shit, Dean,” you hissed, trying to move quickly but quietly  toward where he was face down on the ground. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, turning over on his back, “just watch out for the -”

His warning came a split second too late as your foot also caught on some kind of sports equipment sticking out from one of the large metal shelves, sending you tumbling to the ground and smack onto his body. He grunted with the impact and you froze when you felt something hard pressing against your stomach.

“Gee, Dean. Is that your gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” you whispered, glancing down between your bodies.

Dean scoffed, turning to his side and pushing you off him before reaching down between his legs. You watched him closely, squinting in the low light, as he lifted up the katana you had been searching for, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “No. It’s actually a haunted sword. I tried to brace myself when I fell, but when I reached out, I grabbed the sword.”

“Well, that’s lucky, I guess,” you murmured, sliding your hands along the floor, searching for the lighter you dropped. “We need to get out of here. I know this room is far away from the bedrooms, but we can’t risk it, they might have heard the crash.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean grunted as he got to his feet. When he grabbed your hand, you looked up at him with confusion, but then he hoisted you up to your feet.

The lighter was your father’s and you couldn’t leave without it. Dean grabbed your hand again, and you couldn’t see his face for any indications as to why, until you felt him slide the cold metal into your palm. He curled your fingers back so you had the lighter in your fist, and Dean patted your hand before he started moving back towards the door.

“Thank you,” you whispered, slipping the lighter into your pocket.

“I know how much it means to you,” Dean replied, waiting for you to join him at the door. Once you could finally see his face in the light of the hallway, you saw nothing but compassion and adoration shimmering in his green eyes.”Let’s get out of here.”

Not being one to argue, you followed quickly behind Dean as you walked through the house and to the back door. One of the Mansfield’s must have locked it, and the second Dean flicked the lock and opened the door, loud beeping began sounding throughout the house. Dean cursed under his breath and you both sprinted out of the house and into the back yard, thankful that Dean had already cut the feed to the security cameras when you entered.

By the time you made it back to the Impala, you were both out of breath from running three blocks through several back yards and a small public park. Dean threw the katana into the back seat and you both jumped in the car before Dean turned the keys and gunned it down the street back toward the motel.

“Maybe we should keep the sword, it might be cool to have it displayed in the bunker,” you mused, turning in your seat to study the gorgeous sheath and hand crafted meticulously decorated hilt of the blade.

“Not gonna happen. You heard what Sammy said. The second you unsheathe it, the Samurai spawns and kills whoever’s holding it. I will give it to the dude that made it, pretty clever saying you’re giving your rival a sword as a show of good faith, when you know there’s your own personal attack Samurai ready to kill him the second he uses it.” Dean clicked his tongue. “Points for douchey creativity.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… the craftsmanship is phenomenal. It’ll be a shame to burn it.” You turned back around and leveled your gaze at Dean. “Speaking of that, how are we going to get a fire hot enough to melt that kind of metal?”

“I have just the place,” Dean smiled, turning down a side street away from where your motel was.

About ten minutes later, Dean pulled into the driveway of a large house, slowly making his way around to the area behind it. There was a separate building with a large chimney and your eyes widened when you realized where you were.

“Absolutely not,” you protested, shaking your head. “We can’t, Dean. It’s… it’s not right.”

“It’s just a crematorium, Y/N. It’s the only place that has a fire hot enough. We’ll break in, torch the sword, and be gone before they ever know what happened. We will have to unsheathe the blade so it burns quicker, but you’ll be there to protect me?” he asked hopefully, earning a glare from you. “Come on. We need to get rid of it, and we’re kind of short on volcanoes in St. George, Utah.”

The idea of using a place where they burn dead bodies to destroy a haunted object made your stomach queasy, but Dean was right. It was the easiest way to get rid of it and you had a low likelihood of getting caught. Who in their right mind would break into a place like this? Hunters and psychopaths. And you were slowly finding it harder and harder to discern differences between the two.

When you opened the passenger’s side door, Dean did a happy jump and reached into the back seat to grab the sword. “I’ll keep watch, go ahead and unlock the door. You’re better with locks than I am.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said sarcastically, pulling your lockpicking set from your back pocket while Dean walked to the trunk of the Impala. The lock on the door was a simple pin and tumbler design, and you had it unlocked in less than thirty seconds. You pushed open the door and stepped inside, stumbling slightly as Dean brushed past you, looking around in awe. There was no alarm panel on any of the walls, and you shut the door behind you before following Dean further into the building.

“This is so cool,” Dean whisper-yelled at you as you walked back toward the furnaces.

“This is so weird,” you replied, earning a shrug from him. “Seriously, why are you so excited?”

“No reason,” Dean muttered, darting to one of the furnaces and opening it, peering inside. “I just like hunting with you. Sammy would have refused to go along with my stupid idea and come up with his own, but you listen to my reasoning and will help no matter what.”

“Dean, Sam’s followed a lot of your plans before, stupid or otherwise, and you two have hunted together for a long time. I think you should give him more credit.” You laughed softly before continuing, “But for what it’s worth, I do enjoy hunting with you as well.”

“Found an empty one,” Dean announced, pointing to the furnace he had open and ignoring your reply. He tossed you the shotgun and a handful of salt rounds and you loaded it quickly, pumping it once to chamber the shell. “Ready?”

“The melting point of steel is pretty high, so make sure you crank it,” you reminded him. “But I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

Dean turned the dial on the temperature gauge and the furnace roared to life with angry red and orange flames. After waiting a minute for the temperature to get high enough, Dean nodded, unsheathing the sword and tossing both pieces into the middle of the fire before slamming and locking the door. Almost immediately, the spirit of a Samurai flickered into view right behind Dean. His traditional battle armor was bloody and dented and he held a long sword above his head that was dripping with blood.

Aiming, you fired, hitting the ghost square in its center mass, making it dissipate into a puff of mist. You kept the gun raised as you pumped the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell and chambering a new one as Dean watched the blade of the sword turn from red to white with the heat.

“You okay?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the small window. “It’s white hot, should start melting soon.”

“I’m good,” you said, scanning the area for the ghost. You heard something creak behind you, and you spun quickly, firing just in time before the Samurai's blade was thrust into your stomach. Your heart was jackrabbiting at this point, and you pumped the shotgun again, trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself. That was a little too close for comfort.

“Come on,” Dean muttered to himself, making you turn and look at him. The Samurai came out of nowhere and he waved his hand, sending you flying backward into the main part of the crematorium. “It’s starting to melt,” Dean shouted.

You landed on the ground with a hard thud, gasping for breath when the impact knocked the wind out of you. The Samurai disappeared for a moment before flickering back into view right over you. He reached down, wrapping cold fingers around your throat, and you lashed out out with your arms and legs, but your limbs only sailed through him and didn’t connect.

“De -” you gasped, grunting when the spirit’s fingers tightened around your throat. He raised his blade and you flinched when droplets of ice cold blood landed against your face. Your vision was going black around the edges, and your body began to go numb and you secretly hoped he knocked you out before he killed you so you didn’t have to feel it.

You heard something swish through the air and the pressure on your throat immediately vanished, making your eyes pop open as you gasped for breath. The ghost of the Samurai disappeared, but reappeared a second later and burst into flames with a loud wail. Coughing at the tight dryness of your throat, you rolled to the side glancing up at Dean.

“Thank you,” you rasped, chest heaving with deep breaths.

Dean grinned and tossed the fire poker to the ground, offering you his hand. “Of course, sweetheart. You didn’t think I’d let you get killed by an evil Samurai ghost, did yah?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” you chuckled, wincing at the pain in your throat, allowing Dean to help you to your feet. You gently traced your fingers over your neck and pressed down softly. “Oh, man, that’s gonna bruise.”

Dean glanced behind him and caught sight of the metallic puddle that was in the bottom of the furnace. “Well, at least we finished the hunt without anyone else dying. I think we can handle a few bumps and bruises. We’ll get you some ice when we get back to the motel.”

“Sounds good,” you whispered. “Now let’s get out of here. I need a drink.”

Dean nodded, grabbing the shotgun from the ground before walking over to the furnace. He turned it off and scraped the liquid metal out of the furnace and into a small ceramic cup. You were about to ask him what he was doing, but the distant sound of sirens made you look at each other with wide eyes. You both hastily grabbed your stuff and ran from the building and out into the Impala, and Dean sped down down driveway back to the road before you even had your door closed.

Of course, things never do go your way, and not too long after you left the crematorium, Dean was pulling over to the side of the road behind a row of trees. The police scanner you got him for his car had come in handy several times in the year he’d had it, and this was one of those times. The cops had a description of the Impala from the owner, who lived in the actual funeral home building, when he woke up to the sound of gunshots.

“Well, so much for heading back to the motel,” Dean grumbled as he killed the engine and turned in his seat to face you. “How’s your throat?”

“It hurts,” you rasped, “but I think I have some cooling lotion I can put on it in the meantime. If you wouldn’t mind helping out?”

“Yeah, of course, sweetheart,” Dean replied with a smile.

Digging in your bag sitting on the back seat, you located the soothing lotion and popped it open, gently rubbing some into the front of your throat. You saw Dean subtly sniff the air and grin, and you raised a brow as you handed him the tube of lotion.

“What’s the smile for?”

You turned in your seat so your back was to Dean and swept the hair away from the back of your neck. The majority of the damage was to the front of your throat, but the ghost had huge hands and his fingers wrapped almost completely around your neck, leaving the back just as sore.

“This lotion,” he squeezed some on his fingers, “I smell it every time you come out of the shower when we’re on the road.” He shrugged, rubbing the white substance between his fingers. “I just like the smell of it.”

The exact reason you bought it was because you knew Dean would like the smell, and as he began to rub some of it into your neck, you looked over your shoulder at him. “Look at the scent on the label.”

Dean flipped the bottle over to the front label and his eyebrows shot up. “Apple pie?! No wonder I love the smell,” Dean laughed, bringing his lotion covered fingers up to his nose. “I wonder…” Before you could stop him, he tentatively licked his fingertip before grimacing at the flavor. “Well, it might smell like apple pie, but it definitely doesn’t taste like it.”

“You really just ate some of my lotion,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Such a weirdo.”

“Yeah, but I’m an awesome weirdo.” He tapped your shoulder and you turned to look at him. “Turn around, let me make sure the front of your neck is covered and looks okay.”

Obeying his request, you turned in the seat to face him. Dean’s cheeks were a light shade of pink and you decided against mentioning it. His surprisingly soft fingers began to gently caress the angry red marks on your throat, and you couldn’t help but stare at his soft features in the light of the moon.

Dean’s eyes shifted up to meet yours when he felt you staring, and he returned your soft smile before adding more lotion to his fingers and continuing his ministrations. Your mind didn’t stop, and your eyes began to water when you realized that if it wasn’t for him, you would have been killed. As much as you pretend to hate the man, your feelings for him never ceased, and you knew he would always be there to protect you.

As if Dean could hear your thoughts, his fingers gently traced up your neck, to your jaw, before he cupped your chin, running his thumb across your cheek as he stared into your eyes, concern flooding his features as your forehead creased.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, his gaze darting back and forth between your eyes and neck.

“No, Dean,” you whispered, reaching a hand up and placing it over his where it was still resting on your cheek. “Just… thank you. You saved my life tonight and I just wanted to make sure you know I appreciate it. I should have been able to handle the ghost, but you stepped in and -”

Dean’s lips pressing to yours made your eyes widen, but you easily melted into the kiss after the initial shock wore off. Dean pulled away too soon, and you chased his lips, making him chuckle.

“When I saw you on the floor with the ghost on top of you, I got so scared. I’m just glad I got there in time to save you.” He smiled and rubbed his thumb gently over your bottom lip.

Pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb, you smiled back at him. “You’re always there for me, Dean. On hunts, when some guy in a bar is getting too handsy, when I need rescuing from Sam’s monologues…” He smiled at that before you continued, “the only constant thing in my life is you. And I should have done this a lot sooner.”

Jerking forward, you pressed your lips to Dean’s this time and cupped his face in your hands, appreciating the rough stubble that tickled your palms. Dean eagerly returned the kiss and you could feel him smiling against your lips when you unzipped your jacket and pulled it off.

“Did you just go full rom-com on me?” Dean murmured against your lips.

You rolled your eyes and pushed his cheeks together, making his lips pucker. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

Dean nodded tightly, your grip on his face limiting his movement. “Total rom-com,” he mumbled.

“And you love it,” you said with playfully narrowed eyes, adding a sassy head wiggle for emphasis.

It was like a match was lit between the two of you. Desperation gave way to frantic movements, and you began tearing at each others clothing, your lips only breaking apart momentarily to remove your respective shirts. When you were down to your bra and panties, and Dean in his boxers, he managed to do what you assumed to be a practiced move and flipped over the front seat, landing on his back in the in back seat, crooking a finger at you.

You traversed the seat a little less gracefully. Your socked foot slipped on the leather, sending you crashing onto Dean’s chest with an oomph. His cock was hard, pressing against your stomach and you smirked.

“Now I know that’s not a sword this time, right?” you whispered, a teasing smile on your lips.

Dean reached forward and adjusted your body so you were straddling his hips, a knee on either side of his legs. He kept your hips still and lifted his own, grinding his cock against your core. Even though the thin barrier, Dean’s cock was warm and hard against your slit. And he was bigger than anyone you’d ever been with.

“Yup, not a sword,” you squeaked, making Dean chuckle lowly.

Once his grip relaxed, you braced your hands on his chest and swirled your hips, earning a breathy grunt from him. Dean, for how aggressive and alpha-male he is normally, definitely liked being dominated by women when it came to sex. Even though you’d never slept with him, you saw the bite marks, restraint marks, and hickies that adorned him after one of his conquests.

It wasn’t hard to piece it together.

Keeping your movements slow, but firm, you continued to grind against Dean’s cock, savoring the breathy whimpers and growls that rumbled from his chest. His eyes were closed and his head tipped back, and he inhaled sharply when you leaned down and began running your tongue over his sensitive nipples.

“Baby,” Dean groaned pathetically, “please.”

“Please, what, Dean?” you replied before clearing your throat, ignoring the scratchiness. You waited for his reply, pressing kisses across the freckles on his chest.

“Need to be inside you, sweetheart,” he begged. “You’re so wet, I can feel your pussy dripping through your panties.”

You pushed against his chest and slid down to straddle his thighs, taking in the darkened wet spot on the fabric of Dean’s boxers from where you dripped through your panties. His cock was painfully hard and twitched while you admired it. Reaching forward, you slipped your hand under the elastic and wrapped your fingers around the warmth of Dean’s shaft. He was thick and long, and you knew you were wet enough to take every inch.

Several seconds passed as you continued to slowly stroke him, shamelessly staring in awe at the expression on Dean’s face. His eyes were on yours, lidded and sparkling, and his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth. The man was practically dripping sex and you couldn’t resist anymore. In one fast motion, you unhooked your bra and tore your panties down, Dean helping you get his boxers down, and repositioned yourself over Dean’s cock. You had to tilt your neck against the roof of the car in order to be able to get in this position, but once he was inside you, it wouldn’t matter.

Dean’s hands were back on your hips, and when he squeezed, you looked down at him, freezing your movements as you hovered a few inches over his cock. “Condom?”

"I'm on the pill and clean," you said softly, brushing your lips across his cheek. "We can use one if you want," you lowered your voice, "but there's something more pleasurable about being filled with cum. Don't you wanna fill me up, Dean?"

Dean’s face brightened with a crimson hue and he swallowed hard, nodding eagerly. You felt him shift below you before he pushed his hips up, sliding the first couple inches of his cock into your pussy. Your mouth fell open with a gasp at the unexpected stretch and moved your leg back down, shifting your body weight backward to take the rest of him until he was completely buried inside you.

“My God, you’re fucking huge,” you rasped, eyebrows knitting together in concentration as you adjusted to his size. Waiting was never your strong suit, so you did an experimental roll of your hips, groaning at the thick slide of him inside your channel. “Jesus.”

“Call me Dean,” he sassed with a grunt, making you smile. “Gonna need you to start moving here, Y/N. ‘M not gonna last, you’re so tight.”

Taking that as a challenge, you began rocking your hips while lifting yourself up, allowing Dean’s cock to almost slip free of your pussy before you moved back down, taking him completely once more. His fingers were digging into your hips, likely going to leave bruises, and you remembered he liked to be marked up.

Once his eyes were shut again due to the onslaught of pleasure from you riding him, you wrapped your hands around his wrists and quickly pinned his arms on either side of his head. His eyes popped open and you watched as they flickered from confusion to pure lust. Dean bent his legs behind you, giving him leverage, and began meeting your movements. You had to lean forward to keep your balance, allowing his cock to slam against your g-spot with each thrust while your clit rubbed against the smooth skin above the base of his cock.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you rasped. The soreness in your throat was intensifying thanks to your heaving breaths, but you kept him pinned down when he tried to move his arms. “Make me cum, Dean,” you growled, making his eyes widen. You were teetering on the point of your orgasm, and you knew the aggressiveness would spur him on.

When you tightened your hold on his wrists to the point of where it would leave bruises, Dean grunted, picking up speed with every jerk of his hips. His eyes never left yours as he laid beneath you, both of you sweating and fogging the windows like that scene from Titanic. Dean’s eyes burned with a fire that consumed the emerald of his eyes, and one particularly hard thrust send you catapulting into your climax with a squeaky moan.

“Fuck, fuck…. FUCK!” Dean shouted as your walls pulsed around him, dragging him over the edge with you. His cock throbbed inside you, filling your pussy with cum as you slowly kept rotating your hips, drawing out every last drop and every last twitch from his spent cock.

When Dean hissed from the sensitivity, you slipped off him and flopped backward against the opposite door, catching your breath as his spendings leaked from your stretched pussy. Dean leaned forward before he shifted back, propping himself against his door, admiring his cum leaking from you while he rubbed his wrists.

“Never knew you had that side of you,” he complimented with a lopsided grin. “How’d you know that I -”

“Like to be dominated?” you finished for him with a laugh. “I notice things, Dean. Your behavior gets a little timid after you have a conquest, the marks they leave on your body, and... I don’t know,” you shrugged, “you just seem like the type.”

Dean huffed and chuckled, nodding his head. “Well, I definitely enjoyed that.” He reached down and grabbed his discarded flannel, cleaning himself quickly before passing it to you. “Try not to get any cum on my seats, yeah?”

Grimacing, you glanced down at the several globs of cum resting on the seat between your spread legs. “Little late for that.” Laughing at his defeated sigh, you quickly cleaned up and pulled on your clothing, opting to open the door and walk around to the passengers seat instead of more seat acrobatics.

Dean was already in the driver's seat in just his t-shirt, sliding a new tape into the player, as you dropped into your seat, shut the door, and began buttoning your flannel. The sex excursion killed some time, so you were ready to make a break for the motel to grab your stuff and jet back to the bunker.

When the first few chords of a familiar guitar began to play through the stereo, you glowered at Dean, who was only smiling, tapping his fingers to the beat. “Really Dean? You’re ‘Night Moves-ing’ yourself?”

“Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy… out in the back seat,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “of my sixty-seven Chevy,” he sang along with Bob Segar.

Your annoyance quickly dissolved into giggles as Dean continued to sing along with the lyrics, enthusiastically drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and smiling at you.

“I hate you,” you said with a laugh.

Dean smiled and shifted into drive, shooting you a wink. “No, you don’t.”

Forevers [CLOSED]: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @trashimaginezblog @seenashwrite @jensen-gal @spnbaby-67 @mizzezm @there-must-be-a-lock @atc74 @pilaxia @supernatural-jackles @impala-dreamer @bambi95-blog @wonderfulworldofwinchester @batmmgray @brooke-supernatural16 @dwgrl1903 @hey-bxtch @turnttoverr @kittenofdoomage @leanbeankeane @emoryhemsworth @xalgaliareptx @mhnfatima @bi-e-ne @speakinvain @pebblesz892 @kararanae23 @kassablanca13 @mogaruke @tockettt @imagining-supernatural @wildefire @serienjunkiegirl @alexwinchester23 @mrswhozeewhatsis @stars-and-seas @jaremish @ellen-reincarnated1967 @nyxveracity @andkatiethings @bamby0304 @deathtonormalcy56 @winchesterprincessbride @moonstar86 @missihart23 @mrs-meghan-winchester @miss-rebel-without-applause @dean-winchesters-bacon @curly-haired-disaster

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @focusonspn​

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (24/30)

Summary:Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. 

What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: You guys are continuously awesome, and I appreciate you! 

As an FYI, I have this story completely written now, down to the last word, so if anyone was worrying about that, you don’t have to! But mostly I wanted to let you guys know that I’m going to be out of town for a week, so there won’t be any updates next week (but maybe an extra one this week)💕

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr:Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | 

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @notoriouscs

“Happy birthday,” Killian hums against her neck, kissing the sensitive skin and rubbing his chin into her. She claims that it doesn’t tickle her, but it always does. He hopes it’ll work to wake her up since nothing else will today. “Your alarm has been going off for fifteen minutes.”

“Hmm,” she mumbles, twisting to the side and burying her face in his bare shoulder, ignoring the sound of her alarm like she has been while he’s listened to it wondering just how long she’s going to sleep through it. He swears sometimes it’s like she’s dead to the world. Other times she’s woken up by a whisper of a touch. There’s no in between for her. “That doesn’t sound real.”

“It is, darling,” he promises, nudging her stomach with his knee until she flips back onto her pillow, opening one eye while she stares up at him. He knows that he’s got a smirk on his face, that she probably finds him to be obnoxious, but he’s been awake for longer than her. He’s not nearly as annoyed by life as she is. Then again, the only work he has to do today is finish up packing Emma’s things to take to the new place this weekend. He can fall back asleep as soon as she leaves for work and not have to get dressed until they go out for her birthday tonight.

“Can you go to work for me? I would love you for the rest of my life.”

“While that’s a promising offer, I’m just not sure that it’s worth it.”

“Hey,” she protests, opening up her other eye as her lips part, her teeth showing the slightest bit before she presses them together again.

“Just speaking the truth.” He leans over in the bed and quickly slants his lips over hers, waiting for her to open up to him until he can make it a little deeper, leisurely exploring her mouth and waking her up as he gets lost in the kiss and the way that Emma’s nose is buried in his cheek, her hand softly gripping in his hair. God, he loves when she messes with his hair. “You need to get up and get ready.”

“I can stay in bed for thirty more minutes if I don’t shower.”

“Yeah, but you won’t want to shower after work and before we go to dinner, so you should shower now to get it over with.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but when he kisses the tip of her nose, he can see her smile despite the still dimmed lighting in the room. “I don’t like that you’re reasonable.” “You do. I promise. Now go get ready, Swan.”

She mumbles and groans, but eventually she gets out of bed and turns the damn alarm off before she heads into her bathroom to shower. He’s a bit of an arse, so he doesn’t bother getting out of bed even though he should likely fix her breakfast since it’s her birthday and she hasn’t been too happy about turning twenty-nine. Knowing her, though, she won’t want to eat anything but a yogurt with how late she’s running, so he’ll make her food some other day. It’s the least he can do if he’s going to be up anyways.

He’s only been staying with Emma for a week and a half, and they’re still in her old apartment until the furniture they’ve bought gets moved to their place. It’s got a new mattress and bedframe like they both wanted and a couch, but everything else is still shipping or they haven’t found what they wanted yet. It was a pretty quick turnaround on buying the apartment in Seaport, so they weren’t exactly expecting to be able move in so quickly. He was expecting to have at least a few more weeks, but after they closed on the place, he called Robin and Will to help him pack up his clothes and a few personal items from home. It’s a bit of a disconnect walking into a place he’s lived for years and seeing it furnished only to turn a corner and realize that the books on his shelves are missing along with some of the photo frames he had on the side table in his study. He was going to leave them, but he wanted some personal mementos.

His clothes were easy enough to pack, especially since he only packed his winter things for the next few months, but that odd feeling of emptiness washed over him when he noticed that only his shorts and some swim trunks remained. That emptiness went away when he was hanging his things and a few of Emma’s in their closet, one that they get to share, and those awful Christmas sweaters they both own were hanging side by side, green tassel sticking out against all of the black and navy clothes that he owns. He’d never get rid of them, though. They mean too much to the both of them, so they’ll stay hanging in the closet.

God, it’s both weird and wonderful that they’re getting to share everything in a home together.

The wonder is most definitely going to fade once they get into an argument over the dishes or making the bed every day, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.

Maybe he’ll go buy those barstools Emma saw when they went shopping on Sunday. She’d really liked those, but they weren’t sure if the stools were the right size. He checked, and they are. That’d likely be a nice surprise, especially if he gave them to her today.

Barstools for his girlfriend’s birthday present. It’s what every woman wants.

Or a necklace with a pearl pendant hanging at the end of the chain because gifts are difficult and Emma never wants anything. He’d seen her look at the necklace, though, and she’d run her fingers over her collarbone for awhile after she saw it. It’s simple and beautiful, and he thinks Emma will like wearing it most days just so that she has something to fidget with. She’s always doing that with her earrings or bracelet, so a necklace should be nice, right?

A necklace and some barstools. And this hot chocolate basket that he’s been putting together, her swan mug hidden away in it. For someone who claims that it’s her favorite mug, she sure as hell doesn’t notice when it’s missing for weeks on end.

Yeah, those should be fine things to give her before tonight.

He donated some money to her work and to a few of her favorite charities, but he’s not going to tell her about them. He thought about it, but it doesn’t quite seem right. They’re in her honor and will help out a lot of people who need the help, and that’s all that matters to him.

He hears the water shut off in the bathroom, and he takes that as his cue to get finally get out of bed, throwing the covers off of his legs and slowly moving off of the old mattress so he can get some sweatpants out the suitcase he’s living out of, pulling them on and up over his hips so he won’t freeze while moving out to the kitchen. He may not make her breakfast, but he can at least make her some coffee so she won’t be cranky at work.

Coffee would also be really nice for him. Emma’s alarm went off for far too long, and he can feel the slightest pounding against his temple.

“Do you think it would be too obvious if I called in sick to work?” Emma ponders as she walks into the room a few minutes later, a towel still wrapped around her head but her lashes coated in mascara and face powdered so that her freckles have faded. “I mean, they know it’s my birthday, but people get sick on their birthdays. It’s just a day.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, the liquid still a little too hot from his lack of creamer, and shrugs his shoulders while Emma grabs a mug out of the cabinet and starts making her cup.

“You could, but if you don’t go to work, your other option is to stay here with me and pack up your belongings.”

“I mean, packing is very sexy. I could stay and we could forget about packing for you to give me all of your love and attention since it is my birthday after all.”

“For someone who has been dreading this day, which you literally just said is only a day on the calendar, you’re really milking it.”

“I am indeed,” she smiles, holding up the carton of milk she just got out of the fridge. Emma Swan, a woman who doesn’t like to let bad jokes pass by her. “I just don’t want to go to work. I’m working with Kathryn all day and blegh.”

“Did you just say the word blegh instead of making the sound?”

“Yep.”

“Weird.” “Debatable.”

“I’m sorry you have to work with Kathryn, but hopefully she won’t be that bad today. And I feel like you’re going to have a good day today, signing your new contract and all that, you badass of a woman.” He takes a step toward her and leans down to brush a kiss across her temple, knowing the toothpaste on her tongue won’t mix well with the coffee. He loves her and is proud of her for negotiating a raise that she deserves for her time there and for all the good work she’s done this year, but her really is not a fan of toothpaste mixed with coffee. “And when all is said and done today, I promise I’ll give you all of my love and attention.”

“That’s all I ask.”

When Emma leaves for work, he takes a quick shower and gets dressed to go to Gold and Williams to pick up some of the furniture they saw the other day. He’ll pack later. He’d honestly just feel better if he went ahead and got the furniture now, mixing in with the morning crowd on the train as he makes his way to the south end. He’s still got some work to go on navigating Boston, but he’s figuring things out. It’d help if he had a car here, but he doesn’t want to buy another one when he has a perfectly good car back in California. Then again, it’s either leave it there or take a road trip across the country every time he travels.

That would be ridiculous. The miles and time alone.

Maybe he’ll get Emma to take a road trip with him when she has off for Thanksgiving since they’re spending it with his family so that they can spend Christmas with Emma’s. Or maybe he’ll simply become a master of taking the train.

Or he could ship his car across the country. That’s a thing.

It takes a few minutes in the store for him to find the barstools, telling the man who’s helping him, Eric, that he wants four of them before he wanders throughout the rest of the store, looking at the chairs for the living room they’d both liked the other day. It’s odd shopping without Emma, but then again, she did most of their apartment viewing by herself so a chair seems like a much smaller thing. They can always return it if it doesn’t fit, but he likes the blue velvet and gold accented frames that surround them to go with the light gray of their couch. By the time he’s left the store he has put in orders for the barstools, arm chairs, lamps for their bedside tables, and a loveseat to sit at the foot of their bed all to be shipped to their apartment. He knows that Emma liked the loveseat because he distinctly remembers her sitting down on it and tracing her finger over the teal material and talking about how good it would look with the blue and green accents on the pillows on their bed.

He’s never thought this much about interior decorating, but Emma is having such a blast starting with a clean slate that he’s enjoying it. He likes watching everything come together too.

The rest of his morning is spent packing up Emma’s apartment, sectioning off her clothes and tying them up in bags so they’ll be easier to unpack. All of her dishes but a few they’ll need over the next few days go into boxes, wrapped in bubble wrap, and he makes note of the appliances she’s missing. He’ll ship some of his things from home here. He won’t need a fully stocked kitchen some place he’s not living full time, and there’s no need to buy more plates when he and Emma eat out off of paper plates most of the time anyways.

Maybe they need a few more plates for when they have guests. He’s thinking about flying out Liam, Elsa, and Aiden for Christmas and having them stay over so that they can meet everyone. Of course, he’ll have to fly in Anna and Kris as well. He could offer to fly in Anna and Elsa’s parents, but they’re apparently visiting after the holiday.

It’s something to think about, though.

When he tackles her shelves, that’s an animal in and off itself. She’s got everything marked for keep or donate since nothing in her apartment can stay here, and honestly, he’s a little confused by some of the markings. There are several rocks that don’t look like anything, but Emma has them marked to keep so he packs them away. He assumes Leo has given them to her, but he’s honestly got no idea.

The music on his phone stops playing as it rings, and he reaches to the side and slides his finger across the screen, tapping the speaker so he doesn’t have to pick it up.

“Hey, Will.”

“Why the bloody hell do you have me watering these plants if you don’t even live here anymore? Can’t I just let them die?”

“Nice to hear from you too,” he scoffs, wrapping up a picture frame. “And yes, you have to water them until I get them moved to Liam’s or Rob’s. Or yours. I think you’re rather fond of the plants, mate.”

“I don’t like your bloody plants.”

“It’s okay to like the plants. They’d make your apartment look less like a bachelor lives there.”

“A bachelor does live there.”

“Seriously, take the plants with you.”

“If I take the plants with me, then you won’t pay me to water them.”

“Technically I also pay you to dust, but you never do that.”

“I’m not your maid. I’m your friend.”

“Who likes the money I pay you out of the goodness of my heart for helping me with my house.”

“You’re the most generous man in all of Hollywood,” Will chuckles as the distinctive sound of the ceiling fan in Killian’s study spins. It’s got this thing where it clicks if it spins too quickly. He needs to fix that. “What are you doing today? You got plans? Rob, Rol, and I are going to watch the Kings play later. You want to join us from afar?”

“What time?”

“Six our time.”

He clicks his tongue as he wraps another frame that’s filled with a picture of Emma holding both Leo and Brody the day after Brody was born. God, that had been such an awful day for him, but Emma looks so besotted with those boys that it doesn’t even matter. It worked out for them anyways. They worked it out.

“I can’t,” he admits, feeling the smallest tinge of guilt, but this is how things are going to be sometimes. Not all of the time, but still. He’ll have to take the three of them to a match sometime soon. Maybe he’ll buy them passes for Christmas. “It’s Emma’s birthday, so we’re going out. I’ll try another time though, okay?”

“Aye, that’s fine. It’s not like it’s going to be a good one anyways. Tell your lady I said happy birthday.”

“I will. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Are you not working at the bar tonight?”

“No, I’ve got today off. Oi, man, I’ve got to tell you about this guy who came in last night.”

He and Will keep talking until Killian’s finished packing up the bookshelves, everything sorted into different boxes and bags and stacked up next to the door as Will regales him with stories of the bar and Roland’s attempt at ice skating for the first time last week. Robin’s also apparently been dating one of the moms of one of Roland’s classmates. He leaves for a little bit of time and suddenly everyone is getting their lives together. He absolutely cannot wait to annoy Rob about this the next time they talk. The man would rather die than talk about his dating life, so he kind of wonders how exactly Will knew about Robin’s new woman. He never explained. Eventually Will has to go, and Killian’s left spending the rest of the day doing as much packing as he can, only stopping to eat a late lunch and drink another cup of coffee.

“How is it so cold outside?” Emma asks as she pulls off her jacket and takes her beanie off, shaking her hair out and closing the front door behind her. “Seriously, it’s freezing out there. Have you been outside today? Probably not. You’ve probably been packing this entire time. Sorry I couldn’t call at lunch. I missed it to read over my contract one more time. Your girl has officially got herself a pay raise.”

“Congrats, love,” he laughs, taping up a box and then putting his tape down so that he can walk over to the kitchen where Emma’s puttering around in the cabinets. They’re mostly empty now, but she’s probably trying to find a glass. “Do you feel less stressed?”

“Exponentially.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to her cheek before reaching above her and getting a glass out of the cabinet to hand to her. “I actually went and got some furniture for us this morning, some of the stuff we looked at on Sunday, and it’s being delivered to the apartment. And then I was packing up some things we hadn’t gotten yet. I was about to go work in your hallway closet.”

“I can do that,” she blurts, her cheeks flushing, and he quirks his brow as the gears start turning in his mind over why she wouldn’t want him messing with the closet.

“You’re hiding something.”

“I am not.”

“You’re a horrible liar, remember?”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“So what do you have hidden in the closet? I’ve been in there before, so I know that it’s not dead bodies or anything.”

“Gross.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. I’m also going to go look.”

He sidesteps out of Emma’s way, the curiosity too much, but he also knows that if Emma really doesn’t want him to look, she’ll tell him to stop. And he will. Whatever she’s hiding isn’t bad or untrustworthy. He simply doesn’t know what it is.

“Killian,” she chuckles, grabbing onto the back of his shirt and tugging him back so that he turns around and backs himself up against the wall to look down at Emma. Her eyes have widened, and her lips are somewhere between a smile and a quiver. He simply can’t tell. “Please don’t look in the closet.”

“I won’t if you really don’t want me to. I just wonder how you didn’t think of me looking in there while you were gone today.”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot about your deep, dark secret?”

“It’s not a deep, dark secret. It’s a surprise for you.”

“For little old me on your birthday?”

“Oh my gosh,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes and leaning forward to pat his chest. “You’re so cocky, but yes, for you. It was – I was – do you just want it now?”

He does, but he can be patient.

“You can save it. Today is about you anyways.”

Emma groans, actually groans, and it’s a bit of a mixture between frustration and pleasure. He’s got no clue what’s going on right now. Absolutely none.

“It’s not a big deal,” she starts, stepping to the side and sliding open the closet door, the old folds of it crunching the slightest bit. “Like, it’s really not a big deal. I was going to put them up at the new apartment and let you, you know, just notice when you noticed.” She bends down and picks up a small box, and when she hands it to him, he can see Liam’s address on the return label. What the hell? “Just open it or whatever.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, looking up at her and noticing the way she’s fidgeting, her feet never staying in place. “Swan, unless there’s something super freaky in here that my brother has sent you, and I’m not sure where the limitations lie, I promise that there’s no need to be nervous.”

It takes a bit of work to open the package. Liam really doubles down on masking tape and he’s working with just his nails, but eventually he gets into it, the cardboard folds moving open and revealing a few envelopes that are full of pictures…of him. They’re of him. There’s one of him as a child with his mum, a blue popsicle melted all over him. There’s another of he and Liam at his graduation, another of them when they’d just moved into the apartment in California, and several others that he’s seen before but not in a long time. These are from the books that Liam keeps, that he’s made sure to save even when they were in the system and could barely have belongings. These are his childhood, the fond memories of his childhood, and despite how much he’s always loved them, for a long time it was difficult for him to look at some of them, especially the ones with his mother.

“Did you,” he starts, putting the pictures back in the box, “did you ask Liam for family photos so you could put them up in the apartment to surprise me?”

“Yeah. I thought – I thought it would be a nice thing for you to have some of your home here. And, like, I figured it was a better thing than a picture of Queen Elizabeth or, like, a palm tree that would just die in this climate. I know it’s not a big thing but I – ”

“Emma,” he laughs, dropping the box to the ground and stepping forward to wrap his arm around her waist, holding onto her tightly as he pushes her up to the wall and quickly slants his lips over hers, feeling the softness of her mouth as she gasps into his own. He knows that he’s surprised her, that she didn’t expect such a fierce moment over what she very obviously thinks is a big deal but won’t admit, but the truth of the matter is that it is a big deal. They’re flush against each other and into the wall, and when his tongue moves against hers, she cants her hips up to his as he matches her rocks, the two of them moving together.

He knows that they’re both sentimental, that they both hold onto things from their childhood, that they hold onto the happy moments, but he also knows that they’re often only sentimental about it late at night when maybe exhaustion has gotten to them. Sometimes it’s when they’re walking on the beach by his house, Emma wrapped up in a sweater that reaches her thighs as she tells him about the first time she made a friend who she got to stay around for more than a few months before she was moved to another house in the state. It’s a sometimes thing, not an always, but it means the absolute world to him that Emma would do this.

She hasn’t moved the mountains, but he would never ask or expect her to.

He’d go to the end of the world for her, and he knows that she’d do the same.

Emma’s hands move over his shoulders, and it’s what snaps him into attention before he moves his lips from hers and trails them along her jaw, burying his face in her neck and breathing her in as his heart pounds against his ribcage.

“So you like them?”

He nods into her neck before he pulls back, looking into the gleam of her eyes before he leans forward and kisses her noise, his breath still catching up to him as he rests his forehead against hers. “I love them. Why were you so nervous?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is a bit high, the smallest bit broken, and he groans a bit knowing that it’s all because of him, that their hips are still pushed together with Emma pinned to the wall. “I wanted to do something big for you to make Boston your home a bit more easily, but I couldn’t think of anything. And I don’t know. I figured you wouldn’t pack up all of the pictures you have at home so that you would still have them when you’re there. It was the least I could do, and I wasn’t going to make a big deal about them, but then you were going into the closet and yeah.”

“I did pack some of them,” he chuckles, leaning back and flashing her a grin so that she’ll stop biting her lip. He’s just now noticing that his hand has traveled up her shirt, and he wonders when he started tracing her spine. “Not all of them but a few, but I don’t – I hadn’t gone into those pictures for years. It’s so hard to see Mum’s face sometimes, but this is good. I appreciate it. Really. I don’t need you to do big gestures. I don’t – Emma I’m happy to be here. I can’t say it enough. I’m happy to be here and to be with you.”

“Yeah,” she nods, moving her hands back up his arms to his shoulders before her hands cup his face, soft pads caressing him as he leans his cheek into her so that he can kiss her wrist, “I’m happy too. We should probably stop making out in my hallway and get ready for dinner.” She pats his face as her lips curl into a smile that makes her eyes crinkle. “You need time to fix up that face.”

“My face looks fine.”

“Obviously you already packed up all of the mirrors in this place.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to get ready even though he needs to take a shower, and after he gives Emma her gifts, clasping the ends of her necklace together over the back of her neck, they make their way outside so they can drive to dinner. Emma has work in the morning, so neither of them are really planning on drinking too much or staying out late.

“So this place is really called the Barking Crab?” he asks as they walk from the parking deck to the restaurant, moving through the surprisingly crowded streets even with the chill in the air. Emma had put on a short black dress earlier, had checked the weather, and then quickly changed into black jeans and a sweater so that she wouldn’t freeze. As much as he appreciated the dress, he appreciates Emma not dying of hypothermia more.

“Yep. It’s good and fun, right on the water obviously. You’ll like it because as much as I know that you like the occasional stuffy restaurant, how can you pass up eating greasy food out of baskets?”

“You can’t,” he scoffs, reaching down to wrap his hand over her palm while they walk. “And it’s seafood, so how can it get better?”

“If it were a cheeseburger.”

“I’m sure they have those here, but considering you picked the place, Swan, I don’t think you can complain.”

“We already talked about this. It’s my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It definitely is.”

“So if you committed murder, you think you could get away with it by saying it happened on your birthday?”

“You took that from zero to one hundred real quick.”

“I was making a point.”

“One I’m choosing to ignore.” Her steps hurry then, heels clicking against the pavement, and he has to quicken his step to keep up. “I see Mary Margaret at a table.”

“She got one outside? It’s freezing.”

“They have heaters.”

“Still.”

“You’ll be fine,” Emma laughs, squeezing his hand tightly before releasing him and running up to meet her friends, wrapping Mary Margaret in a tight embrace, the two of them rocking from side to side.

She’s already moved onto David by the time that he gets there, so he bends down and presses a kiss against Mary Margaret’s cheek, asking her how she is and about the kids before he’s hugging David and doing the same to him. He’s just about to settle down when Ruby and Dorothy show up, so it’s another mess of hugs and too much conversation all happening at once. He’s only met Dorothy in a professional capacity, but he feels as if he knows her a bit from Emma and Ruby talking about her. She’s great, if not a bit shy, but that’s honestly not an option with Emma and her friends.

Okay, so it’s not an option with Ruby, but he doubts Dorothy would be here if she didn’t fancy Ruby.

Eventually the all sit down around the table Mary Margaret got for them, Emma sliding into the chair next to him and opening up the menu to read through all of the cocktails out loud.

“You’d like the Dark and Stormy, babe,” she tells him, pointing to the rum on the menu, “or maybe the Tea Party since, you know, you’re a Brit in Boston.”

“So damn funny,” he scoffs, tapping his fingers against her thigh from where his hand has been resting.

“I’ve never even thought about that before,” David laughs, closing his menu. “You may also like the Bloody Mary.”

“You’re all regular comedians.”

“Aw, he’s kind of crabby,” Ruby sighs, her lips curling up into a smile. “So obviously the Crabby Margarita will also work for you.”

“I believe a margarita would be better for Mary Margaret.”

“Oh I’m not drinking tonight, but I appreciate the pun,” she sighs sweetly, obviously not going to get in on teasing him about his heritage. “Besides, tonight is about Emma and being one year away from thirty, flirty, and thriving. We should totally be making fun of her.”

“What kind of alcohol puns can you make about Emma, though?” Dorothy asks.

“Not really any,” Ruby admits, shrugging her shoulders before taking a sip of her water. “Though, usually when we’re making fun of Emma, we talk about the great tequila incident of 2012.”

“No.”

“Wait,” he laughs, twisting his head to look at Emma and the absolute look of horror that is covering every inch of her skin, “what is this now? I’ve never heard of it, and I really feel like I should know about something that’s called the great tequila incident of 2012.”

“Babe, you really don’t want to know.”

“I really do,” he promises, excitement running through him as he looks between David, Mary Margaret, and Ruby to see which of them is going to break and tell this story.

“So Emma and I were living in this awful apartment,” Mary Margaret begins, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear only for it to fall back from not being long enough, “and we have absolutely no money. I’m a teacher fresh out of getting my Masters and Emma’s just gotten hired as an assistant PR director after that shitty receptionist job she’d had, so we, literally, never go out to do anything because we don’t have money. Ever.”

“Until your homegirl got hired at the same place as Emma,” Ruby adds, excitedly moving her shoulders up and down while Emma’s leg taps underneath his hand.

“Yeah, so we went out to celebrate Ruby getting a new job because she’d spent so damn long in school, and your girlfriend who is about ready to bolt right now, has a few too many drinks. She’s always been a bit of a lightweight.”

“That’s rich coming from you, honey.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes at her husband before looking back at him. “That’s not the point. You’re just mad because you weren’t there that night. Anyways, we’re at a bar and Emma has had too much tequila, so when Ruby suggests that it’s time to go home, Emma just refuses. I mean, absolutely refuses because that awful song Call Me Maybe is on, and she insisted that she had to go around quoting it to every man in the bar before she gave them her number.”

“Please tell me you didn’t, Swan.”

“I did,” she groans, leaning into his shoulder and burying her face in his jacket. “I had to change my number because I kept getting calls asking to talk to the hot blonde that gave away her number and then proceeded to ask every single person if they’d be willing to go on a Segway tour with them by saying ‘we could see Boston, and then I could show you my place.’”

The laughter starts in his stomach, but it makes its way up his entire body, his core and his shoulders shaking as it bubbles up and out of his mouth, nothing containing it as Emma keeps her face buried in his shoulder despite the fact that he must be moving her. It’s not the most embarrassing thing in the world. Not really, but he’s imagining Emma singing the song and propositioning all of those people while Ruby and Mary Margaret were likely curled up in balls laughing at her.

“Why a Segway tour, Swan?” he laughs, squeezing her thigh. “What about that would lead you to taking these guys back to your place?”

“I don’t know. I was drunk. I obviously wasn’t thinking.”

“So now Emma isn’t supposed to drink tequila, and if she does, she either has to sing the entirety of Call Me Maybe or pay for all of us to go on a Segway tour of Boston.”

“Emma, love,” he soothes, moving his hand from her thigh and wrapping it around her shoulder so that he can rub it up and down her arm as she obviously replays the night in her mind, “I’m going to need you to stop drinking too much in front of Ruby and Mary Margaret because it seems to get you into all kinds of predicaments.”

“But that’s how she met you,” Ruby points out, and he smiles at the thought. “I’m still waiting for my boat, by the way. I want it to be called The Love Boat. I’ve said it before, but I obviously need to say it again. I think red will be a good color for it, not tacky at all.”

“You’re not getting a boat,” Emma groans, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “Also, are we ever going to order? Because it’s my birthday, and I want to eat.”

They do eventually order, and soon the table is full of ridiculous cocktails and water glasses as well as crab, lobster rolls, shrimp, and more seafood than six people will need. But they manage to eat most of it between laughing and sharing more embarrassing stories about Emma. He’s got several up his sleeve, but he’d rather listen to the tales of when all of them were in university together (apparently David came along a bit later, but he knows the stories well enough) and just starting out. Emma is so comfortable with her friends, comfortable with letting them tease her and share things from a time when she likely wasn’t sure of trusting people too much, and he’s not sure if he’s ever been more thankful for three of the people sitting across from him.

They were the ones who Emma opened her heart up to and who didn’t let her down for the first time in her life, and he’s exponentially glad that she has them.

“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Emma mutters after she takes another sip of her water before placing it on the table.

“I’ll join you,” Mary Margaret adds only for Ruby and Dorothy to say the same thing. “And you two cannot make a joke about women traveling in packs to the bathroom when the two of you do stuff like that all of the time.”

“Wasn’t going to, honey,” David sighs, smiling up at his wife. Mary Margaret simply smiles back before she’s walking away, trailing after everyone else as they disappear into the restaurant and out of sight. “So do you feel like you’ve officially been initiated into a Boston man? You’re eating seafood by the harbor when it’s freezing outside. All you need is to be wearing a Sox cap.”

“Well, I did leave my hat and my jersey at home. I knew I was forgetting something when we left the apartment. But yeah,” he shrugs, fingering at the condensation on his glass, “it feels good to be here. It’s definitely not California, but I’m happy. I can’t wait to get into the new place, though. I’m tripping over boxes every two seconds.”

“You never know how much stuff you have until you move, and Emma’s a packrat so that’s got to be awful.”

“It’s not that bad,” he admits, twisting his head and looking out at the water past all of the people who are crowding the streets. “We’ve gone through everything and either donated it, trashed it, or packed it. I don’t think either of us really expected to be able to move so quickly.”

“But when has anything in your relationship ever gone as normal?”

He clicks his tongue, not really sure how to answer that. “Eh, depends on what you’re saying is normal. I think we do what works for us. We haven’t been together for years or anything, but we’ve been together for awhile. And besides two or three days, once we were in, we were all in.”

David’s eyes slant for a moment, the blue turning into slits, and his lips flatten out into a straight line while he looks at Killian. He briefly sees David tilt his head to the side, something almost unnoticeable, but then he’s widening his eyes again as his features relax. He was just being studied, and he’s honestly not sure why.

“You’re going to propose.”

If he were holding his drink instead of thumbing at the water on it while it rests on the table, he’d drop it. He’d drop it and then likely freeze for the chill that’s blowing over the restaurant, the temperatures continuing to fall the longer they stay out here. He can feel the heat as it moves across his face, red flames tickling his skin, and he knows that it’s not from the nip of the air or the warmth of the heater that’s just behind their table.

“Possibly,” he concedes, his eyes glancing over to where Emma had disappeared into the restaurant. As much as he’d like to talk about his thoughts and his plans and the rings that he’s been looking at when he can, he knows that they don’t have a lot of time. “How the hell do you know that?”

“You’re not as suave and mysterious as you think.” He raises a brow, and waits for David to continue. “You love her. You love her in the way that I love Mary Margaret, and while you two are different, it’s still the same.”

“Aye,” he smiles, eyes only straying from David to look to make sure no one is returning to the table, “I do. I love her, and I want to marry her. I know that now isn’t the time, that things are crazy with the move, but I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Killian, that’s incredible,” he laughs, his own face covered in lines while he reaches down to break off a piece of bread. “Emma is like a younger sister to me, and I love her. I just want her to be happy. And you’ve grown on me too, so I guess I want that for you.”

He winks, knowing that he’s got a smirk curling up on his lips. “I tend to have that effect on people.”

Emma comes back to the table first, her hair now pulled up in a ponytail, and sits back down in her chair, her hand landing on his knee and squeezing while Mary Margaret follows closely behind her.

“Where are Ruby and Dorothy?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Emma mumbles.

“They’re asking the chef if she’d be willing to make Emma a small birthday cake,” Mary Margaret explains as she rolls her eyes a bit at Emma. “Emma’s embarrassed because she doesn’t want the entire restaurant looking at her as they sing.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I would have been fine if Killian and I had just stopped for milkshakes on the way home.”

“Nonsense, Swan, you’ve got to have your birthday cake.”

Ruby and Dorothy come back to the table with the promise that Emma is going to have a birthday cake brought out to her in a few minutes. Sure enough their waitress comes to the table with a serving dish full of cake, Emma’s name written in sauce on the white of the plate, and everyone sings to her while he watches her attempt not to blush. It doesn’t work, but she tries.

And later that night after Emma has fallen asleep claiming too much cake and seafood, he scrolls through his phone at the pictures from tonight. There’s several of he and Emma, even more of shots he had to take for she and her friends, but as he does, he never uploads a photo of her face online, not since the night they met at the charity gala. Who he’s dating isn’t a secret, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to control what he puts out there on the rare occasions that he does post things online so that Robin doesn’t get onto him about not being social media savvy enough.

So it’s that thought that has him posting a photo of Emma as everyone sings to her. Her hands are covering her face, the loose strands of her ponytail doing the rest of the work, but he can still see the slightest bit of her smile under the glow of the candle light and the bulb lights the restaurant had up.

KillianJonesOfficial: Happy birthday, my love.

He wants to say more, but he thinks he’d rather keep those thoughts to he and Emma. She’s the only one who really needs to hear them.

[biaswreckingfics]

Letting Go: Part 4

Author: biaswreckingyourlifefics

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

You look at the empty table that was set for four. The only seat currently occupied was Jia’s, and her face held a very guilty expression. Then, like a light bulb suddenly turning on, it finally dawns on you what Jia was up to.

“Jia, what is this?” Baekhyun lowly asks.

“Would you believe me if I said everyone else canceled?” She replies sheepishly.

Jia had lied and said everyone was going to dinner, but really, she had set up a double date. Jongin and her. You and Baekhyun.

Everyone was silently stared at each other for a moment. Baekhyun and you were trying to process what was happening, and Jia and Jongin were too nervous to comment.

You didn’t know how to feel. You stare at Jia, wondering how you were going to get through a dinner with Baekhyun, now knowing it was a fake double date.

You slowly look at Baekhyun, wondering what is going through his mind. His face was completely unreadable as he looks between Jia and Jongin. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, confused, put off, or what.

His eyes suddenly meet your wide ones before you can look away. All you could do was stare at him, hoping he would see that this wasn’t your idea. When he slowly begins nodding his head, you exhale the breath of air you didn’t know you had been holding.

“Well, we’re here... I guess we should eat.”

You follow his lead and sit down in the seat next to him and across from Jia. Holy shit, this is awkward, you thought. There was complete silence at the table, so you took the opportunity to peek at everyone through your eyelashes.

Jia was taking turns looking at everyone. She looked slightly nervous, now that her plan was in motion, and the guilt was still etched onto her face. Jongin was looking at his menu, not raising his head to look at anyone else, and not wanting to take any of the blame for his girlfriend's actions.

You casually look to your left to see Baekhyun, sitting somewhat stiffly, almost like he was scared that if he moved too much he would bump into you. You look down at yourself, noticing you were sitting the same way, so you take a deep breath and force yourself to relax. All of you were already here, so you might as well try to get past the awkwardness. Besides, you were friends. It wasn’t like this was a blind date with random people.

“So, how was everyone’s day?”

At your words, everyone visibly tenses since you had the courage to break the silence. Jia becomes excited, taking your words as a cue that you aren’t mad at her. Jongin gradually relaxes, now that you had finally spoken, and it wasn’t to yell at Jia. Baekhyun continues to look at his menu, not making eye contact with anyone, but he does answer your question.

“Good, but if you remember, we’ve been with you two all day.”

Oh yeah… you had forgotten that they were at the shop with you two. You sigh, not knowing how to start the conversation. Luckily for you, the waitress came up and took all your orders. When she leaves, taking the menus with her, your only source of distraction goes with her.

“Okay, I’m sorry I lied, but I thought it would be nice if the four of us went out together.” Jia begins to explain herself.

“You could’ve just said, ‘Hey guys, let’s go to dinner’. That would’ve worked just as well.” Baekhyun calmly responds to her before sipping from the water glass in front of him.

“Well, we’re all here now, so let’s just enjoy it, yeah?” You say. Jongin nodding his head and agreeing with you.

Dinner goes well, and once everyone lightened up, you had a lot of fun. The four of you joked around, and they shared stories with you about wild things they’ve done over the past years. You enjoyed hearing about their crazy antics and learning about their experiences as a group. You and Jia also silently watched as Baekhyun and Jongin hotly (and weirdly) debated which fantasy movies were better, and they informed you about a charity event Jongin and Chanyeol were taking part in.

Dinner flew by, even though it was very weird in the beginning. You enjoyed spending time with just the three of them and away from the big group. You felt comfortable with them, even though you lost count of how many times Baekhyun made your heart flutter every time his arm brushed yours. You felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but you needed to knock it off. You were in your mid-20’s for goodness sake!

When it was time to leave, Jongin and Jia took off one way, while you and Baekhyun went the other way. As you were walking out to your vehicles, Baekhyun is the one to break the silence.

“Well, that was fun, even though Jia lied to get us here.”

You shrug your shoulders. “I mean, everything went okay in the end, and we got food, so I’m happy.”

“Food is always a good thing…”

“Mhmm. So, do you want to hang out and play some video games or something?” You ask hopefully, not noticing Baekhyun watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“I would, but there’s something I have to do at SM tonight. We’ll hang out soon though. Have a good night and drive carefully!” Baekhyun quickly says before turning away from you.

You watch as he walks away, confused by what had just happened. Why did Baekhyun suddenly seem different? He was laughing and joking inside the restaurant, but now he was acting distant like maybe he had on a front during dinner.

Also, you could’ve sworn you remember Baekhyun telling Jongin he didn’t have plans for later… Maybe something came up? Or maybe Jia’s plan weirded him out more than he let on?

You were brought back to reality by the sound of a car door shutting somewhere in the parking lot. Shaking your head, you slowly open the driver’s side door of your vehicle and climb into the seat. You turn the key in the ignition and start your engine, but before you can put the vehicle in drive, your phone dings with a message.

Jia: Dinner was great! I think B definitely has a thing for you!

You snort and stare at the phone wondering if Jia and you had been at the same dinner.

You: I really don’t think so, Jia, and please don’t do that to me again!

Jia: Oh, stop. Everything went fine.

From her perspective, maybe it did, but you couldn’t help but think something was different about Baekhyun. Maybe, I’m just overthinking things, you thought. Probably. You tended to do that.

A few days go by after the dinner, and now you know somethings up. You had known Baekhyun for less than a month, but ever since the two of you exchanged numbers, you had made it a habit to text each other every day. Even when one of you was busy, you found a spare minute to at least text the other a simple, “Hey, how are you”.

Since the dinner four days ago, you hadn’t heard a word from Baekhyun, and all your texts had gone unanswered. You assumed he was just busy with work, but you had a feeling that wasn’t the case. Jongin still found the time to stop by your work daily, usually with another member in tow.

Today, however, you were all by yourself. It was Jia’s day off, which meant you had no one to talk with while getting your work done. The coworker who was with you instead was an older woman in her 40’s, and she liked to pretend that you weren’t even there. She wasn’t mean per se, but she didn’t go out of her way to talk to you or Jia.

That is why you are surprised when you notice her come into the backroom of the store and head straight for you. You try to hide the confusion on your face as she reaches you. Maybe it was something work-related that you needed to do.

“There’s a man out there looking for you.”

You stare at her, wondering if she could be any vaguer. A man? Was it your brother? Did something happen?

“Did he say who he was?” You ask her, trying to get more information out of her.

Shrugging her shoulders, she wordlessly walks away. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Why is she in customer service? You put down the things in your hands and head up front to the shop. As you walk around the corner of the hallway, you do a quick scan of the shop, looking for your brother.

“Y/N.”

You jump, hearing a voice come from your direct left. Turning your head, you see Baekhyun standing next to you.

“Jesus, Baek, you scared me.”

A small smile grows on his face. “Sorry.”

You move away from the hallway, so you were no longer blocking the doorway, and turn to look at Baekhyun. You attempt to hide any excitement you feel at him being here at the shop, but honestly, it was kind of hard, especially after not hearing from him for a few days.

“What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see if you were free for lunch.” He casually asks like it wasn’t a big deal.

Lunch? He was asking you to lunch?

“Right now?” Baekhyun nods his head, confirming. “Yeah, I can do lunch. Just let me go tell my coworker.”

He nods again, and you go back to the backroom to tell your coworker you were taking your lunch. Once you’re all set, you meet Baekhyun by the front door.

“Where do you want to go?”

“We can go to the café on the corner. It’s pretty good. Have you been yet?”

You tell him you haven’t, but that this was the café Jia had recently been telling you about. The two of you take off toward the building a few spots down from yours and immediately find an empty table in the back. Once you sit down, the waitress attempts to hand you your menus, but Baekhyun stops her.

“Do you mind if I order for you?” He asks you casually.

You blink a few times in confusion. “You want to order for me?” Once he nods, you say, “Well... okay…”

You space out as he talks to the waitress. You haven’t heard from him in days, and then he randomly shows up, asks you out to lunch, and then orders for you? I guess weirder things have happened, you thought, but you had never had a guy order for you before.

“Thank you.” You say to him as the waitress walks away.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just something that I know you’ll like.”

“Oh, getting cocky now, are we?” You tease.

He starts to laugh, but then you watch his face change back to the somewhat serious look he had when he was in the store. You feel awkward at the sudden change in his expression, so you try to make small talk.

“So, how have you been the past few days?”

“I’ve been alright, how about you?”

“Not bad. Just working.”

He nods at you, and the two of you fall into another silence. You hated it. There were hardly silent moments between the two of you. In fact, you almost didn’t believe Baekhyun knew how to be silent.

“Did I do something wrong?” You blurt out, trying to understand what his deal was.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong…” Baekhyun looks down at his hands, and then back up at you. “…but I feel like I may need to clear the air with you.”

“Okay… about what?”

He sighs. “Look, I think you’re amazing. You’ve become a really good friend of mine... oddly fast actually… but… I’m not looking for anything right now.”

Once he finishes his sentence, he stares at you, waiting for your response. All you could do was stare back at him and blink, not knowing how to respond to anything he just said.

He thought you wanted to date him? I mean, I guess I sort of do, you think, but you had never given him any indication that you felt that way. At least, you didn't think you had.

“It has nothing to do with you. I’m just interested in someone else.” He adds when you still don’t say anything.

After another moment of silence, you say, “Did I do something to make you feel like I wanted to pursue something with you?”

He blinks a couple of times in confusion. “You don’t?”

You raise your eyebrows at his question, and he throws his hands up in front of him once he realizes how cocky he sounds.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… the date that was set up – “

“Baekhyun, I had nothing to do with that dinner,” you cut him off.

He pauses in surprise. “You didn’t?”

Shaking your head, you reply, “No, that was all Jia.”

“Oh…” He says while looking back down at his hands. “I’m sorry… I guess I just thought… I mean, I thought I was getting a certain vibe from… you…”

You don’t know where the words that come out of your mouth next came from, but you were not expecting them to come out, and you were almost just as shocked as him.

“I won't lie to you. I do have a crush on you, but I had nothing to do with that dinner. I know you don’t see me that way.”

Baekhyun’s eyes widen at your admission. “You have a crush on me?”

At that moment, the waitress comes up and drops off your food. You stare at it, not wanting to look back up at Baekhyun. Why did I just admit that and to Baekhyun of all freaking people?!

“Y/N?”

You close your eyes, already regretting the can of worms you had inevitably opened, but there was no way you could take the words back. You started it, so now you might as well finish it.

“Yes, I have a crush on you.” You say, finally meeting his eyes. “But I already know you have eyes for someone else.”

Baekhyun hadn’t moved an inch since your confession, but you didn’t think he could get even more still, and yet here he was proving you wrong.

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen you watching her whenever we’re all together.”

Baekhyun stares at you, eyes still wide, not believing his ears. “You know…?”

“That you like your best friend’s girlfriend? Yes.”

Baekhyun looks down at his food in shock. “I thought I’ve been hiding it pretty well…”

Maybe it was your outsider’s perspective, but you didn’t know how any of them had missed the fact that he had feelings for her, and now you had made it apparent to at least two more people. “I’m not the only one who knows. Jia and Jongin know too.”

“Please, don’t say anything to anyone.” Baekhyun silently pleads, closing his eyes.

“I won’t, but you need to try to move on…”

“I know…”

[ellana-ravenwood]

“...Where is our child ?” - Wonder Woman x fem!Reader

Hey, so because I often receive messages about you guys wanting “more Wondermom” (yes, “Wondermom” became a thing) well...I’m writing this story. This is basically a part 2 of : “take care of my babies or you’ll die”, so if you didn’t read that you can if you want, so this story will make more sense and...Boom, part 2, hope you’ll like it : 

PART 1

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

The present :

You and Diana were sitting side by side on an upside down car, looking at the destruction the latest “League fight to save the World” created. 

Fortunately, everything happened after the small town where things went down was evacuated (thanks god your brother, Bruce, was always planning things so carefully and almost always managed to bring the villains where he wanted them to be, in inhabited places). But oh the destruction was still there. 

The small coffee shop that was absolutely the cutest and that made you want to sit in and drink a warm cup of brew was no more. 

The school, a school that eerily resembled the one your son used to go to, was no more.

People’s houses were gone. They all lost everything (though probably, “Wayne Enterprise” would get a new charity and give money and men to rebuild the place). All their possessions  were no more. Pictures of their families, the same kind that hung in your house, souvenirs and all...no more. 

Worst, the library and book shop right next door were no more...You sighed as you see a few pages of destroyed books fly in the wind. 

Your Diana’s arm is around your shoulder, and you cuddle closer to her as you witness the destruction you and your friends were responsible for...But hey, you saved the World again. Small sacrifices were always needed you know ? 

Still, her presence reassures you, makes you feel better. It always have. Having her beside you always made you stronger. 

Your wife’s voice startles you, as you weren’t expecting her to speak right now, in that short moment of peace after the storm :

-Remember when I said that I did NOT want our child to ever fight ? 

You smile weakly and straighten up a bit, turning your head to look at her. She smiles back at you, and you take a wild strand of her hair to put it behind her ear lovingly, brushing your fingers along her cheek, before saying : 

-Yes I do. The good old days. 

-When he wasn’t born yet and we could still hope. 

-Really, what did we expect ? He’s ours, of course he would have to fight one day...

-I just wished there was another way. That he could have had a normal life.

A loud sigh behind you makes you jump a bit and you both turn around...to be faced with your brother and his sons. 

The sigh was from the youngest, Damian and...oh God you couldn’t believe that brat was already an adult. You wished you could turn back time, to moments where he was not that giant man, but a tiny insecure boy who often came to his aunt for advices and hugs (yes, hugs. It was a secret between you and him). 

You don’t even have time to say anything as Damian begins : 

-You know, Thomas isn’t a baby anymore. He’s perfectly capable to handle himself on a battlefield. After all he’s from my...our family, there wasn’t any other way, and such an extraordinary being couldn’t have just a “normal life”. He’s important. Hell, he even saved Superman’s life today. He’s vital part of the league. And...

You roll your eyes and cut him off : 

-Yes yes I know Dami’, you told us a hundred time. 

-And yet you still baby him. You know, he just turned twenty and...

-LALALALALLALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU MY TOMMY IS STILL MY TINY SON LALALALALLALAAAAAA !! 

Diana chuckles lowly, your nephews (but Damian) full on laugh at the face their little brother is making (seriously, it could be the illustration for the word “annoyed” in the dictionary), and even your brother utter a small smile. 

Of course you know your boy isn’t a small child anymore but...you can’t help it. You can’t help but being a little bit sad and angry at yourself for ever letting him become a superhero too. You can’t help but feeling guilty about the life he’s doomed to lead. You can’t help but worry about him constantly. 

Sure, he’s twenty now but...Some things never change. 

Speaking about things that never change : 

-Wait...Where is he ? 

Bruce looks away and his sons do too, but you catch Tim’s look before he can and it’s impossible to avoid your gaze once it’s locked on something and...With a dangerous voice, you ask : 

-Spit it up Tim, my boy...Where’s our child ? 

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

The Past :

“Where is our child ?” was a sentence that was heard way too many times in the Prince-Wayne household. 

It started about a year after Thomas was born. 

The only somewhat peaceful year you had (”somewhat” because of course, you were always worried about him, and Diana had the incredibly strong fear that he would die in his sleep and oh...the entire first year, she would wake you up almost every hour of the night, by getting up from the bed to go check on him, and then coming back and pulling you into her arms...Oh and let’s not talk about the time you had to find a baby-sitter because you were both busy !). 

Yup. Things were still pretty normal for the first year. Just very worried first time parents things really. 

Besides, Bruce was a huge help, and the boys too, always around to help and support you (no one could change a diaper like Bruce, and it impressed you a lot to see that he was that skilled at it, given the fact he never had a kid that young...). He even made the effort to leave Gotham more than once just to take care of his nephew and...really, this made your heart flutter, to think that you were so important to him that he would stop watching over his (and yours) beloved city just to come and look after his baby nephew. To think that for you, and only you, he would “break” his (damn stupid) promise he made to your parents all those years ago...

Yes. Bruce helped tremendously through this first year. And everything was rather fine. 

But one morning, everything changed. 

You woke up to Diana’s screams of panic, and, half-asleep, you don’t quite remember how you managed to rush that fast from your bedroom toward your son’s ! 

But here you were, with your wife, staring at the empty bed you put your baby in the night before...

It took you only half a second to register what happened, and to enter the “detective mode” your brother taught you. 

And as Diana was completely panicking and yelling “WHERE IS OUR CHILD ?!”, you detached yourself from the situation and...observed.

It was important. To not let your feelings overwhelm you. The life of your son was on the line. 

First thing you noticed was that the blanket was gone too and that...A giggle. 

A giggle stopped you dead in your track. Followed by a “mama !” and you raise your head and...Oh boy. 

Crisis avoided. 

Your son hadn’t been abducted or anything. Nope. 

Your son was a meta-human. 

Damn. 

Here he was, his blanket still around him, flying above you and your dear wife. Giggling loudly, clapping his hand and doing flips in the air, cheerfully saying “mama” as he pointed at you and Diana. 

You can almost hear Diana’s heart calm down as she quickly flies to the ceiling and grabs your son. She holds him tight against her heart as she goes down and..is it a disappointed sigh he lets out ? Yes, it’s definitely a disappointed sigh ! He wanted to fly more ! 

He’s pouting now, pointing at the ceiling and saying “up up”. But your wife’s look stops him. Calms him.

It is full of worries. Full of uncertainty. And even a one year old boy understands that something is “up” indeed. He stops and looks curiously at his distressed mother, grabbing her cheek and rubbing it tenderly in the hope to see her smile and...it works. It always works. 

Diana turns to you with tears in her eyes and...You understand. 

Why ? What happened ? He didn’t even have one drop of blood from Diana. He was from an unknown sperm donor and you. He shouldn’t be a meta-human...And yet. Yet here he was, a one year old boy flying. 

You never knew why. Bruce made thousands of tests on him but...he never really found a reason. Maybe it was the time he resurrected you, long ago, with a Lazarus pit ? Maybe it left something in you ? You’d never have an answer. 

All you knew was that your baby was a meta-human, and that would make it even more difficult to keep him away from “the fight”. 

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

From that point, everything kinda went downhill. 

You and Diana tried. Really REALLY tried. 

You and Diana tried to keep him away from any danger for a long time. Early on, Thomas understood that he was different, and that his powers (a super force and flying...just like his mom really, which was strange) had to stay a secret. 

Diana helped him control it and...he was good at it. Hell, great. And oh so smart (that he took after you, according to your wife). 

He was the perfect mix between a Wayne and a Prince. Intelligent and strong. Observant and caring. Passionate and compassionate. Every good things about both your family ? He had. 

Unfortunately, it also meant that he was twice as stubborn than any of you and...Well, imagine someone more stubborn than Bruce, you, Diana, or even Jason or Damian ? He was the stubbornest person ever. 

To her great displeasure, Thomas actually resembled a lot Diana in his personality. He had that way about him, that need to...Do things he thought were right. Which meant that in many situations, you and your wife were like “Thomas no”, and he would be like : “Thomas yes”. 

He had that bad habit of doing things he wanted to do. It’s not that he didn’t listen to you, oh no, on the contrary, he was terrified of you and the way you’d scold him with such a calm voice. He was very respectful and polite too and wouldn’t do something that was bratty or anything but...He was also a free spirit. 

One that couldn’t stay away from helping people. 

You realized that very early on. 

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

Thomas was five when he discovered that his beloved uncle and cousins were the famed night vigilante of Gotham. 

He found out by wandering around Wayne Manor one day, a day you all had a family lunch. It’s Diana who noticed his absence first. 

-(Y/N), where is our child ? 

A search party was immediately put on. All of you knew Thomas had an unhealthy amount of curiosity that already got him in trouble a few times.  

It’s only when alarms started to ring in your brother’s pocket that you finally found him...Somehow, he had found the secret passage behind the grandmother clock in the hallway, and infiltrated the Batcave. 

-WOOOOOW ! YOU’RE THE BATMAN !! 

Is what he yelled as he ran toward his uncle. Automatically, Bruce caught him in his arms and looked at you...and oh you weren’t happy. 

Of course, it wasn’t your brother’s fault but...those days of you wishing your son would never have the kind of life you, your brother, your nephews and wife had were now annihilated. 

Now that Thomas knew the uncle he already admired so much was the Batman, and that his cousins were Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin and Robin ? He was doomed to become one of them. 

Why was he doomed ? Because even though he was just five years old, Thomas already thought that his “abilities” should be useful, and not always hidden. Even though he was just a five year old, he already had this gut feeling that there was something bigger out there ! 

Quickly, connections were made in his mind and he understood as well that his mothers were some of his actual heroes too ! Wonder Woman and (your Superhero name) ! THE GREATEST EVER ! 

You damned the day that someone gave your son such a big intelligence. The day someone decided that he’d be a genius, just like his mom and uncle...

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

The “peace” was longer than you’d thought though. 

Diana was still teaching Thomas how to use his powers, you were teaching him the things your brother taught you so many years ago (how to fight, how to observe, how to fight while observing and vice versa !). He often met with his cousins and uncle and, strangely, didn’t argue too much when they told him to stay behind, to go to bed, when they’d go and save Gotham. 

But you knew better. The only reason why your son didn’t argue is because he knew he wasn’t ready. That boy was too smart for his own good, and if he thought he could genuinely help and not be a burden, he would have been in Gotham City’s street long ago (or in Washington DC, which is where you and Diana settled in). 

But much like you and Bruce, he always planned things carefully, and he knew that now was not his time yet...

His tenth birthday arrived and the most he did was fighting against his cousins “for real”. His tenth birthday arrived and, fortunately, he wasn’t a “superhero” yet. But you could see one day he would be. 

You could see it in his eyes. The way he studied every move from you, Diana, Bruce, Tim, Jason, Dick, Damian...The way he visibly “stored” everything in his mind and all. He would be, but not now. Now wasn’t his time yet. 

***********

“His time” came when he was twelve and a half. 

It was just a regular day in Gotham really. You, Bruce and Thomas were walking down a calm street, on your way to meet with the rest of your family (your nephews were all grown up now, and gathering them all together was always quite difficult...and your wife only arrived in Gotham a few minutes ago. You were in vacation at your brother’s, while she still had to work at the museum in DC). 

Yes. It was just a regular day in Gotham. 

It’s like trouble followed you really. Screams. That’s what caught your attention. 

It was near your lunch date and when you arrived on the spot (already in costume of course), you weren’t surprised at all to find your nephews and wife already fighting. You tell Thomas to “stay put” as you and Bruce jump in the fight. 

Just some regular thugs attacking someone. 

You guys, having fun punching low life criminals, taking this lightly (after all, you were some of the most powerful and mightiest superheroes on the planet, what could some thugs could really do to you ?), almost laughing in their face but...There was one you didn’t notice. 

It wasn’t your fault you didn’t though. You got distracted. By both the fun you were having and Diana’s question. 

“Where is your child ?” she asked, and when you looked where you told Thomas to stay put to find the place empty, your heart drop. 

And so you didn’t notice one of the thugs. 

One lurking in the shadow. 

One with a gun. 

None of you have time to react when the shot is fired. Directly aimed at you. 

Bruce’s scream is desperate. Diana’s is even worst. And you close your eyes, ready for your fate. You know you don’t have time to get out of the trajectory. Besides, ever since your parents’ death...gun shots always have this freezing effect on you, reminding you too much of that dreadful night, even though you remember very little of it and...

It takes too long. Why aren’t you dead yet ? Or maybe you are and you don’t feel it ? You open one eye. Then the other and...Thomas.

Your son. 

He’s in front of you and...something falls from his hand. 

The bullet ? Your baby boy can stop bullets with his bare hand ? 

In the matter of seconds the remaining thugs are taken down by your son, who jumps from man to man expertly, getting rid of them without actually really hurting them. 

Finally, he turns to you and takes off the hood of his jacket (smart boy thought about hiding his identity...probably, even those thugs heard about the famous “Thomas Prince-Wayne”, one of the heir of the Wayne fortune). 

He stands in front of all of you, your stunned ass just staring. 

Until a surge of anger rises inside you. The worries you had a few minutes ago turn into anger and you approach your son, grabbing his shoulders and, with your harshest and yet calmest voice (the one that always gets to him and made him brush his teeth vigorously as a kid, when he didn’t want you and you “convinced him to), you say : 

-Thomas Steven Prince-Wayne ! What didn’t you understand in the words “stay put” ?

He looks at you smugly (and you can almost see a younger version of your brother...the Wayne genes were strong, after all, you looked a lot like Bruce and your son was half-Wayne and..oh he definitely took almost everything from your parts of your family, and nothing from that unknown sperm donor. Good. But still, his smug face right now was exactly the one you hated, that your brother made when he won at something when you two were younger). He says : 

-Oh I understood everything mom, it’s just...I didn’t wanna stay put. Or rather, I couldn't. That guy was going to hurt you ! 

-This is not a reason to put your life in danger and...

-This is the best reason to put my life in danger ! I saved you mom ! And I would do it again if I had to ! Sure I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop the bullet but...I’ve been practicing secretly with Damian and...oh don’t look at me like that my cousin, they would have found out one day or another, and if i’m going to be in trouble, then so will you !...Anyway I was saying, I just had to try ! I couldn’t watch you die mom ! I need you ok ? And...I’m ready. I’m ready mom. I am. I want to be like you guys. I want to help. I have to help. Please, let me help. Let me save people’s mother. Please. Just, let me. Uncle Bru...uh, I mean, Batman, tell her please ! Convince her, I know you agree with me ! 

You know how he’s feeling, and you know that if, years ago, you would have had the ability to stop bullets, you would have gladly jumped in front of your parents and...you can’t really resist can you ?

His pleading look goes between you and Diana and...You  know that’s it. You know you can’t convince him otherwise. Forbid him to go out, and he’ll sneak out without your permission. 

The best thing to do really, is to tell him : “yes”. To let him help. Because like that, you’ll always have an eye on him. At all time. Or...So you thought. 

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

So you thought, because “where is our child ?” was one of the sentence you pronounced the most. 

“Where is our child ?” He’s fighting the biggest and baddest villain on his own, because he’s too reckless, just like his moms. 

“Where is our child ?” He’s at his uncle’s house, training with his cousins. He left a note...

“Where is our child ?” At a charity gala, gaining intels on a suspicious person, he stole one of Dick’s suit. 

“Where is our child ?” hiding behind the sofa, because he doesn’t wanna do the dishes. 

“Where is our child ?” at the League’s watchtower, being formerly introduced by Damian...Oh shit, you were going to be late ! 

“Where is our child ?” flying to the stratosphere and back, just for fun, and to blow off some steam. 

“Where is our child ?” he’s making out with his date, right on the front porch. And it’s past his curfew. 

“Where is our child ?” in the middle of the battlefield, putting his life in danger to save others. 

“Where is our child ?” right there, between you and Diana, in your bed...he was afraid of the thunderstorm. 

“Where is our child ?” Thomas is in the hospital, fighting against death, after he got badly injured while doing superhero stuffs...

“Where is our child ?” he just escaped his bedroom, where you and Diana were forcing him to stay until he recovered from his injuries...Damian helped him, picked him up in the batjet, and now, they’re “purifying” Gotham’s street. 

“Where is our child ?” Grounded. In his room. Pouting. 

“Where is our child ?” ...He’s everywhere, he’s nowhere, all the time. Thomas Steven Prince-Wayne cannot stay still. He cannot ignore a cry for help. He cannot...He cannot not be like you and Diana. 

A hero. 

Someone people admired, someone people needed. 

But there were times, oh there were times where he was just your boy. Cuddling up with you on the couch, watching silly movies. Or bonding with his uncle and cousins. Enjoying his family. 

There were times where he remembered what you told him years ago : to live his life. 

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

The present : 

“Where is our child ?” was a sentence that occurred way to many time in the Prince-Wayne household. 

Like now. As the League just saved the world once again. 

You thought Thomas was with your brother, but here Bruce was, with all his sons, standing in front of you, and trying to avoid your gaze. You had just asked Tim, one of your nephew, where was your boy (that wasn’t a boy anymore) and you knew he was about to crack under your intense look when...

-Relax, I’m here mom. 

Hearing his voice instantly relaxes you and you turn around to look at your baby bo...No. He’s not a baby anymore. 

And right here, right now, faced with him, in his costume, all grown up...You know he’ll never be your baby again. 

His chiseled face is dirty from the fight, and he has a nasty cut on his shoulder...but it doesn’t seem to bother him as he walks toward you in all his glory, wearing his newly made superhero suit (he kept the family colors...red and black). And you can’t help but see the Wayne in him. Tall. Broad. Muscular. Proud. Caring. But also the Prince. Royal. Elegant. Impressive. A warrior. The best of his time. 

And he’s not your baby anymore. 

-I told them to come and find you to tell you not to worry. But I can see by your face Damian is the one who talked first...

Damian makes a very cute pouty face (that is quite hilarious to see...it’s just like the face he used to make when he was just a ten year old kid...except that now, he’s almost thirty). 

Thomas doesn’t let you or Diana answer as he says : 

-I was just checking around to make sure all threats were gone. Uncle Bruce said it was fine but..Well, I’d rather be 100% sure. No offense Uncle Bruce. 

-None taken my boy. Better be safe than sorry. 

-Exactly. That’s what you taught me. 

The fond smile your brother gives your son melts your heart but...You put your “mother cowl” back on and turns to your son, frowning. But Diana beats you to it : 

-Thomas Steven Prince-Wayne. 

It became a habit of your and of your wife, to call him by his full name before scolding or lecturing him. And you can see his eye rolling as if on their own accord, your son too used to it to resist. Your wife continues : 

-I thought that we agreed, all those years ago, that if the fight seemed desperate, you’d fly the other way. 

-I don’t remember ever agreeing to that...I remember you guys forcing me to...

-You signed the contract Tom. 

-Not willingly.

-You still signed it. If your uncle taught you anything about business, it’s the unbreakable sacred thing that a contract is ! 

Thomas rolls his eyes again, and shifts on his feet, ready to just listen to his mom’s lecture without intervening again. He turns his attention to her and cross his arm, just like you do when you’re focused on something. Diana keeps going :

-Thomas. You need to be careful. I can’t loose you. We can’t loose you.I know you’re not a child anymore, but your our child. We’ll never stop worrying and...just be more careful. Stop throwing yourself in the path of danger. 

Your son seems surprised...it’s true that, usually, his mom’s lectures are way longer. But now..it looks like she’s already done ? Is it his turn to say something ? Should he defends himself, even though he noticed the crack in his mom’s voice that he so rarely heard ? That sign that this all situation hit her more than anything ? No, he has to explain to her why he did it : 

-I had to save Superman. He’s too important and...

You have to intervene : 

-YOU’RE TOO IMPORTANT FOR GOD’S SAKE ! 

Thomas is shocked. As are the rest of your family. It’s the first time they hear you raise your voice...Usually, when you’re angry, you have that very calm toned that is terrifying and..They’re just not used to you yelling. And you add : 

-Your mother is right Thomas, we can’t loose you ok ?! I already lost so much in my life, I couldn’t handle your loss and...Listen. I’m so proud of you for what you became, I know you’re not my baby anymore but...stop...stop throwing yourself right in the mouth of the lion...stop thinking you owe anything to the World because you’re a meta-human, stop...Just...stop please...

Your son isn’t sure how to react. Lectures and scolding ? He can definitely deal with it but...his mother breaking down ? His mother that he thought invincible on the verge of crying ? Holding tightly onto his other mom’s arms as if she needs her to stay on her feet ? That, he never encountered...And so he approaches her slowly, his cape flowing in the air making him look majestic. 

He doesn’t expect you to fall into his arms, nor does he expect Diana to do the same and..When his eyes crosses his uncle, he suddenly understands. 

Yes. Yes it had been close. Very close. He almost died. Without a goodbye. He almost...disappeared forever, and he wouldn’t even had had the time to see his moms again. 

He remembers how the World turned into a mess of dust and blood, how everything surrounding his mothers were just orange fumes from the fight, from making the earth move so much. He remembers Diana running towards him desperately, and the look on her face, so scared for him...He remembers you from afar, running too, and he was glad he couldn’t see your facial expression. He remembers his uncle Bruce almost dying because he was distracted by Thomas being in grave anger. He remembers Damian jumping above the fight to come and join him, though he knew he’d be too late. He remembers Dick yelling something to the Flash, and only now understood that he was yelling at him to go save his baby cousin. He remembers Jason aiming to shoot at the one who was threatening Superman and his life, but knowing he would be too late too, not fast enough. He remembers Tim freezing, an expression of horror on his face... 

The reality of what almost happened downs on him like a tornado. So far, he was in the eye of it, calm, not realizing that he almost got annihilated. So far, all he thought about was how he saved the great Superman from an imminent death threat. He didn’t think of the consequences...but now ? He was swept away by the power of the tornado, swirled violently around by it, and understanding that he almost broke the heart of the people that counted the most for him. 

His moms. 

His uncle. 

His cousins. Hell, even Damian looks quite shaken. 

So this is why they didn’t want to come with him to “check” if there were any remnant of threat (they weren’t for sure, he just wanted to double check because that’s what Bruce taught him). He found it a bit odd at first but...they just needed time alone to process everything. They needed to calm down. 

Thomas almost died, and his death would have shattered the entire family...This is why he found his moms cuddling so close. They just needed each others comfort. Their son was still alive, somewhere with his uncle and cousins (and with whom would they trust him more to hang out with ? You knew that with Bruce, Thomas would always be safe). They needed to come down from their feelings. To process things. 

They almost lost their son. For real this time. He did put himself in danger before, but it was always by a long shot. While there ? He almost died. 

And Thomas cursed himself for understanding all that only now, as his moms were clutching at him. Thomas cursed himself for his stubborness and insensitivity. Cursed himself for only thinking about him and what he wanted...

He hugged them back. And made a himself a promise. 

He wasn’t a child anymore.

It was time to stop acting like one. 

It was time to be responsible, and to truly think more. Just like his mom and uncle Bruce taught him. 

It was time to stop with the poor impulse control. 

He wasn’t a child anymore. He had to grow up, and to stop acting so fast. He couldn’t always help it, after all, he was a lot like his mom, Diana. But it was time...Time to grow up. To truly grow up. 

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

Laying in bed besides her, your legs tangled with hers, her hands in your hair, yours around her waist, her face nuzzled in your beautiful locks...You take a deep breath. And you can feel her smile. 

It’s early. Oh so early. But you both have to get up, lots of things to do. 

But neither of you want to. 

Diana kisses the crown of your head lovingly and your arms tighten around her. None of you want to stand up. To face reality. 

It’s not your jobs, or obligations or such that make you not wanna stand up. But the fact that...Your boy is gone. 

Well, that’s ominous sounding. Your boy moved out would be better. 

Yesterday. He moved out to his own apartment. In Gotham at that. It wasn’t that far but...still. 

But you have to get up. And, lazily, you do. You both sit on your side of the bed, one hand still in each others, fingers locked. But you have to let go as you two stand up. Only for a moment though, as Diana is back at your side in no time, her arms around your shoulders, yours around her waist, as you walk toward the kitchen. 

Thomas always thought it was cute and funny, how you wouldn’t let go of each other until you both got your first cup of coffee...The thought of your son makes your heart tighten. 

It’s the end of an era. Your boy is all grown up. 

“Where is our child ?” was going to slowly disappear (which wasn’t that bad really), as he was on living his own life and...Here. 

Your child was here. Flying behind the kitchen window. In his superhero costume. Holding a bag. 

You open the window and he comes in, explaining that he was just dropping bad and that he brought coffee and donuts and...You smile. 

But of course. 

It’s not because he wasn’t a child anymore, that he would stop being your child.

He would always come back to you, and you and Diana would always worry about him. From day one you worried. Hell, Diana even worried before he was born (oh remembering your doctors appointment was something...it was funny now, but at the moment, you would have killed her). 

He wasn’t a child anymore, but he was your child, forever. 

_______________________

This is a complete mess. It doesn’t make sense, it’s too fast and too slow at the same time. Sorry I made you wait so long for such a shitty story yo...I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, I have such difficulties to write decent stories and uh. Just sorry. I tried...Might delete (for real this time) because this is a huge fail. 

[thewritenerd]

Victor and Adam: NaNoWriMo Day 4

In fact the whole place seemed mismatched. Like someone had just found a bunch of furniture and decorations in a charity shop, bought the lot and said that’ll do. ‘Hey guy’s.’ Chelsea called over waving franticly. ‘Adam’s joining us.’ Nate explained as he sat himself down in the teal chair. Chelsea’s grin widened. ‘That’s great.’ Adam nodded and took a seat in the red chair. The three of them ordered their lunches, which came with a free dog biscuit for Bongo who was tied up outside. When Nate popped out to give him his treat Chelsea turned to Adam and said. ‘So any luck with solving your little mystery?’ ve asked. ‘What? Oh no not really. I’ve been busy. You know with school.’ Chelsea rolled ver eyes. ‘You Adam Frankenstein are a certified nerd.’ For a moment ve looked thoughtful before shrugging. ‘Must run in the family.’ ‘Oh ha ha.’ ‘But seriously how can you not think finding out more is more important than studying different types of rock.’ ‘Actually we’re studying population growth at the moment.’ Chelsea shook ver head. ‘You know what I mean.’ ‘Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I didn’t see who it was and I haven’t seen anyone since. And I’ve been going to the ruins every chance I get. There’s been nothing.’ 

‘What are you two talking about?’ Nate asked returned to the table. ‘Oh we’re just talking about Adam’s mystery man.’ Nate rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know why you two are still making a deal out of that. It was probably just some drunk dude who got lost.’ ‘Well he didn’t sound drunk.’ Adam muttered. Though truth be told he wasn’t entirely sure what a drunk person sounded like. ‘Well there’s no point talking about it. Whoever it was clearly hasn’t come back.’ Nate reasoned taking a sip of his drink. Adam wanted to keep talking but Chelsea shot him a warning look so instead he turned to his salad. ‘So Adam what’s your verdict on school? Now that you’ve had a week to experience it.’ Chelsea asked. Nate raised an eyebrow at ver. ‘What I’m just curious,’ ne shrugged. For a moment Adam didn’t speak. What did he think of school? He knew he didn’t like English, words were hard, or history or religious studies. He liked maths, and he had mixed feelings about science. His dad had insisted he take all three sciences, but physics was the only one Adam felt he was any good at. He spent most of Art and IT messing around though he did like doing line sketches. He’d been banned from using the pottery wheel after pressing so hard on the peddle it had broken. Then there was the people. Miss Nakajima was nice, as was his geography teacher and his physics teacher seemed to have picked him out as one of his favourites. His chemistry teacher didn’t seem to like him but then again she seemed like the kind of person who hated kids in general. But the other teachers seemed to ignore him. Sometimes so much so he had taken to asking Nate or Chelsea or even Shreya in the two lessons they had together for help. He knew they were ignoring him because they would look right at him with his hand raised, and he wasn’t exactly easy to overlook. Then there was Jouko who had decided he really didn’t like Adam. He wasn’t so bad in maths but everywhere else… ‘It’s fine.’ Adam eventually replied. ‘I like physics.’ He added quickly. Chelsea scoffed. ‘Of course you do. You’re Mr Keen‘s favourite. I mean I’m surprised all the science teachers don’t love you you’re a living experiment.’ Adam shrugged. ‘Well I’m not a chemistry experiment which is probably why Mrs Newell doesn’t like me.’ He joked. ‘Honestly I thought you’d be the exception for her.’ Nate joked. ‘You gonna eat those?’ he added pointing to the small cubes of hard bread Adam had left at the bottom of his bowl. He shook his head and handed the bowl to Nate. ‘Thanks.’ He began eating them one at a time. Chelsea rolled ver eyes at him but didn’t look up from ver phone. ‘So Adam got any plans for the rest of the day? Cause Nate and I were going to the cinema. After Nate’s dropped Bongo back home of course.’ Adam shook his head. ‘No I was just going to go home and… Well I hadn’t decided what I was going to do next.’ ‘Well then come with us. In fact you can choose. I want to see a horror film. But Nate wants to see this new spy flick. Which one do you want to see?’ Adam shrugged. The only films he’d seen so far were a few black and white comedies Igor liked and that film about a girl who found a magic door he’d found on tv one day. ‘We could flip a coin.’ He suggested. ‘Sounds good to me,’ Chelsea said pulling a coin from ver pocket. ‘Hey Nate heads or tails?’ ‘Uh heads?’ Chelsea threw the coin in the air caught it and slammed it down on the back of her other hand. ‘Tails I win. We’re watching my choice.’ Nate sighed and stood up. ‘Fine. But we need to get going if I’m going to drop Bongo off in time.’

***

It was decided that while Nate went home Chelsea and Adam would get the snacks for the cinema. They were trying to decide whether to get popcorn or crisps when out of the corner of his eye Adam noticed a woman standing not too far away glaring at him. At first he wondered if he knew her, but she didn’t look familiar. ‘Can we help you?’ Chelsea called having looked round and also spotted the woman. The woman raised her eyebrow and scoffed. ‘Well I don’t know, are you with…’ She gestured to Adam. Chelsea and Adam exchanged glances neither sure what this lady was getting at. ‘Uh yeah.’ Chelsea eventually replied. The lady gave her a smile that didn’t look either friendly or happy. ‘Really? All by yourself? Are you sure that’s safe. I mean.’ She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. ‘I don’t think it should even be out in public.’ For a moment the two of them just stared at her unsure what to say. ‘Umm what?’ Chelsea eventually asked laughing. ‘Lady we’re just buying snacks.’ ne turned to Adam. ‘Do you know her?’ Adam shook his head. No he didn’t know her. But he was used to strangers not liking him. But none of them had been as forward as this person. ‘Well didn’t you hear about what that thing did.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘Why that poor family I can’t imagine the grief. Honestly that thing should have been destroyed. I mean all this nonsense about…’ She never got to finish her sentence because she was interrupted by Chelsea admitting an inhuman screech and giving her a hard shove. ‘How dare you!’ ve screamed. ‘How dare you speak about him like that. Adam is my friend. Not only that but he’s a human fucking being. A human child at that.’ Ve spat. The woman was shaking with rage. ‘That thing is no human. It’s a monster.’ There was that word again. Monster. It rang in Adam’s ears like an alarm, repeating continuously long after it had been spoken. Adam didn’t hear the rest of the argument. He didn’t hear anything at all. All he could think was how he had to get out of there. Not really thinking about what he was doing he dropped the pack of coke cans he’d been holding and started walking towards the exit. Though walking was slow and difficult with his legs shaking so much. And the fact the world wouldn’t stop spinning didn’t help. In fact truth be told he felt a little bit nauseas. And were the bottoms of his trousers wet? When had that happened? Once he’d reached the doors he just kept walking not really sure where he was going. Was he going anywhere? He didn’t even notice Chelsea calling his name and running after him until he almost stood on ver. ‘Oh sorry Chelsea.’ Ve shook ver head. ‘It’s fine. Are you okay?’ Adam opened his mouth to speak but another wave of nausea hit him and he closed it again. Chelsea frowned looking concerned. ‘Hey don’t listen to that bat. Okay? She’s an ass just looking to cause trouble.’ Then ve reached out and tugged on his arm. ‘Come on let’s go find Nate.’ But Adam just stood where he was. ‘She knew,’ he muttered. ‘She knew about… What I did…’ Chelsea frowned. ‘Adam what are you talking about?’ But he couldn’t say it. No if he told nem the truth ne would see him no differently than that woman did. And then another thought hit him. How many other people knew? Did his teachers? Was that why they avoided him? ‘I didn’t mean to.’ He whispered not realising he was speaking out loud. ‘Didn’t mean to what? Adam!?’ but Adam ignore his friend instead walking away again. ‘I’m going home. I. I don’t feel well.’ He hoped he sounded convincing. It wasn’t quite a lie but he wasn’t very experienced in telling half-truths. Chelsea raced to catch up with him. ‘Hey if you don’t want to go see a film that’s fine. Maybe we could go back to your place and hang there?’ Adam stopped. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Yeah. Look I can’t just let one of my best friends go off alone when their upset without at least trying to cheer them up.’ ‘I’m one of your best friends? You’ve only known me a week.’ Chelsea shrugged. ‘Hey it’s not like I have a lot of options.’ This made Adam laugh. Just a little but it felt nice. ‘See I’m exactly what you need when you’re feeling down.’ ‘Okay I’ll give Igor a call and tell him about the change of plans.’ While they walked to the cinema where they were supposed to be meeting Nate Adam rang home. Igor picked up fairly quickly and seemed fine with the idea of having two surprise guests. ‘My my first Victor now you. We are popular today.’ He chuckled. ‘Wait what do you mean first dad?’ ‘Oh nothing. Just your father had an old school pal pop round for a chat while we were out.’

[my-emotional-self]

Let Me Protect You Part 2 Chapter 6/?

Pairings: Chris Evans x OFC Emilia

Word Count: 1,118

Warnings: Mild Angst, Feelings of Worthlessness

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Now that Chris and Emilia have established their relationship, she moves into his house after her brother decides to live in New York. Emilia is in bliss, thinking maybe her life will finally be at peace.  But are things always that easy in Emilia’s life?

 The next morning, you woke up early, not being able to sleep; your mind in a constant panic over what the articles would say about you and Chris, specifically you.  Chris was still passed out, Dodger lying at his feet on the bed.  Smiling softly, you quietly get out of bed, grabbing your phone, and doing your morning duties in the bathroom.

Taking a seat on the couch, you pull up in the internet on your phone, and type in “Chris Evans” in the search bar.  Dozens of articles appeared on the screen, many of them talking about your trip to Disneyland.  Inwardly groaning, you decided to click on the TMZ article at the top.  

Chris Evans And His New Girlfriend Spend The Day At Disneyland

It appears that our celebrity hero, Captain America himself Chris Evans spent the day at Disneyland yesterday, and he was not alone.  Our sources say he was seen holding hands and canoodling who appeared to be the same woman who was seen with him in Boston over the holidays.  No one has yet to figure out who his mystery lady is.  

*His rep was not reached in time for a comment*

“Ok, that wasn’t so bad” you softly spoke aloud.  Your heart rate increased speed as you saw just how many comments were left under the article.  Internally battling, you didn’t know what to do.  Chris always told you not to bother reading comments or any news article about him that he hasn’t given an interview for.  He said they also warp things into sounding bad; and that the comments would most likely hurt.  But you had to know; you had to know what people thought of you.  You were dating someone in the spotlight.  If this kept up for years, sooner or later, you would probably be attending shows and functions with Chris.  

Taking a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds, you let it out as you pressed comments.

You regretted it instantly. Almost everything that was said hurt you; hurt you to your core.  

THAT’S the person he’s dating?

She’s not even pretty.

She doesn’t look good enough for him.

He could do so much better.

She’s actually pretty.  Good for him.

It wouldn’t hurt her to shed a few pounds.

Leave her alone guys, let them enjoy their time together.

Minka was way better.  He needs to go back to her.

Where did he find this chick?

He deserves better!  

Your heart shattered as you read down the list of comments.  Most of them hated you.  Is this how Chris felt about you too?  Did he really love you, or was him dating you just a charity case?  Tears streamed down your face as you quietly sobbed, not wanting to wake up Chris, or for him to know that you read these articles.  

Closing out your phone, you threw it onto the couch beside you.  You felt completely worthless.  Worthless of Chris’ love, of anybody’s love.  Everyone was right, he deserved so much better than you.  But you had nowhere to go.  No, you would stick this out until he was the one to ultimately end things; which you were positive he would at some point.  Maybe you could move back home, or even go to New York. Eric would take you in again…right?

The toilet flushing broke you from your thoughts as you quickly dried your tear stained face. Dodger came padding down the stairs and straight for you, giving you kisses on your face.  You giggled at him; Dodger always knew how to make you feel better. It was just a gift that dogs had.

Chris came down the stairs and spotted you right away.  He padded over to you and you smiled when you saw him.  Even with bed hair and just waking up, he was still the most perfect man you had ever witnessed in your life; and for now, and who knows how much longer, he was yours.  

He bent down to give you a kiss, “You’re up early” he stated.  Shrugging back, “Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

“Everything alright?” he asked you, his eyes showing concern.  You smile back, showing him you were fine.  “Yes Chris, everything is great.”

“Glad to hear.  So I have a meeting this afternoon with my agent. Shouldn’t take too long” he said while he made his way to the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee.  

Perfect!  That gave you time to run out and get his Valentine’s Day present seeing as it was tomorrow and only one thing came to mind.

As Chris left for his meeting with his agent, you got into your Jeep and went to the best lingerie shop in the city.  

You felt really out of place as you walked into the shop; everyone looked like runway models there! And here you were, in your frumpy t-shirt and ripped jeans.  You ambled around the shop until you found the perfect set!  It was a babydoll top in a navy blue color; the bodice was full lace. After trying it on, you knew it was the one.  The bottom barely covered your ass and it came with a thong.  Since Chris was an ass-man, you knew his tongue would roll out just looking at it.  

You needed to amp up your game, and go even further.  The paranoia was really sinking in that one day Chris would leave you for someone prettier, someone more beautiful, someone normal.

~~~

“Do you really think we need to go public with this? Already?” Chris asked as he sat across the desk from his agent.  “You’ve already been seen with her in public back home in Boston, and now at Disneyland. My phone is ringing off the hook wanting to know who you are dating.  It’s totally up to you if you want to go public with your relationship. I’m just giving you advice here” his agent replied sternly.  

“Yeah, umm, alright. I’ll talk to her this weekend sometime” Chris stated, letting out a frustrated sigh.  He knew at some point he would need to take your relationship public, but not this soon.  Sometimes he went a full year before being able to go public.  He liked his private life, and he definitely didn’t want to overwhelm you so soon.  Things seemed a bit off with you lately and he wanted to get to the bottom of it before going public.  He wasn’t embarrassed or anything by you, not by a long shot.  He loved you with every fiber of his body; he never felt this way about anyone before.  All he wanted to do was protect you from the cruel world he knew was out there.  

A/N: I’m SO sorry that was a short chapter guys!  I will make it up to you in the next couple, I promise!!!

Tag List: @iamwarrenspeace @ssweet-empowerment @always-an-evans-addict @patzammit @tacohead13 @littlemissacorn @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @potterhead1265 @miss-cap21 @valentinesbird @thedoctorscamanion @captainamerica-ce

[lubdubsworld]

Amor Vincit Omnia ( Yoongi/Oc)

Chapter 9.

About a week after he was shot, Yoongi and I fell into a sort of routine. I learned to stay away from him when he was working and he pretty much left me alone. He wasn't a cranky patient , instead he did his best to help me out when he could. i assumed he must've had a word with Hye Mi because she did not call him or come home again. It wasn't really my business anyway, or so I told myself. The hurt was still there and I did feel a bit resentful, doing everything for him, knowing all his affections lay with the other woman. But then, my work on the pottery studio kept me busy as well so I didn't think too much about it. whatever it was between us, it worked better when we did not talk to each other.

about ten days later, the doctor visited us at the penthouse and gave Yoongi a clean bill of health . He also got rid of his sling and my husband was ecstatic.

"The timing is perfect. Jimin and Taehyung just got back from the Milan Fashion Week and they're throwing a charity event tonight. Jimin said he'd drop by later to see you guys." Seokjin grinned. He had tagged along with the doctor, to get the final documents for the studio signed.

I waited, wondering if Yoongi would be able to sign the papers without hurting his hand when he casually flipped through the pages, nodded and then slid them across the table to me.

"I..Me?" I squeaked.

He raised an eyebrow.

"It is your studio." He said simply.

I stared at the file in trembling disbelief, my heart stopping when I noticed that the deed had been made to my name. It took me a moment to realize that his name really wasn't mentioned anywhere. Even if we were to break-up or ...anything, I would still own the studio.

He must've seen the look of utter panic on my face, because he stood up and walked over to me, lightly touching my shoulder.

"Don't over think it. Just sign." His voice was soothing and I picked up the pen with trembling hands, inking my signature shakily. I glanced at him and he gave me one of his rare, genuine smiles.

And I was lost.

"Well, that's done , then. We can probably start setting up the studio from tomorrow. I'll pick you up in the evening, Ji Soo?" Seokjin smiled and I nodded.

Once he left, I stood for a few minutes, just steadying my breath. Yoongi was back in his study and I went and stood near the door, nervously shifting from foot to foot. I didn't know what to say but it seemed very awful not to say anything to a man who had literally just dropped a few million dollars on my head.

"Is something wrong?" He asked briskly, without looking up from the computer. I jumped a little.

"Uh. No. I..Just... What would you like for dinner?" I said stupidly.

He looked up from the computer.

"Didn't you hear Seokjin? We're going out for Jimin and Taehyng's Charity event tonight.... " He frowned and I mentally kicked myself.

Just say, thank you for doing this for me, I screamed internally but my tongue really wouldn't function.

Finally I flushed and bowed awkwardly and shuffled out of the place quickly.

What the hell was wrong with me?!!

"Ji Soo..." His voice nearly knocked me down and I all but ran back to the door.

"Yeah?" I said breathlessly.

He looked a little awkward as he rubbed the back of his head and stood up. I watched him as he moved to one of the oak cupboards in the corner and pulled out a couple of boxes.

"These are just stuff that ...well....stuff I bought for your studio. You don't really have to use them..but if you like..you can..." He shrugged and I stood there slightly slack jawed.

"Thank you..I'm..I mean.. Thank you so much. For everything." I said keeping my eyes fixed right on him but he looked away at once.

"It's nothing... Just... Do a good job. " He shrugged and went back to the computer.

It was a silent dismissal and I slowly went back to our bedroom. I wanted to open the package and see it at once, but my heart was pounding too much, there was sweat gathering in my forehead and good God, I was genuinely in trouble.

I couldn't start having feelings for  my husband , i really couldn't. it would be emotional suicide of the worst sort.

After a few calming breaths, I made to open the gift boxes when the door bell rang.

Damn it!!

But I slid the boxes into my cupboard , fixed my hair and went to the door,  smiling when i found a grinning Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, looking tired but hyper as always.

They carried huge boxes and I laughed when Taehyung grabbed me around the waist , lightly tossing me around . He was very physical in his affections and while it had freaked me out considerably at first, I was pretty much used to it right now.

Jimin gave me one of his airy-fairy kisses and looked me up and down critically.

"i think..I got your size right. But it's best if you try this on right now..." He said swiftly, thrusting a box into my hand.

"What is this?" I said surprised.

"Only the most expensive couture dress in Seoul.." Taehyung laughed and then he waved." Hi Yoongi hyung..." He said cheerfully and I felt sudden heat on my back when I realized Yoongi was standing right behind me. Very close. Too close. I could lean an inch back and would hit his chest.

So of course I leaned forward and edged away.

"It's..expensive?" I looked at Yoongi in confusion and he shrugged.

"Jimin gifts us clothes for his Charity every year. It's a sort of a tradition. Did you get me the Dior Suit i asked you for?" Yoongi said casually and Jimin grinned, handing the box over to Yoongi.

"One of a kind and expensive as hell. Just like you hyung." He winked and Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"You should try the dress on , right now...Here, look at it." Taehyung led me to the couch and slowly took the dress out of the box . I stared at it in genuine admiration. It was Gorgeous, a champagne colored gown with a cowl neckline and capped sleeves, the fabric shimmery like water rippling in sunlight. But my heart clenched when I saw the thigh high slit. I couldn't wear something that showed my thighs.

Or more specifically, the scars on my thighs.

I bit my lips, not sure what to do, when Yoongi stepped in casually.

"The color won't go with my suit, will it? Besides , she doesn't really wear short dresses.  Get her something else. Did you bring your portfolio?" He said swiftly. Jimin frowned but pulled out a tab and handed it to Yoongi.

Yoongi immediately passed it on to me and both Taehyung and Jimin exchanged looks.  

"Pick one of these, then." He said impatiently turning away to take his box back into the bedroom.

"Wow. It's rare, seeing Yoongi hyung like this..." Jimin said and chuckled.

"Like what? " I said confusedly and they both shook their head.

Well, okay then.

I flicked through the gowns and finally chose another champagne colored gown with an empire waistline and a beaded bodice. The dress sparkled prettily and Jimin smiled.

"One of my favorites. I'll have it sent to you in an hour or so. By the way, I'll also send in my stylist. You guys need to look your best tonight. " He winked.

"You look fine. Come out fast!" Yoongi's voice was impatient from the other side of our bedroom and i looked pleadingly at the stylist , who was adding the last few touches to my make-up.

"Almost done, Mrs. Min." She said nervously and I stared at myself in the mirror. I'm pretty sure I'd never looked prettier, including the day I got married. But Jimin's stylist was a perfectionist and she pretty much wanted fix every micro-mini flaw ( real and imagined ) in my face.

I wasn't complaining. I'd always liked dressing up.

The knot in my stomach was for quite a different reason.

The last time we'd gone out, Yoongi had pretty much abandoned me in the crowd. I'd ended up assaulted by that guy..( Wu Yifan?) . Of course, Yoongi still didn't know that had happened, but i couldn't help worry he might do it again. Leave me flailing in a sea full of unfamiliar faces.

"Two minutes or I'm leaving without you..." He snapped.

The stylist laughed and I stared at her in disbelief.

"You're laughing? He's furious." I whispered.

She shook her head.

"Oh, all husbands are the same. He's just behaving the way any husband would."

That made me genuinely pause. Yoongi wasn't really my husband though was he?

When I finally stepped out , i had a momentary disconnect from my body as i stared at him.

Min Yoongi in a suit looked like something straight out of one of my pre-marriage fantasies. My throat went dry as I stared at him. He gave me barely more than a cursory glance before moving to the door and holding it open for me.

"Hurry up, the Chauffeurs' waiting."

I followed him, only stumbling a little on the soft carpet. He gave me a glance but didn't offer an arm . Once we got into the car and started , I couldn't keep in the question that had been bothering me for a really long time.

"How did...How did you know I didn't wear short dresses?" I said nervously. He gave me a look and sighed.

He didn't reply for a while.

Finally, just when I gave up waiting for him to answer ,

"The night I brought you home from the hospital, I had to... change you into your clothes. I... I noticed some of the scars on your legs." He stared out of the window, voice rough.

I blushed and sank into the seat, feeling horribly, horribly embarrassed. I could tell that I'd made him very uncomfortable as well.  

"I'm very sorry about all of that." I said stiltedly.

He turned to give me a look.

"I'm sorry too. " He said softly.

"You don't have to be-"

"Sorry that I can't kill your father all over again. "

And that was that. He didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride, answering my questions with just hums.

When we reached the hotel, I couldn't help but stare. It was the most expensive place in all of Seoul and I went a little dizzy staring at the elaborate decorations, quadrillion stalls and buffets and souvenir shops. There were ballot booths up on the entrance and suddenly, my curiosity couldn't be contained. I'd never been to a place with so many different booths and attractions. As I watched, a couple used some of the props to take pictures of themselves. They looked so much in love, the lady laughing as she leaned into her husband's embrace while he kissed the top of her head

"I... can't we go see those?" I said pleadingly and Yoongi gave me a look of disbelief.

"Do you even know what my reputation is? That's for teenage girls in pink. Keep quiet and follow me." He snapped. I sobered up at once, regretting my momentary loss of composure. He was right. He was the CEO of Bangtan, not a teenager out on a date with his ditzy girlfriend.

But suddenly, I wondered how it may have been if I'd met him when we were both teenagers. My heart ached a bit. No doubt I would have fallen in love with him and no doubt he would have thought me a nuisance. Not very different from the present really.

The ball room where the Event was taking place was massive, filled with people dressed to the nines.

"everyone wants a piece of Bangtan.." Namjoon commented bitterly, offering me a glass of champagne. " hi guys..This is Mia. Mia, This is Yoon Gi and his lovely wife Ji Soo."

A bored looking female hung on to his arm, giving my husband a lingering glance when he smiled at her politely. I stepped a bit closer to him, rather childishly. I almost glared at her but managed to arrange my features in a smile.

"Hi." I said politely but she looked right over me.

Namjoon took my hand and placed it on his arm before dropping a friendly kiss on my cheek.

"You look breathtaking by the way, Ji soo.  Yoongi is going to have a hard time fighting guys off tonight." Nam Joon grinned.

Yoongi looked pissed.

"I just saw that you've included her name in the Date for the Night auction. Do you want to die?" He hissed. Nam Joon rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry boss, I'll buy her myself." He winked at me and I felt foreboding rise inside me.

"You better. Tell the rest of them too. If someone else comes near her, I'll shoot you down, you bastard." Yoongi said coldly. Nam Joon's smile faltered for a second.

"Fine. fine. Ji Soo, why don't you come with me, I'll show you around the place. Yoongi could you take Mia out for some lemonade, there's a stand outside."

I wanted to protest something fierce when my husband moved out of my arms and took Mia's hand, the latter looking like she'd won a lottery. But all i could do was smile numbly when Yoongi gave me a curt nod and left without a backward glance.

By all logic, I should be glad. I had wanted to look around the place, after all. But i couldn't keep the bitter feeling of disappointment out of my mind. I would have liked it better if I'd done the exploring with my husband.

"Stop looking so upset. I'm hurt." Namjoon said with a half smile and I immediately straightened, regretfully. I was being rude.

"Thank you so much. I was actually really looking forward to seeing all these booths. They look fascinating." I smiled genuinely and his face lights up.

"your wish is my command. And you're right. Jimin's really out-done himself this time. Him and Taehyung planned the whole thing. " He sounded like a proud father and i grinned at him.

"it's amazing. Where are they by the way?"

" busy with some last minute things, don't worry. They'll meet up with us later. You want to try shooting some hoops?" He grinned back.

"What's that?" I asked confused.

He looked at me with disbelief.

"This won't do. Come along." He took my wrists lightly and led me to the nearest booth.

An hour later I was completely exhausted from laughing and walking around, Namjoon's witty banter keeping me in splits most of the time. He was incredibly polite and friendly and any of the awkwardness I may have felt for him was completely gone. We took photos with ornate masks and had our names engraved in little grains of rice, later framed in a small liquid filled jar.

I got one made for Yoongi with the words "For better or for worse" in a black framed container. Namjoon didn't bat an eyelash and paid for it all, ignoring my protests.

"Don't worry about the money. I'll collect from Yoongi later. Or you could repay me with a free pottery class, when you can." He winked and I laughed. After picking out a couple of stuffed toys at one of those toy machines, I spotted a mom with two toddlers near the lawn and handed the dolls to the kids. They seemed pretty happy and I felt an awful sort of longing as I stared at the babies.

We were stopped as music began from the inside.  Namjoon glanced at his watch and indicated that we should get back inside.

As I stepped into the ballroom however , there was a roar of sound. i blinked, catching sight of Yoongi in the distance. Mia was still hanging on to his arm and there was bit of a commotion up front.

"What's going on?" I said nervously.

"Oh..it's called the date for the night auction. Don't worry, Ji Soo. You'll just have to stand there with the rest of the ladies who've been nominated. Once your turn comes one of us will make a contribution to Jimin's charity in return for which you'd have to spend the evening with us. I'm sorry but the last girl we chose was such a pian in the neck and we're always expected to choose one. i thought it would be fun if we got to choose you. At least we like you." He said with a little smile and I felt horribly nervous.

"I just have to stand there right?" I said nervously.

There turned out to be a raised platform on the stage in front , occupied by seven other women all looking incredibly beautiful. I just stood there, feeling like an idiot as cameras rolled all around us. All the guests sat around round tables with elaborate flower arrangements and the men were cheering enthusiastically.  My nerves began to splinter, ugly flashbacks of my debutante ball surfacing as I tried to look for a familiar face in the crowd.

It wasn't hard, Yoongi and rest of Bangtan were sitting right up front . My husband stared straight ahead, a look of stone displeasure on his face and i realized he really didn't want me up here. No doubt he was afraid I'd embarass him somehow. Biting my lips in worry I tried to smile.

Suddenly, Jimin's voice came from the left of the podium and I watched d as he grabbed a microphone greeting everyone enthusiastically.

"Thank you so much, everyone for making it tonight. there's wine, there's beauty and there's plenty of love in the air. Tonight is a night to indulge but let's not forget to do our bit for the world. With that being said, the Date for the night auction will begin shortly. Men, keep your wallets open, contribute to a good cause and in return have the chance to wine and dine with one of the lovely young ladies we have here tongiht. to make things interesting, as the organizers ,  Bangtan will be withdrawing from the auction..." There was a collective roar of approval .

But my heart dropped to my knees.

I glanced at my husband who looked like he'd taken a punch to his gut.

"So all you wonderful guys, you can have your pick of the..." Jimin stopped , hesitating when he caught sight of me on the podium and he immediately glanced back at Yoongi, clearly wondering why I was up there. Namjoon looked pale as parchment while a Seokjin , Jung Kook and Hoseok glanced at Yoongi uncomfortably, as though waiting for him to explode. My husband didn't, his only change in demeanor indicated by the way he was drumming his fingers against his knees.

It was a relatively tame affair, with each woman being picked out after one or two bids.

When my name got called, however there was a definite change in the air. Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

"Opening bid...30,000,000 Won." Jimin read in confusion and I could see his eyes widen in genuine disbelief. That was a lot of money. " To Mr. Kwon Ji Young. " He finished .

I felt my body begin to tremble in genuine nervousness. I didn't want to do this.  I wanted to run off the stage.

I stared beseechingly at my husband who sighed and ran a hand over his face. He nodded his head determinedly and then said something to Jung Kook who immediately nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Yoongi turned back to me and gave a small thumbs up.

It's okay,  he mouthed and I tried to relax. He was here. Of course he was here. No one could hurt me. He was right here, I tried to tell myself. But my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"50,000,000 Won. Wu Yifan ." Came another voice from the crowd suddenly and I flinched at the scarily familiar tone.

Wu Yifan.

I couldn't stand here, I thought in desperation. i had to get off before I vomited all over the podium. I didn't want to stand somewhere anyone could see me. I wanted to hide. I glanced at Yoongi again and he held his fingers up, pointing them in a V at his eye.

Look at me, nowhere else.

I nodded, my throat dry as I struggled to gain my composure. He smiled then, an odd smile that transformed his face. No anger, no disappointment. Just Him. I bit my lower lip as I continued to stare at him and he grinned wider

I'm here, he mouthed.

I nodded lightly.

Don't worry, he mouthed again.

"60,000,000 Won. To Kang Dae Sung ." A voice came out.

Afterwards, I tuned out everything else, didn't even bother listening. I kept staring at Yoongi while he looked back at me.

It was the most profound moment of my life, the way he looked at me. I stared at him and suddenly i knew, without a doubt that this was the man I was going to think of for the rest of my life anytime someone said the phrase ' that special someone '.

Maybe I didn't Know  him completely now, but I was going to . I knew without a doubt that I was going to let him hurt me, because that was what he did . I was going to let him shatter my heart to smithereens because how else did stories like this end?

i stared at him and he really didn't look away. It amazed me. A few months ago we were strangers . But now..now.. I had a house. A family, i thought fondly, looking around at the seven rich and successful men who were so humble , loyal and friendly. Maybe he didn't like me as much as I liked him but he didn't hate me.  

His handsome face broke into a little laugh and he shook his head fondly and slowly , i felt the nervousness seep out of me. I found myself smiling back.

He really didn't hate me.

Why else would he be helping a wife who had a million hang-ups about a zillion things. He could've ignored me now. No one would blame him. i wasn't the only woman here. He could have thought, ' let her deal with it' but he didn't. He was holding my gaze, offering me comfort with just that steady firm look of his.

Offering me comfort the way he knew to.

Oh, God...I was going to fall in love with him and destroy myself in the process, I thought helplessly.

And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

"And at a whopping 250,000,000 Won, to Mr. Kwon Jiyong for the night. Mrs. Min Ji Soo."

Someone came to escort me off the stage and and I stepped down without a word. A second later a slim man in an expensive suit took my hand and walked me over to his table. I glanced helplessly at Yoongi but he was smiling.

"Don't worry Mrs. Min. I'll take you back to your husband in just a minute. I was just doing him a favor. You'll be in safe hands till then." Ji Young said politely and I nodded gratefully. It suddenly made sense. Yoongi had asked Ji Young to bid on me in his place. Relief flooded through me and I relaxed completely. Ji Young introduced me to his wife, Dara and his friends.

Once the auction came to an end, everyone began to move and I glanced up to find Yoongi grinning down at me. He reached out and to my utter surprise, wrapped his fingers with mine and yanked me close, arm coming around me in natural intimacy. My brain stopped functioning at the proximity, the way his scent clouded my senses and made my stomach clench. Heat began pooling in the pit of my stomach, a very pronounced cramp. It was such a new and unfamiliar feeling I couldn't think straight.

To make matters worse, he pulled me closer till my shoulder brushed the soft fabric of his shirt, and he bent down till his breath touched the edge of my ear, warm and soft.

"You looked like we were selling you off to a prostitution ring or something." He whispered , sounding very amused. There was laughter in his voice and I felt my heart clench. I'd never heard him laughing. It was the most beautiful thing on the planet.

the rest of the night went pretty much uneventfully. But I couldn't help but fall in love , not just with my husband but with the rest of them as well.

Taehyung and his endless energy, Jimin and his sassy back talk that his hyungs put up with. Jung Kook who behaved like the oldest and not the youngest and Hobi's way of turning the simplest thing into a laugh-fest. Seok-jin, Nam Joon and Yoongi were the patient ones, grounded and generally moderating their rowdy friends before they went overboard.

Together, lounging in their expensive coats and suits, flashy watches and that air of power practically oozing out of them , it suddenly made sense that these guys were the most sought after men in Korea.

and I was married to the grumpiest of them.

I'm pretty sure that shouldn't have brought a smile to my face.

But that's exactly what it did.

[losille2000]

A Saving Grace, Chapter 4

TITLE: A Saving Grace CHAPTER NUMBER: 4/? + Prologue AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Henry/CHARACTER: Actor!Henry GENRE: Drama/Romance FIC SUMMARY: All press is good press, right? Not if you ask Henry Cavill. After recordings from a disastrous interview go viral, Henry’s life begins to crumble around him. He has no idea how to stop it from happening. Fortunately, he has a new assistant who could be his saving Grace. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: None yet. AUTHORS NOTES: Enjoy!

Chapters: Prologue - 1 - 2 - 3 . Also on AO3!

Chapter 4

After the tour of Henry’s palatial house, Kal following close at their heels, they ended up in the office to concentrate on some real work. Grace was still unsure as to what she needed to do, but was grateful to find that she had her own desk in the large room, off in a quiet corner. Henry’s desk sat in the middle, one of those huge oak desks with intricate carvings that probably cost more than her car. Okay, maybe that wasn’t hard. Her car was a piece of shit and in the shop again, hence being reduced to an Uber ride from her next-door neighbor. Still, it was impressively sized, the offhanded comment that he was compensating for something playing at her lips.

She carefully reined in the urge to put a voice to it. Instead, and probably more troublesome, she thought frivolously about how it was one of those big, sturdy desks perfect for fucking if he were so inclined. But she wasn’t going to put a voice to that, either. In fact, she was going to completely forget about it and shove the thought out of her head, as unacceptable as it was.

Henry sat down in the chair behind his desk like it was a velvet-cushioned throne covered in gold gilt. It took him several seconds to find a comfortable position before he eventually focused on the computer sitting in the center. The top workspace of the desk was tidy and sparsely decorated: a few notepads, a cup containing pens and pencils, and a landline telephone. A tray for mail and other documents as needed sat at the right corner. Very much a business setup, but also with a lot of unused space. This puzzled her; he didn’t seem like such a minimalist. No man who spent his free time on women and clubs and luxury to excess was a man who kept a regimented and sparing workspace.

Unless she’d got him all wrong from the outset.

She didn’t know what to make of him, honestly, especially after their little conversation-slash-argument. Ultimately, she’d wanted to poke at him. Test his weaknesses where the subject of his problems were concerned, to get some sort of baseline to anticipate how he might react in future public situations if someone mentioned it, as they were sure to do. The story was getting old; the press wanted fresh blood in the water. They’d try anything to get a rise out of him to sell more magazines and get more website hits.

She hadn’t intended to let her personal opinions mix into the discussion and let it become as heated as it did. Worse yet was that she couldn’t really find it in herself to totally condemn him now that she’d spoken with him. Before, it’d seemed so clear cut. She’d been able to put him in a box with Dave. Meeting him, feeling him out, watching his body language, had humanized him in such a way that she had not been prepared for it.

Yes, sure, what he’d said in that damned recording was horrible, but his reasoning and explanation? She almost understood him. That, more than anything, was the cause for her initial ire. Working for Dave, and what Henry had insinuated, was a sore spot. But she also understood Henry’s yearning for a woman who met him halfway in a relationship.

After all, that’s all she wanted from a guy, too. Hadn’t she just gone off on the straight male species the previous afternoon, after her last breakup email? None of those idiots ever met her halfway, in the way she wanted them to. She gave and gave only to never reach equality in the relationship. The only difference was that she didn’t have cameras and recorders shoved in her face to catch her inevitable meltdown and spread it across the globe.

So, despite her better judgement, Grace found herself begrudgingly accepting of her new boss. He deserved a second chance as much as anyone else, right? It pissed her off. She didn’t want to accept him, and it was very clear he didn’t want to accept her, considering the way he warily glanced in her direction, but at least they’d reached an impasse.

“What?” he asked, an errant curl falling across his forehead. He flicked it to the side with his fingers. They were long and thick, like the rest of him.

“I apologize for earlier,” she said softly and turned to the laptop Dany had mentioned earlier. She flipped the lid up and hit the power button. “I’ve been working for Dave too long and I automatically think every guy I work for will be the same.”

Henry huffed. “I didn’t exactly give you the best impression of me outside, or with what I said a little bit ago. It’s my fault, really. I mean, you’re here for that reason. My mouth gets me in trouble.”

Grace nodded, and looked over her shoulder at him. “I just need you to be aware that I will not hesitate to call you out in the future.  I really want you to prove me wrong—hell, I want you to prove the world wrong.”

“I look forward to it.” He tried to hide it, but she saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth that threatened to turn up into a smile.

Grace spent the next half hour in the silent office familiarizing herself with the set up left by his previous assistant, ran through most of the emails in the inbox, and then returned to her own work laptop for any pressing matters.  The first thing to arrive was a notice that Henry had a new engagement in a week at a charity ball for the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. In Atlanta.

Grace groaned. For the first engagement after something like Henry’s fuck up, it seemed a little heavy. In fact, it would be incredibly difficult for him to show his face there with no cushion of some positive press prior to it. These people were going to eat him alive, or they were going to completely forget about the recording. She hoped it was the latter, for everyone’s sake.

“Did you see the—” she began, but paused when she glanced back at him.

“Yes.” His jaw clenched, the word spoken tersely. “I’m all for it, but it seems like a lot after they’ve kept me under lock and key for so long now.”

She agreed. Then she lied to make him feel better. “I don’t think it’ll be too bad. You just show your face, do the photo op, write a check at the auction. Besides, you might be sexist, but I don’t get the abusive vibe from you.”

He guffawed. “That’s something, I guess.”

“Sorry, I just—” She bit her lip. She really had to watch herself now; sitting behind a computer monitor on social media the last five years had made her feral when dealing in real person-to-person relationships. Maybe that was why she found it so difficult to like him? “Yeah, I’ll just shut up.”

Henry chuckled. It was a surprisingly nice, deep rumbling. “It’s also a masquerade, so if things go dodgy, I can always cover my face and no one will recognize me.”

Grace frowned and scanned his hopeful face, dropping her eyes to his broad shoulders and chest. The simple cotton t-shirt strained against the muscles contained within it. “Yeah, I don’t think a mask will be much help.”

A single brow rose in a suggestive arch. “Are you checking me out?”

She shook her head as she turned back to her computer. “If I were checking you out, you’d know it.”

“Right.”

So why was her face blazing hot with a blush? Grace grumbled under her breath and clicked angrily at the web browser to open the correct link to secure plane tickets for the trip. “How long would you like to stay in Atlanta? In and out? You have a radio interview the morning of the ball, but nothing else scheduled.”

“Let’s fly in the day before, come back the day after,” he said. “Since I’ve got the time.”

Grace pressed her lips together, dying to question him about the note of frustration she’d heard in his tone about having free time. Instead, she asked, “Private or commercial?”

“Commercial,” he said. “And I’m leaving Kal at home, so you’ll need to make those pet hotel reservations.”

Kal popped his head up from the large memory foam dog bed in the opposite corner of the room. Grace laughed. “I never knew a dog could look so dejected.”

Henry huffed. “He’ll be fine.”

“Will his master be fine?”

“Why do you ask that?”

Grace again turned in her chair and held up Henry’s information booklet. She wanted to know what she was dealing with emotionally that he kept Kal certified as an ESA. “It says he’s—”

Henry cleared his throat and trained his eyes on his computer, trying too hard to not get invested in the conversation, and in the process lasered in on whatever had come across the screen with a scowl. “He’s both, but it’s not flying I need him for. Sometimes it’s just nice to have company on long shoots where you don’t know anyone.”

“Because no one could ever make new friends.”

His shoulders tensed, his face becoming slack and impassive, almost as though he’d checked out for a minute, as though he were having a memory of something. Finally, he seemed to animate again and said, “You know, it’s not as easy for some as it is for others.”

Grace didn’t say anything. It was a sore subject, clearly, and she wasn’t going to get anywhere with their working relationship if she continued to harp on it. In fact, she guessed he didn’t really need to explain anything. She already understood the reason for her assignment to him, and it was that his social anxiety manifested itself in a myriad of ways.

When they’d met outside, she instinctually paid attention to Kal first, simply because she adored dogs and she thought it would be a good ice breaker. Now she understood that Henry probably used him, at least in a few instances, to ease the awkwardness of new acquaintances. It gave two people something to talk about for a bit, that could flow into a normal conversation. Even so, it was still strange to look at the man sitting so kingly behind his desk and know that, on the inside, he was just a bundle of awkward nerves.

Honestly, the fact that he didn’t have it all together made him a little more relatable. At least he was human; a human who made stupid comments in public settings, sure, but still redeemable. She wondered why Dave didn’t think about going with that angle for Henry’s new publicity plan. Introverts and socially awkward keyboard jockeys everywhere would love a role model to show the world that foot-in-mouth disease was a real affliction plaguing even the most successful and handsome of men.

“You’re sure you don’t want him to come?”

“Why? I’ll have you.”

“Am I a friend, then?” Grace asked.

“No, you’re my employee that I can use and abuse,” he said.

She tossed the book back on her desk and stood up, smoothing her blouse over her stomach. “In that case, I’m taking my mandated fifteen-minute break and getting some coffee. Do you want some?”

“Are you any good at brewing it?”

“Usually I let the percolator do that,” she quipped. “But my hand has been known to slip on occasion and add a few extra scoops.”

His grimace made her laugh.

“Don’t like strong, bitter coffee?”

“I come from the land of tea, love,” he replied, his voice dripping in a much-pronounced accent. The curl on the top his head fell back across his forehead.

Grace gagged. “Ugh, I hate that stuff. Just go for the fully leaded experience! Quit wasting your time with leaf flavored milk water.” She added a visceral shudder for good measure. “And just so you know, this conversation is not part of my break. Because I’m still dealing with my slave-driver of a boss.”

His face lit up in a bright smile. Really, despite the initial awkwardness between them—meeting outside, and then the brief argument earlier—he already seemed to be much more at ease. Maybe his social problems weren’t as severe as some, but they were still deep-seated if they continued to bother him at thirty-four.

She wondered if, perhaps, he didn’t need a psychologist more than he needed a publicist.

Henry stood from his seat and moved around the desk. Grace frowned at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to supervise,” he said. “That’s my job.”

“It’s coffee, not rocket science,” she replied. “If you want coffee, I’ll be good and give you some weak ass coffee.”

He shook his head and brushed right past her out the door of the office. She stood still watching his swiftly moving ass, shaking her head. Maybe the next few months wouldn’t be that bad after all, now that he seemed to be loosening him up. And that ass, man. She felt certain of her ability to bounce a quarter off its flexed surface.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushed those thoughts down. But even as she tried to do that, he paused briefly as he turned a corner down another hall, glancing back in her direction. He must have caught the look on her face and the position of her trained eyes, because he laughed a dangerous, deep laugh.

Okay, that time, she’d been checking him out.

 Henry had whiplash.

One minute they were arguing with each other, and two hours later they’re laughing with each other over coffee. Oh, and she started checking him out, trying to be sly about it, but he caught that appreciative female twinkle in her eyes more than once. She could try to deny it all she wanted, but he wasn’t an idiot. Nor was he immune to an attractive woman eyeing him up.

They’d only just met that morning and he still wasn’t sure what she thought about him. Though he knew a great deal of physical attraction to someone rested in the intellectual—whether they particularly liked each other or not—a person could still objectively find someone else physically pleasing. She might hate him for all he knew, and simply found herself transfixed because she was human and could appreciate a nice body. The incredibly confusing problem was that he didn’t get the objective feeling from her, as though she were a scientist clinically considering is attributes. There was heat there, in her gaze, when he’d turned back and caught her staring at his arse.

Had her ire earlier all been for show, to test him?

Not that it mattered anyway, one way or another, about what she thought of him. She was his employee. De facto, yes, but his employee for the foreseeable future all the same. Most importantly, if he allowed himself the opportunity to consider her in the same way, he was, in a way, proving her and everyone else right. What could be the most sexist thing a man in a position of power could do? Oh, yeah, hit on his assistant. Talk about devaluing someone. He refused to allow himself the pleasure of considering her in any way but professional. It would save them all a lot of heartache down the road.

Besides that, he couldn’t trust himself. After months of imprisonment in his house, mostly away from the general public and female companionship, he had no way to gauge whether his mutual attraction—purely physical, mind—was due to lack of options or borne out of a real interest. He wasn’t about to ruin what was left of his dignity on something like this when he had so little to go off of.

Still, though, he found himself watching out of the corner of his eye as she moved around his spacious kitchen. They’d both agreed to disagree on the coffee, and he set a pot to brew while she rummaged around the refrigerator looking for lunch options. She didn’t seem satisfied with anything, and her perusal stretched on and on while they drank their coffee. Finally, she stepped back, her hand on the refrigerator door, and stood up to look at him.

“You have the most well-stocked fridge of any bachelor I’ve ever met,” she said. “My older brothers—they live together—have beer, like five boxes of cold pizza, and a door full of hot sauce. Oh, and a place with tons of fast food sauce packets.”

He couldn’t contain his laughter. “That’s not even as full as it usually is. I’m on the ‘clean everything out because I’ll be gone for most of the rest year’ phase.”

She scrunched her nose up and looked back inside. “What do you want? I can’t decide on anything. There’re too many choices.”

“You don’t have to make me lunch,” he said.

“Aren’t I supposed to?”

He sighed. Sure she was, but he didn’t want her to do it. It would just cement her unfavorable opinion of him. “You’d be responsible for securing food for me when I’m either in the middle of a shoot day or in the middle of interviews on a junket. That sort of thing. Otherwise, I can take care of it myself.”

Grace nodded and shut the refrigerator. “Good thing, because I’m a horrible cook. I can burn water.”

“There’s no such thing as a horrible cook if you can read a recipe,” he said.

“Then I lack the tenacity for it,” she replied with a laugh. “And you have to admit, there’s something in the way certain people just ‘know’ when something’s done in the oven.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, they use a thermometer.”

Grace scoffed.

“But you’re probably right,” he conceded.

Having won the argument, she shook her head and closed the door. “Have you been out of this house at all since—”

“Just my jog this morning with Kal,” he interrupted.

She moved over to the kitchen island and leaned against it, setting her elbows on the granite countertop and resting her chin in her hands. “Would you like to go out for lunch?”

“You’re serious?”

Grace chuckled. “Yes?”

He stepped away from his spot and rounded the island. Then he grabbed her in his arms and planted a giant kiss on her forehead. When he set her back down and she peered up at him with startled wide eyes, he almost felt bad for doing it. But he couldn’t contain himself. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a really long time since I’ve been out.”

“You act like you’re a caged lion and I’ve just let you back into the wild,” she said with a light laugh. Her skin on her neck had filled with a bright red blush.

“I am and you are,” he said.

She looked at him a long time, considering him a little more closely. Then she sighed. “I would have told them to fuck off.”

“That’s what got me into trouble in the first place,” he said. “Let me find some shoes and get my wallet.”

“There are ground rules, though!” She called after him. When he turned to look at her, she continued. “No alcohol. No clubs. No women.”

“But you’re a woman.”

Grace coughed. “Well spotted.”

He thought she wanted to say more, considering the way the muscles in her face relaxed… and then brightened with a sweet smile. There was definitely something else, but she didn’t say it.

Instead, she laughed again. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

[chromacomaphoto]

Places to Shoot in Bangkok Part 6: Khlong Toei Slum (Worst Ghetto in Bangkok)

Chromacoma back at it again this month with a guide of a more serious and gritty nature.  Following some recent requests, I have dedicated this month’s entry to the slum area of Khlong Toei district (also often seen written as ‘Klong Toey’).

You might recall my saying back in the Chinatown guide that you don’t need to go to Chinatown to shoot pictures of Thai Chinese people. Likewise, you don’t need to go to Khlong Toei if you want to see and take pictures of a real Thai urban slum, they are everywhere. Just look out from many high up vantage points anywhere in the city and look for the tiny little areas featuring tightly packed, wooden-walled lean to shelter type homes with corrugated tin roofs and dogs running around everywhere and that is just as likely a slum by any other name. It’s just that the Khlong Toei ‘slum’ is MUCH, MUCH worse than anywhere else. It has long been known by Bangkokians to be very much the epitome of the word and is perhaps most often cited as a typical worst-case example of such an area in Bangkok. It is famous for its extreme poverty and resulting issues such as high crime and drug abuse, which is off the charts.

That said, I believe that (at least in the case of men) it’s not especially unsafe in broad daylight as a Westerner as long as you conduct yourself humbly and with some respect for the inhabitants of such dwellings. For women, you probably would also be fine but I feel that I can’t quite recommend it to a solo female photographer in full conscience. Either go with a guy or at least go as a group of women together, I am genuinely sorry if that upsets any female readers but I want to be fully responsible for the quality of the advice I give here so that would be my honest gut feeling about it. I couldn't feel entirely comfortable recommending any woman I know to go there on a solo tip. I'm sure there are lots of Western women volunteers who have worked at many of the charity foundations in the area and found no problems roaming around there whilst they were doing their bit as volunteers or whatever but I personally think that a little caution is needed, especially once you get off the busier main routes and head deeper down into the less travelled parts (by farangs) of Khlong Toei. 

With all of the above out of the way, you might feel that this is gonna be a really scary venture into a dangerous ghetto and it CERTAINLY can be (especially at night when I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it to anybody really) but in many ways it can seem a deceptively different scenario. For starters, due to its relatively close proximity to the Sukhumvit  (especially Ekamai and Thong Lo areas) and Rama 4 roads (mainstream Bangkok) and also perhaps because of its infamy, you do actually get some more adventurous Westerners here on their SE Asia adventure trip of a lifetime deciding to go and walk around the area. There’s also sometimes a volunteer worker or ‘voluntourist’ to be found doing their bit here and there as well, fair play to them. So, it’s not as though you are going to blend in any time soon but the locals there have definitely seen the odd backpacker with a camera before, believe me. As with anywhere else in Thailand, if you approach slowly and calmly with a smile, some people will even be a little smiley and friendly in return, despite the obviously huge gap between their lot in life and yours. This can be humbling.

HOWEVER, in more than two decades in Thailand, this is the only place where, when trying to walk down random alleys and walkways, the locals have politely tried to stop me…not to prohibit me from entering per se but rather to try and advise me that it really wasn’t perhaps in my best interests (from a personal safety point of view) to do so. That is something I hadn’t ever really experienced (or can at least remember experiencing) in Thailand before. So, think about doing your own risk assessment for this maybe because it's very much real life, not some reality TV show.

On this trip, I saw used needles and syringes lying around discarded as rubbish on the floor (again, I have never seen that anywhere in Thailand)  where children were playing. I saw some of those children playing with rubbish as their toys, some of them were stinking to high heaven as they had soiled themselves and their clearly drunk or high mother right next to them didn’t seem to want to clean them up. I walked past people openly smoking either 'yaabaa' or 'ice' methamphetamines in front of me in broad daylight, as the sickly sweet chemical smells wafted into my face, they carried on like zombies regardless. People are shooting up drugs here with needles any time day and night. This is not a 'nice' place.

All of the above seems more relevant when you consider that to see the real Khlong Toei slum, you need to be off any of the main roads and waaaay down these alleys and back streets and train tracks (!) wandering around and going as deep as you dare into the labyrinthine networks of poverty stricken walkthroughs. You might well find yourself standing on top of the old train line which runs almost right through people’s little shacks (in the main photo at the top of this post, those tiny wooden and cardboard boxes on the train lines in the photos are where I found people living and sleeping!) or you might get stuck up a dead end and need to follow a local to see whether their route will bring you back out to some kind of civilization again. It’s fun but in all honesty, it’s not perhaps for the faint of heart. This is also a time to watch out for any rabid, and diseased soi dogs that might be on the attack. The potential danger from the locals also extends to those with four legs! It’s best to be confident if you turn a corner and find yourself in the midst of a pack of them as the local Thai strays often smell fear, and then things can get tricky very quickly. Make like a local Thai and keep on pushing dead straight ahead and show them who’s boss. It can take a bit of nerve at times, if you panic and get stuck, wait for a passing Thai and walk quickly alongside them, they know which dogs can be easily brushed aside and which ones you might want give a wider berth to.

It’s not the best place for normal lenses. It is certainly doable but you can really benefit from a 35mm or even a 28mm for this mission. There is a lot of shadow play and contrasting bright and dark scenery to deal with. In terms of equipment and technique, it has a lot in common with the Chinatown approach I guess. Zone focusing is highly recommended. Film shooters need ISO 400 flexibility at a minimum I would say and take an extra roll or two beyond what you might be expecting to use. Also be forewarned that one problem I have had is that in certain parts of the slum, the sheer smell of all the litter and refuse and waste can be a little overpowering at times. It’s quite an assault to the senses in more ways than one. People are basically living right in and on top of a huge, rat infested rubbish dump. In this shot below where the young woman is salvaging something from the large open skip, she was (I believe) trying to collect up old aluminum drinks cans for money but I couldn’t get any closer as I was already dry heaving, I mean quite literally convulsing and looking to get away from the stench and sheer squalor at that point as I had been in the area for about an hour longer than I had anticipated.

I did find some people who seemed quite happy in their humble little slum homes as they worked away doing some sewing or running a tiny little shop that caters to the residents of their particular little alleyway. It’s not all sad people. This is the kind of place where you’ll easily stumble on a crowd of guys having an afternoon heavy drinking session of whisky or beers around a table, perhaps whilst an illegal card or dice game is going down. Just be cool and make like Dionne Warwick….walk on by.

Of course, you could opt to sit down and take the drink offered to you but it can all get a bit sticky when you later wish to untangle yourself from the mess you might end up in. Of course, many backpackers do this and then take photos of their newfound ‘Thai drinking buddies’ and go home with tales of how they personally found the ‘real Thailand’ etc.  Hey, who am I to judge? Whatever you wanna do and at least it’s as a result of going your own way and meeting people and seeing places that are not part and parcel of the standard tourist package, right?

Also, in terms of culture shock (and especially if you are on holiday here), you’ll likely be needing a steely resolve emotionally when you see how people (especially kids) are living their lives in such an area. As with many capital cities in ‘developing countries’ (whatever that means anyway), this slum area is within a fairly close proximity to huge, high end shopping malls and ‘the haves’ living their comfortable lives. This little photographic mission is more of a photojournalistic opportunity in essence really. It’s very much the gritty and certainly shitty end of the stick and it’s out there for anybody to go and see and record with a camera. I highly recommend black and white film for this kind of thing but then again I would say that of course. Use whatever you’ve got with you (the best camera is always the one with you, or so they say) and really try to squeeze the best out of it and yourself.

By the way, ‘Khlong’ means a canal, and ‘Toei’ is a flower sometimes used in Thai food and drinks, I think the English name is ‘Pandan’ but don’t hold me to that 100%. I know what it looks and tastes like, I just don’t know for sure if I’ve got that right or not. The ‘T’ in ‘Toei’ isn’t really a ‘t’ sound at all but rather a combination of what it would sound like if you tried to say ‘t’ with more of a ‘d’ sound. I am trying to make it simple for non Thai speakers to at least attempt to say it correctly.

Taxi drivers know it, assuming you can say it correctly.  Nearest MRT station is Klong Toei. The slum itself is actually in several areas and so really should be pluralized into ‘slums’. Generally however, when people talk of the Khlong Toei Slum, they are talking about the biggest, most concentrated area of it and this is where you can also find a charity or foundation or two. Here below is a map cutaway for you to use on a device and show to a taxi driver, it has both English and Thai on it. Anywhere within the red arrows outer perimeter is pretty much different shades of full on Klong Toei ghetto but you should explore randomly within that area as much as possible, it’s almost different every time you go. There are some key landmarks also in English on that map in case you are very ‘directionally challenged’ (or your taxi driver is!), for example Bangkok University. I hope that this blog entry proves useful and that your day there goes well. I never normally say this but…good luck!

For those that don’t make it there, this post at least features some of my work from a recent trip there to give you just a glimpse. For anyone who is bothered, these were with a Rolleiflex and Ilford Delta 400 as I recall.

CCP