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chimcess · 4 months

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Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

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Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in.

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza.

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver.

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime.

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back.

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves.

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked.

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up.

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else.

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap.

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday.

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice.

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

“Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch.

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out.

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up.

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full.

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty.

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream.

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season.

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest.

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me.

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master.

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man.

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that.

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh.

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart.

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them.

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar.

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself.

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November.

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother.

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade.

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently.

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself.

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips.

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others.

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway.

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment.

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices.

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me.

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible.

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled.

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job.

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched.

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again.

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company.

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease.

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more.

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up.

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out.

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice.

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family.

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that.

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags.

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage.

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long.

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

“Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely.

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down.

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him.

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same.

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it.

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

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drunk-on-dk · 2 years

Text

His Hoodie | Choi Seungcheol (m)

✦pairing: college!Seungcheol x fem!reader

✦genre: smut (minors DNI), some fluff and angst maybe?

✦wc: 4.8k

✦summary: Seungcheol's fashion was something you took note of daily, so why did his glasses drive you absolutely mad?

NSFW warnings under the cut, minors do not read, 18+ only

✦warnings: frat boy Seungcheol; nervous reader; no specific pronouns used, but reader has female anatomy; pet names (baby); seungcheol is a bit degrading; dom!Seungcheol; switch!reader; unprotected sex (big no no, pls be safe with your partners); fingering; oral (female receiving); creampie; choking a bit; oh god please tell me if I missed anything.

✦a/n: this was birthed from the absolute brain rot of Seungcheol's vlive with Jeonghan... im so sorry for this, i will rot in hell for going crazy over a man in glasses ik it... please enjoy (this is not necessarily proofread, i shall get to that tomorrow)

The day Seungcheol walked into the lecture with those wire-framed glasses on, you had to do a double-take of the boy. His usual street style was substituted for a softer look today. A simple graphic tee, worn jeans, and glasses you’ve never seen him wear before framed his features so nicely. You’d never admit it to him, but you closely took note of Seungcheol’s outfits every time you saw him, and seeing him dressed so soft and casual like this was almost a breath of fresh air. This look was a new one that you’d archive with the rest of his outfits that sat in the back of your mind.

Seungcheol and you were friends, close enough at least to comfortably fall into conversation about things further than surface level conversation starters each class. A little bit of flirty banter here and there as well, as he was fun to get worked up.

You hung around Seungcheol’s frat quite often, being closer friends with some of his fellow brothers than you were with him. Of course, since he ran in the same circle, you were inevitably introduced to him, and the frequency that you came by and hung out with them almost warranted you a spot in the frat yourself. So much so that Vernon had to set a curfew on how late you could stay after parties, informing you that you were picking up on their mannerisms too much and that you should really save yourself while you can. That didn’t last long of course, typically spending the night on Vernon’s futon, Wonwoo’s couch, or in Mingyu’s bed (he’d only carried you there for comfort and he’d sleep on the floor, of course).

Otherwise, you’ve expressed interest in Seungcheol’s clothing before, typically finding yourself wandering into his room late at night when the temperatures would drop after day drinking to snatch an overpriced sweatshirt from his collection. At first, he’d whine and pout, cherry red lips mumbling out that you shouldn’t steal his clothes without his permission. Now, he doesn’t even falter when he sees you wearing his stuff, only occasionally mumbling that you better not spill your drink on yourself or his sweatshirt, steadying you whenever he’d see you stumble.

Seungcheol always looked cool, darker colors and baggy clothes making up half his wardrobe, and you admired that about him. Even when his hair would be a mess from rolling out of bed, an expensive beanie would smooth down his ratty mane. But this, this look was new to you, not that his designer t-shirt strayed from his usual styles, nor did his trendy baggy jeans, but the glasses that sat so nicely on his nose made your cheeks warm after staring for too long. Admittedly, you always thought Seungcheol was cute, but these made him impossibly cuter. Honestly, your fascination with Seungcheol’s style was more so a front for your true feelings for him.

Seungcheol sat down next to you with a huff, pulling his books out of his bag and only peering up at you upon noticing you were watching him closely. Accusatorily, he asks with a jerk of his chin, “what are you looking at? What’s up with you today?”

Snapping back into reality and diverting your attention away from him, you began shuffling with your notebook. Upon flipping to the most recent page of notes, you avoid his question and ask, “since when have you started wearing glasses?”

“These?” Seungcheol asks, readjusting the frames and you peak over to see him struggling to find a comfortable spot for them. “Soonyoung knocked my monthly contacts into the toilet the other night, and my next prescription is delayed.”

“Ah,” you hum, nodding slowly as you look over at him once more, eyes meeting his fleetingly and quickly turning your attention away.

Unbeknownst to you, this made Seungcheol feel extremely insecure, tugging on your arm slightly and calling out, “hey, what’s with that reaction? Do I look stupid in these? Please tell me if I do, Y/N. See, this is why I don’t wear-”

You’re quick to cut him off upon realizing you sent him into a spiral, wide eyes staring into his again as you hurriedly explain yourself, “no, they look good on you, seriously. I’ve just never seen you wear those before.”

He’s back to being smug again, arms crossing over his chest and leaning back into his chair, dimples shadowing his cheeks upon a small smile appearing on his lips. “So, you’re telling me you like them on me?”

This time you pull on his arm and roll your eyes, “shut up, Seungcheol, I won’t hesitate to rip those glasses right off your face and toss them right in the trash.” You refocus your attention on your professor who just entered the room, ignoring the slight chuckle from Seungcheol, and trying to hide the blush that hasn’t left your cheeks since you first saw him.

Oddly enough, you felt irrationally tense the whole class, your nerves never settling even when Seungcheol pointed out your leg was bouncing at an alarming pace. You felt your ears heat up when his knee bumped yours, a quiet whisper asking if you were okay and soft eyes peeking over your shoulder.

No, you were not okay, you thought to yourself, knowing something was terribly wrong with your brain and hormones when your heart raced from the way Seungcheol peered over his glasses at you.

Part of you was panicking at the suppressed feelings bubbling up inside of you, hating how this side of Seungcheol struck a chord inside of you, his mini act of insecurity earlier making you wish you could just lean over and let him know that he’d look good in anything he’d wear.

By the time class was dismissed, Seungcheol had to wave a hand in front of your vision, chuckling as he informed you that class was over. “Earth to, Y/N? Wanna walk back to the house with me? I’m assuming you’re getting dinner with Vernon before the party tonight?”

You’re stuttering out a lie before you can even think straight, shaking your head profusely, “actually, Vernon and I aren’t getting dinner tonight, so you can just head back without me.”

You see Seungcheol slightly pout, a slightly confused and concerned expression gracing his features. “But you always get dinner with Vernon on Fridays.”

“Yeah, well,” God damn it he’s so cute, you can’t even think straight when he has that pout on his face. You’re ready to tear the glasses off his face as well. “I had to rain check today, promised I’d meet a friend at the cafeteria instead.”

“What friend? I could walk with you to the cafeteria and then head back.”

You’re frustrated by how inquisitive Seungcheol is, annoyed that you were even lying to him in the first place, but he was just making you so damn nervous that you wouldn’t dare to walk the distance to the frat house with him. You’re quick to start packing your stuff up, slinging your backpack over your shoulder and holding a hand out to stop him from following you, “don’t be so nosy, I’ll see you later tonight at the party.”

You briskly stalk out of the classroom, being sure to head in the direction of the cafeteria before coming to a halting stop in a safe corner. Hastily, you text Vernon to cancel your dinner plans for the night, letting him know you’ll explain the last-minute cancellation later. It amazed you that Seungcheol knew your schedule so well. Usually, he had plans of his own after class, typically never walking back with you to the frat house, and you never mentioned your dinner tradition with Vernon to him before.

That night at the party you avoided Seungcheol at all costs. Vernon knew something weird was up with you when he found you gnawing on your straw in the corner of the room. His eyes followed your gaze that was narrowed in on Seungcheol chatting with a girl on the opposite side of the room, his fingers timidly readjusting his glasses as he laughed at something the girl said. He could see the way you held your red solo cup a little firmer, the plastic crinkling in your grasp. Vernon was smart enough to understand what was going on with you, but he refrained from saying anything. He always had an inkling that you liked Seungcheol, and he wanted you to organically come to that conclusion yourself. It wasn’t like Vernon to interject anyways.

However, Vernon could also see what you couldn’t. He’d notice the way Seungcheol’s eyes would roam the room in search of you, noting the disappointment when you’d disappear from his sight. All Vernon could do is sip on his drink and shake his head at the way you both seemed oblivious.

This went on for a week or so more, even going to the extent to avoid him in his own house. You were honestly freaked out by the sudden onslaught of feelings you had for him. You hated the way your heart pounded each time you saw him. The glasses no longer being the root cause for your racing heart, but the way his chuckle sounded from down the hall, his gummy smile when he’d spot you across the room, and even the way he’d scold you in class for ignoring him made your stomach flutter.

Seungcheol finally cornered you one night, grabbing ahold of your wrist as you tried to quietly pad down the halls of the frat house. You were crashing on Vernon’s futon again, only venturing out in hopes to hunt down a bottle of fresh water or a miraculously filled Brita somewhere in the kitchen. You almost screamed in terror until you realized it was just Seungcheol, his hand still covering your mouth as an extra measure when he yanked you into his room.

Seungcheol sat you on his bed much to your dismay, closing his bedroom door behind him as he stared down at you, arms crossed and eyes squinting through his wireframed glasses. He continued to survey you, tongue poking at his cheek as he leaned over to catch your attention when you focused your sight down at your fingers that nervously picked at a hangnail.

“Seriously, Y/N, what has been up with you,” he finally whines, clearly exasperated by your recent behavior, “you won’t even give me the time of day lately. You haven’t stolen one of my damn sweatshirts in a month. Did I do something wrong?”

Your mouth opens slightly, hands falling to your sides as you were unsure of how to explain yourself. You knew it was unfair how you were treating your friend, but you’d only recently come to terms with your feelings for him. How could you admit to him that those stupid glasses of his made something in you click? How could you tell him it was wrong to steal his sweatshirt when you found comfort in his scent and the fact that it was his?

You must have been taking too long, Seungcheol noticing the slight way you shivered, finally taking in your appearance. You were in one of Vernon’s shirts, the oversized tee almost swallowing you whole, your tiny little night shorts peeking out slightly from under the hem of the shirt. With a huff, Seungcheol pulled the sweatshirt off his own body and tossed it into your lap. This was not only because you looked cold, but also for his own sanity. Before you could protest, Seungcheol was quick to cut you off, “just take the damn sweatshirt. You look freezing, and I can’t have you walking around in those tiny little shorts.”

This is what grabbed your attention, hands gripping the fabric of his sweatshirt as you finally peered up at him. You narrowed your eyes at him this time, noticing how his cheeks were slightly blushed, unsure if it was from his frustration with your behavior, or if you could possibly have the same effect on him as he did with you.

However, returning to some sense of normalcy, you bit back at him, “you can’t tell me what to wear, Seungcheol. I’ll walk downstairs in these tiny little shorts just because you said I can’t.”

This seemed to fire him up back up, stepping closer towards you and tilting his chin up. You found yourself standing up, discarding his sweatshirt on the bed as you tried to assert some dominance yourself. He almost made you falter at the way he peered at you from under his glasses, but this time it only made you more frustrated.

You finally broke, the way Seungcheol stared at you as he breathed deeply through his nostrils made you act irrationally, ripping his glasses right off his face and placing them on his nightstand. “If I can’t wear my shorts, then you can’t wear these damn glasses.”

He laughed incredulously at this, “are you serious, Y/N? I can’t see without those, that’s not even fair.”

“Good,” you spit out, pivoting on your heel to head straight for his door, “then you won’t be able to see me walk out.”

Seungcheol did not like this one-bit, sturdy arm wrapping around your waist as he seethed, infuriated by how stubborn you were being and just wanted to get a normal conversation out of you. Keeping you in his grasp, he leaned over to grab his glasses from the nightstand, forcibly turning you around to face him.

You didn’t fight him at this point, feeling exhausted and crumbling at the way Seungcheol’s arm felt like a ring of fire around your waist. His large hand that was splayed across your lower back had goosebumps arising on your sensitive skin. Your lower stomach fluttered at the way his thumb slightly rubbed over the curve of your spine, heat spreading throughout your body as you attempted to say something.

Seungcheol doesn’t necessarily soften, but he doesn’t seem so annoyed anymore. He studies you again, a lightbulb going off in his head before he speaks, “by any chance, do these glasses affect you potentially the same way those little shorts affect me?”

You feel impossibly hot after his question, hoping that the dim lighting of his room prevents him from noticing how your cheeks warm even more. You let him pull you in closer, your torso pressing into his as he attempts to test the waters of your relationship. The hand that isn’t wrapped around you makes it up to your jaw, calloused fingers wrapping around your delicate neck as he stares into you.

“If your pulse says anything, I’d believe you were attracted to me,” his voice is lower now, mockingly whispering closer to your lips as you struggle to utter out a word, your lungs working overtime from the way his touch was affecting you.

His grip on your neck tightens slightly, your chin angling up towards him so that he can stare directly into your eyes. His lips were painfully close to yours, making your lips tingle in anticipation.

“Fuck,” you finally choke out, your lips brushing Seungcheol’s slightly before he uses his grasp on your jaw to keep you at a safe distance. “I need you to kiss me, Seungcheol.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask, baby,” Seungcheol is smug, wasting no time in pressing his lips to yours. It’s messy and hard, both of you immediately fighting for dominance as you lock lips. The hand that gripped your jaw has now traveled to the back of your neck, using this to his advantage as he controls the pace. His other hand on your back trails to your ass, massaging the plump mound as the kiss quickly heats up, your own hands roaming his firm chest.

You buck your hips into Seungcheol’s at his touch, earning a groan from him as he nibbles at your lip, tongue slipping past your lips as you let out a moan yourself. Seungcheol finds himself pulling you with him as he backs up towards his bed, never breaking his lips from yours as he sits down on the plush surface, pulling you atop his lap to straddle him.

Seungcheol wouldn’t dare to let you go now, only pulling away when he begins to feel overwhelmed by the way your hips roll against his, needing to regain some dominance as you grind against his growing erection.

This proved to be a mistake though, your lips immediately reattaching to his neck as he grips your hips in hopes to slow down the way you rock against him. He can feel your breasts through the thin fabric of the tee, the feeling of your firm nipples making him dizzy as he attempts to come to his senses.

“Fuck, you’re so needy, baby,” he growls out, flipping you over onto the bed with ease. You gasp at his strength, hips keening up towards him as he pushes a hand against you lower abdomen to keep your hips from chasing his, another hand finding purchase around your throat again.

His hand that was once on your abdomen has now traced its way to the wet spot on your night shorts. His fingers press at your heat, the pressure on your clit making you gasp out, neck straining in Seungcheol’s gasp as you arch into his touch. He coos mockingly at you, “does that feel good, baby? I love the way your pulse quickens under my touch too, and how fucking hot and wet you are already.”

You feel breathless at the way his fingers rub firmly over the fabric that covers your cunt, hands gripping at the arm of the hand that is wrapped around your neck. You could breathe perfectly fine, but you needed to hold onto something, preferably him.

“Seungcheol,” you breathe out between baited breaths, “n-need your fingers, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he hums, pulling your shorts off in one go, and exposing your bare pussy to the cool air of his room. You can tell he notices the way your heart rate picks up, his thumb pressed firmly against your pulse as he breathes deeply at the way your legs spread for him. “Such a dirty baby, wearing just these shorts without any underwear beneath them… one would think you’re trying to get with Vernon if I didn’t have you right here in my grip.”

“Pl-please, touch me,” you’d be wailing if it wasn’t for the firm grip he had on your neck, finally releasing you to hold his weight over you as he experimentally rolled thumb over your swollen clit, the way you grinded against his bulge almost driving you over the edge earlier.

You jerk from just the slightest touch, his lips connecting with your neck as he continues to circle his thumb over your clit. A single finger of his slips in between your folds as he collects some of your essence before slipping another finger in. You’re moaning from the way his fingers curl into you, hands tangling into his hair as he suckles at your neck, whispering dirty things into your skin as he picks up his pace fingering into you.

You almost lose it when he looks up at you, lips swollen from being pressed so firmly against your neck, glasses slightly fogged from his hot breath, and burying his face into your neck. Your hips are bucking into his palm as he continues to curl and scissor his fingers inside of your walls, you’re thrashing in his grip as you need more from him, the pleasure continuing to build up in your abdomen. “More, Seungcheol, fuck, I need more.”

“My needy little baby,” he’s chuckling darkly into your neck, contrasting the sweet innocent look of his glasses, the Seungcheol you know resurfacing as he trails his lips down your body. He expertly continues to finger you as his lips pause at your nipples, the hard peaks poking through the thin fabric of the t-shirt, and Seungcheol wraps his lips around them, moistening the fabric and running his hot tongue over the nub. He continues to work down your body, teeth nipping at your shirt as he pushes a hand underneath it, raising the fabric over your waist as a hand palms at your breast.

He continues to massage at the peaks, fingers tweaking your nipples as his mouth finally makes it down to your cunt, his tongue darting out to press against your clit. You’re pathetic in his hold, your hands only working to push his face deeper into your heat as he licks at your pussy, fingers still mercilessly working you towards your release.

What drives you over the edge is the way he looks up at you from under his glasses, your vision becoming hazy as your orgasm washes over you. He mutters how much of a dirty, needy baby you are directly into your cunt, your juices covering his chin and glasses foggy as his tongue coaxes you through your release.

You flinch at the way he quickly pulls his fingers from in between your walls, shocked by the way he easily manhandles you when pulling you up to a sitting position. He’s tearing his glasses off at this point, tossing them to the opposite end of the bed as he’s pulling your shirt off your body. He needs to be as close to you as he can possibly be, no longer allowing the pesky frames to keep him from pressing his face in between your breasts as he nibbles on the sensitive skin.

“You’re so hot,” he’s growling into you, your shaky hands pulling down his sweats as he continues to suckle at your chest, sure to leave bruises on your skin for only him to know tomorrow.

“So are you,” you’re gasping out, hand brushing over his cock, shocked by the shear girth and length as you release him from the confines of his sweats. “Fuck, Seungcheol, you’re huge.”

“Perfect for you then,” he says smugly, pulling away from your chest to pull his shirt off, and you’re falling back onto the bed, hand tracing over the tip of his length to spread precum down the shaft. “Perfect for my needy little baby. Perfect for this needy little pussy.”

He crawls over you, pulling your hands away to run his tip over your soaked folds, tip teasing at your entrance as he gathers your arousal on his length. You’re chasing his hips, trying to encourage him to slip between your walls and fuck you already.

“So needy for you, Cheol,” you’re moaning out when he finally pushes the tip in, hips bucking in an attempt to take him in.

“Still so tight,” he’s groaning, bucking shallowly into you as you hiss from the stretch. One of his hands has found its way around your throat again, loving the way your pulse falters at each shallow thrust, slowly being sucked in by your walls deeper and deeper each time.

Seungcheol loses himself in the way you gasp, hips bottoming out against yours as your warm walls fully take him in. It’s almost painful how pleasurable you feel wrapped around him, the way you grip his length so tightly, teeth seething into your neck as he tries to pull out only to be pulled back in by your throbbing walls.

He’s thankful for how breathless you are, glad you aren’t making too much noise this late at night in the house, hoping that no one else hears the pretty noises you’re making as you adjust to his size.

Seungcheol experimentally grinds into you, hips rolling into yours as you let out the most pornographic moan he’s ever heard, “fuck, baby, let me hear that again.”

You’re moaning out even more, his lips reattaching to yours to capture each moan as he begins to thrust in and out of you. His hand is no longer wrapped around your neck, but he swears he can feel your pulse from how tightly your pussy is wrapped around him.

He needs to be deeper in you, needs to feel every inch of you as he grabs one of your legs and pulls it over his shoulder, pounding even deeper into you. He’s swallowing all of your moans, burning the pretty noise into his memory as he loses himself in between your walls.

You’re so flexible, so pliable for him as he continues to thrust in and out of you. He doesn’t need his glasses when you’re this close to him, pulling away from your lips to watch how your mouth parts in pleasure, hair displayed around you like a halo as he fucks you mercilessly.

Seungcheol can feel how your walls flutter around his length, your pussy clenching as he continues to hit you right where he almost has you screaming, but instead you’re biting his shoulder for relief, blubbering nonsense as you cry into him. “Such a good, baby, staying quiet just for me to hear.”

“Seungcheol, can I please cum?” You’re crying out into his shoulder, legs shaking over his shoulders as he repeatedly hits your g-spot.

“Fuck,” he’s choking out, deep voice slightly faltering as you so nicely ask for his permission. He’d won this round, proving to have staked his dominance over you. “Go ahead and cum for me. My needy baby deserves it.”

Your back is arching, the coil inside of you snapping as he grants you permission with one extra hard thrust, arms reaching over your head as you grip the sheets tightly. You’re only egged on upon looking up at him, waves of pleasure shocking you watching as his jaw clenches when he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, the pleasure burning through you and making you moan out in pure ecstasy.

The sight of you finishing is enough to make him fall over, burying his face into your neck as his hips begin to stutter into yours. Hot, thick ropes of cum fill you up as he releases from the feeling of your spasming walls. He slowly thrusts into you some more, overstimulating both of you as your pulse slows down, only then pulling his softening length out of you to watch his cum drip from between your folds.

He reaches to pull his glasses back on, watching as the white liquid drips from your hole, and pouting at the sight. You’re still gasping for air, hips rising at the feeling of his cum dripping out of you.

“Shit, baby,” he’s quickly scrambling off the bed, going to grab a clean cloth. “Let me clean you up.”

“Thank you,” you’re whispering appreciatively, letting Seungcheol take care of you as you no longer have an ounce of energy. He finds you absolutely endearing when you ask for what you initially ventured out for, “can I have some water please?”

He chuckles, dimples appearing as he nods, grabbing the flask of cold water from his nightstand and handing it to you. He watches as you gulp it down, looking impossibly cute after the events that just took place, pulling on his sweats to join you back on the bed after you hand him the half-empty water bottle.

Seungcheol can’t help but feel giddy at the way you finally pull on his sweatshirt. The butterflies that erupt in his stomach are not easy to be ignored when you look so beautiful in his clothing.

“Absolutely perfect,” he mumbles out, hands smoothing out your matted hair as you move closer to him. He much prefers his sweatshirt on you than Vernon’s t-shirt. He basks in the way your cheeks glow bright red in the dim lighting of his room, shivering from the way your tiny fingers readjust the glasses on his face.

“Seungcheol,” you mutter hesitantly, and he hums, staring at your endearingly and coaxing you to continue. “These damn glasses are what made me lose my mind over you.”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at you, all the puzzle pieces lining up on how weird you’ve been acting since that one lecture. He nuzzles his nose into yours, “well, let’s thank Soonyoung for flushing my contacts down that toilet then, or maybe it would have taken years to get you to fall for me.”

You snort at that, snuggling into his arms as he pulls you under the covers. “That’s not true, I was already head over heels for you. Just didn’t know it yet.”

Seungcheol hums in delight, letting you remove the glasses from his face to pull him into yet another deep kiss. Seungcheol thinks he can fall asleep like this every night with you in his arms, loving the way you mold to his body and how soft you feel in his hoodie. Seungcheol also loves when you walk into class with his hoodie from the night before, no longer stealing his hoodies, but rather receiving them directly from the owner.

#svthub #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #choi seungcheol smut #scoups brain rot is real

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azukiel · 6 months

Text

Nightfall Heir Chapter 9

🔞 MDNI 🔞 NSFW

Warnings (as a whole): Explicit sexual content, Graphic descriptions of violence, PTSD, Angst, Blood kink, Kidnapping, Pregnancy and Childbirth

⭐Here is the story on Archive of Our Own ⭐

Summary: Two years have passed since the events surrounding the destruction of the Absolute. Baldur's Gate is slowly rebuilding itself from the rubble, and you and your companions have established yourselves within the city to help in its restoration.

You and your vampiric lover, Astarion, had been nigh inseparable since coming back together. Yet a certain turn of events saw to your kidnapping and then... to your unexpected pregnancy.

🔥Comments and reblogs are much appreciated! 🔥

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It was almost dawn by the time Astarion and the others returned to the house. Of which day, though, you were not to know. You had been still slipping in and out of consciousness. Halsin put you into a deeper, more restful slumber so that your dreams would not torment you and you could heal better.

Astarion and the others were visibly exhausted as they stumbled in through the front door, their armour dripping with sweat and copious amounts of sanguine fluids. The others in the group, however, looked paler than the vampiric-elf himself.

“What happened? Are you all ok?” Shadowheart’s voice was full of worry.

Gale nodded, his hands were still trembling. “Our bodies are unscathed, mostly. But... it is going to take a while longer to erase what happened from our minds.”

Shadowheart and Halsin looked at them, confused. Astarion’s gaze was austere and brooding.

“Carnage. Pure, bloody fucking carnage!” Karlach piped up then, her voice rather one of excitement, as she was still giddy from the event.

“Honestly, Astarion,” Lae’zel continued, a somewhat proud look on her face, “I knew all had reason to fear you, but this night truly emphasized that fact.”

“They had it coming.” Was all Astarion replied as he looked over at you, his eyes drooping with a deep anguish.

“How is she?” His voice came out small, almost meek.

Halsin looked sympathetically back at him. He put his hand on his younger counterpart’s shoulder and squeezed gently, trying to calm his nerves. “As well as could be expected. She should recover.”

Astarion’s breath escaped him, and tears began to cascade down his pale features, streaking rivulets through the caked blood and grime on his face. The others looked at each other knowingly before looking back at Astarion, their eyes full of sympathy and understanding.

“We will go to barracks and clean up there.” Wyll spoke once more. “We will return later, after we’ve all had some rest and recuperation.”

Halsin nodded in agreement to Wyll’s suggestion, and as they all filed back out the door, they either patted Astarion on the back or shoulder in reassurance, showing their understanding.

“We already bathed here. I hope you do not mind.” Shadowheart spoke up after a few moments when Wyll, Karlach, Gale, and Lae’zel had left.

“No..no, of course not.” Astarion smiled faintly, attempting some form of decorum. Yet, he could not help but sob within his attempts to remain composed.

“It is alright to weep, my friend.” Halsin patted him on the shoulder again. “It’s healthier to let it out than to keep it all pent up inside.”

“I know...” Astarion seemed more frustrated by himself than anything. “We could not find her...” His teeth gritted as flashes of what had occurred that night flooded his mind.

“Who, Astarion?”

“Faceless.” His tone was bitter, angered and frustrated as he balled his hands at his sides. “She escaped... that fucking murderous bitch escaped... left the remnants of her coven to meet my blades. And meet my blades, they did. I gorged on their blood and left their innards sprawled along the walls and their limbs strewn along the floors. Faceless will have nothing but the entrails of her comrades to return to. And when she returns, I will hunt her. I will hunt her to the ends of Faerûn and rip her fucking throat out.”

With each spoken word, his anger only intensified. Shadowheart put her hand upon his arm to calm his ever-growing ire. The tears only cascaded faster down his cheeks then, creating muddy paths from their mingling with the crimson life force of the fallen.

“She will pay, my friend,” she tried to soothe him, yet even her voice shook with rage. “But now you must clean yourself up and get some rest. I am sure Tav will recover quicker with you close to her.”

Astarion wiped his wet face roughly, not bothering to address his utter shame at his outbursts. In a way, he found it almost relieving that his companions saw his weaknesses and felt them as he did. After all, they had been through countless trials together. He knew their allegiance would never wane. That thought alone caused his sobs to abate and gave way to some semblance of peace.

“Indeed,” Halsin concurred. “Rest yourself for now. Shadowheart and I shall rest soon after.”

Astarion nodded. “The guest rooms are at your disposal. And thank you. Thank you both for everything you have done for her. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Repayment is not needed. It’s what friends are for.” Halsin responded with a kind smile.

“Exactly.” Shadowheart reiterated. “You both would not hesitate to do the same for any of us.”

Astarion flushed through the blood and grime that streaked his porcelain features. “Indeed, we would. Now please, go rest. I will wash up and take vigil over her.”

Halsin nodded in agreement as he stifled a yawn. Looking out the doors of your balcony, he could see the hint of sun coming over the horizon.

“Lathander is bringing upon a new day, Astarion. Did you happen to find her ring?”

Astarion’s tired eyes shot open in remembrance. Shoving his hand in under his leather Drow armour, he bought out the ring... still attached to a rather pointed finger. Halsin and Shadowheart’s mouths dropped agape.

Astarion pulled the ring off the finger and stared at the finger with disgust.

“I was able to cut it off the bitch’s hand before she escaped,” he explained. Taking a deep waft of the finger’s scent, he promptly threw it out the open door with such force it flew far enough to fall into the river, which flowed at the far end of the garden.

“Now I will remember the cunt’s scent. I will hunt her down and destroy her if it is the last thing I do.” His face once more filled with rage and resolve, causing Halsin to look at Shadowheart with a concerned expression. They knew Astarion would keep to his word. He was resolute and stubborn like that. Alas, Astarion now, of all times, needed to be re-centered, especially now that you, his beloved, were with child.

“Astarion,” Halsin began calmly, “go and clean yourself up. When you’re done, you and I need to have a talk.”

Astarion’s expression turned to one of confusion then, but he did not question the Archdruid’s command, and went to do what he was told.

When he returned after a while, Shadowheart was now downstairs in one of the guestrooms asleep, and Halsin was sitting on the chair he had brought into the main bedroom, watching you as you slept. Upon entering the room, Halsin looked up at him with a tired but warm smile.

“Take a seat,” he motioned to the side of the bed. Astarion did so, looking down at you for a moment before he refocussed his attention on the much bigger elf.

Halsin leaned forward and gently placed the palm of his hand on your stomach, and this time, Astarion noted his action.

He squinted slightly as he spoke, “What... what are you doing?” Astarion asked, confused.

Halsin smiled broadly this time, making Astarion suddenly grow uneasy at his obvious joy.

“My hand is not merely upon her stomach...” the druid began, smiling calmly.

Astarion blinked hard, still very befuddled. “Speak plainly, Halsin,” he demanded, a slight frown knotting his brow.

Halsin tilted his head for a moment before answering. “There is something you need to know about Tav, something she was not aware of, or too shocked and afraid to tell you.”

Astarion’s mind had churned rapidly, all of Halsin’s words spinning into a chaotic clutter in his head.

“Is she dying, Halsin?! Is that what you are telling me?”

Halsin could not help but chuckle softly at Astarion’s conclusion.

“No, my dear friend,” he reassured. “She is quite the contrary.”

Astarion blinked hard again. “What, Halsin?! What in the Nine Hells is it?”

“She is with child.”

Astarion just stared at Halsin in pure and utter disbelief, and Halsin kept a level and sympathetic gaze with him as the news settled upon Astarion’s fraying senses.

“How is that... that possible? I’m technically... dead!”

“Undead.” Halsin corrected with a grin. “But undead can procreate when coupled with life.”

“Wh... what?” Astarion stuttered, his eyes wide and still clouded with confusion.

“Dhampir.” Halsin stated.

Astarion’s lip drooped as he continued to look blankly, the words not yet settling in his tired mind.

Halsin cupped Astarion’s shaking hand with his large palm and guided his hand to the very tiny bump of your abdomen, leaving Astarion’s cold fingers resting gently there.

“Close your eyes, my friend. Let me guide you.”

Astarion complied with Halsin’s request. As instructed, his eyelids fluttered closed.

“Focus all of your senses on her. Feel every sensation within reach. Close yours around your little babe here inside; let nothing else distract from their presence.”

It was barely perceptible, but to a vampire’s keen wits and the help of Halsin’s magic, the ever-so-faint essence of a new soul graced Astarion’s senses. His eyes shot open, his mouth fell slightly agape. How had he not sensed this before? Had he been so wrapped up with his carnal pleasures with you for him to have noticed? Then why had he not noticed during normal times? Surely he had not been that distracted?

“Now the real work begins, my friend.” Halsin grinned.

Astarion snapped back to reality, the daze within him beginning to lift. His face still looked stunned, like an anvil had slammed into his forehead. Were those tears he could feel stinging the corner of his eyes?

“What exactly are you insinuating?” Astarion queried hesitantly, afraid of what Halsin may reply, feeling nervous about whatever news the Archdruid was about to relay to him. Astarion knew almost nothing of children, childbirth, or even child-rearing. Whatever little he had learnt was from all your previous interactions with them back in camp and at the new orphanage Halsin had established in what were the old Shadowlands - now Lightlands - as Halsin had nicknamed it. But babies? No. Absolutely nothing. Though contemplating, or perhaps lamenting at the inability to have children with you had crossed his mind on more than one occasion.

“Besides hunting down and destroying that woman that haunts us all... you will have to be the spearhead that guides and supports Tavrin through the emotional and bodily changes she will experience with her pregnancy and then the pains of childbirth, for her sake, and the safety of the babe’s.”

Halsin’s words came down like a sledgehammer. Astarion’s jaw clenched immediately. He suddenly found himself dumbfounded, his speech almost robbed by the notion of becoming a parent. Him, a parent?

He looked between your sleeping form and Halsin, who was now eyeing him inquisitively.

“Is...is this real? There’s absolutely no mistake?”

Halsin sighed and his jaw tensed. “Of course, this is no mistake, Astarion. You are going to be a father.”

“Me?” Astarion’s voice quivered coarsely.

Halsin chuckled. “Of course, you. Who else?”

Astarion then eyed the Archdruid, causing the bear of an elf to blush and clear his throat.

“My friend, the three of us have not continued our secret tryst in quite some time. Of course you are the father. Tav would have it no other way.”

“I...am going to be a father...” The words rolled out of Astarion’s lips as easily as the salt of his tears that now rolled down his cheeks. He broke into a bright and joyful smile as the tears kept flowing. Leaning over, Astarion embraced Halsin tightly, making the larger man blush furiously. But he did not repel from the embrace, but rather relished in it. He cared deeply for the both of you, and perhaps missed the naughty nights the three of you spent with each other on the odd occasion. Halsin hoped, truly, that you would find yourselves living in peace with this child and that Faceless would no longer hound you and continue to threaten the happiness you two had built together. But the threat she still posed lingered darkly in all your minds.

Both pulling away gently, Astarion wiped his dampened eyes with his sleeve. “I’m still having a hard time believing it. I mean, I do now but... everything I had learnt about vampirism and my kind, which was very little, came from Cazador. He ensured the shroud was kept pulled well over our eyes. Being undead and all, I thought it would be impossible for us to conceive children. I now stand corrected.”

Halsin nodded, relieved that he was gradually opening up about it.

“There is one thing I know, though.” Halsin began. “Only true vampires are able to conceive with other humanoid creatures, and now that Cazador is out of the picture, well, technically, you are now a true vampire.”

Astarion pondered on Halsin’s words for a moment. “You are right...”

“Have you and Tavrin discussed offspring at all before, by any chance?” Halsin smiled softly. “Even briefly?”

“No...” Astarion paused for a moment, gazing tenderly at the smooth features of your bruised and battered face, “But honestly... it has crossed my mind on more than one occasion.”

“This can only mean one thing,” Halsin deduced as he shifted to take hold of Astarion’s chin, forcing him to avert his loving gaze away from your body to meet his. “The gods have spoken.” Halsin let go of him, a mischievous grin slipping across his broad chin.

Astarion could not help but chuckle. “I did not take you for being the teasing type, Halsin.”

“I guess the children’s humour has rubbed off on me,” he laughed as he referred to the many children that were keeping Thaniel and Oliver company back at the orphanage. “And soon there will be the pitter-patter of a little Astarion and Tavrin running around! Gods be willing, perhaps many pitter-patters of tiny feet to fill your new home!”

Astarion sat back and blinked. “Multiple offspring?”

“If you both remain busy.” Halsin teased further.

Astarion gulped. “Ah.. well, then I hope I shall live to see these ‘pitter-pattering of feet’, as you put it.”

Halsin laughed and clapped Astarion across the back jovially. “Don’t be so forlorn, my friend. All will be well with us watching over each other.”

“I know. It’s just that... I’m still reeling from all that has happened and now with this bombshell... I don’t know what to think. But I have to thank you again, Halsin, for everything. I have to thank all of you, to be honest, but you especially. I never would have thought I would have bonded with a bear of a druid so well.” He laughed at the motion, causing Halsin himself to chuckle.

“And me being a disciple of the Oak-father, never would have thought I would have coupled with an undead and a drow from the Underdark, for that matter, but here we are!”

Astarion went silent and looked thoughtfully towards his love. “Speaking of couplings...” Astarion trailed off. “Would you endure one more favour for me?”

Halsin blinked. “Oh?” He looked at Astarion curiously, his own heart beginning to pound in his chest. “A-another threesome?”

Astarion chuckled cheekily, shaking his head in amusement. “Well, I would not say no to that, but we must wait to see what our beloved Tav has to say.” His eyes narrowed on Halsin, and his grin turned salacious. “Though I am sure she would not abhor the thought. The nights the three of us have spent fucking till the morning birds sang sure were deliciously fun.”

Halsin felt his cheeks heat at the memories. They had been, indeed.

“But that is a favour for perhaps another time,” Astarion continued, his tone becoming more serious once again.

“All this cultist blood I gorged on has made me feel somewhat sick to the stomach. My palette needs cleansing and well,” he looked back down at you. “With Tav in such a state, obviously I cannot feed from her...”

“You want to feed from me?” Halsin raised a thick eyebrow.

“Only for a few moments. Just enough to get this foul blood flushed through my system and to curb the worst of my hunger. And well, with our history of the three of us... I thought perhaps you might be willing to share just a little of your healing with me?”

Halsin’s smile then took Astarion aback. He was not expecting the Archdruid to actually agree.

“As a druid, it is my duty to regenerate life. If I can give you life anew, then I will do so by whatever means necessary, my friend.”

“I never would have imagined the Oak-father to endorse such decadence between us...” Astarion started, unable to hide his amusement, yet his voice turned grave. “That is, if he actually does, of course. Not like I care, but you…”

Halsin drew Astarion in close then, much to the vampiric-elf’s shock. He pulled away just far enough to stare Astarion in his faint crimson eyes.

“Life is life, Astarion,” he murmured, a low growl entering his voice. “To celebrate giving life in whatever form one might encounter should be reason enough to bring a smile to anyone’s lips.”

The fire in Halsin’s voice stirred both fear and lust in Astarion. Yes, the three of you had some... heated interactions in the past, but this time... something felt different. Was it perhaps the emotions stirred from discovering about the unborn child, or was it merely because Halsin and his power were both desirable and dangerous and incredibly alluring, or a bit of everything, really? Either way, his cock was starting to feel tight.

Halsin placed his finger firmly beneath Astarion’s chin. “Tavrin is fast asleep and well,” his finger left his chin then and traced a trail along your elegant jaw.

His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “As the Oak-father made me a protector and a healer of the woodlands, it would be an absolute sin not to bless your carnal thirst with my own essence of life.”

Astarion squirmed in his spot and gripped his thighs tightly. That sentence alone was enough to make him grow fully hard beneath his leather trousers. Halsin, knowingly, grinned.

“That will have to wait until Tav gives us all permission, if she has the will or needs to do so,” he added as he looked at Astarion’s growing arousal.

Halsin looked away then, pushing down his own growing lust that he felt towards you both. He could not help but reminisce on the beauty of you taking hold of him, and the desire to embrace you again as he had the past times the three of you were in bed together. He could not help but shiver at the desire to have Astarion covet him with affections once more. The three of you in a sweaty, tangled mess, riding each other into oblivion, moaning and crying your praises of each other. How his mind wanted him to believe it could happen then, but with your safety a constant priority, and you currently teetering between the Abyss and the divine, Halsin would not break his promise to the Woodland Whisperer to look after you and the child within your womb first.

Astarion nodded, and a sudden guilt gripped him. “I won’t feed from you without her permission, despite my own predicament right now.” He looked down at his hardened member as it pressed against its trappings, and his brow furrowed. “I do not want to betray her. I would never...”

“I understand your sentiments,” Halsin reassured gently.

“Though I must remind you rather amusingly that it was her who initiated our little... understanding.”

Astarion could not help but chuckle then. He could remember it well. “Oh trust me, I know. And I’ll have you know, that of all of you that had tried to woo her and get into her panties at one point or another, which is all of you to be honest, you are the only one I was willing to accept aside from myself, of course.”

Halsin laughed jovially. “And I am honoured, my friend.” He glanced down again at Astarion’s tented crotch pressing up painfully under those tight leather pants. He fought his continued urges to ease the Elven vampire out of his troubles.

“Now, I think we all need to sleep,” he began, once more pushing such lurid thoughts from his mind. “Put the Eclipsed Radiance back on her finger lest you lose it and then get some rest. We can all talk again after we’ve rested enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Astarion cleared his throat as he took the ring from his clean shirt pocket and slipped it back onto your ring finger. As he did so, Halsin had stood to close the doors and curtains.

“Sleep well, Astarion.” The bear of a druid squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “And remember, all will be well.”

Astarion nodded. “Thank you again, Halsin, for everything. I owe you all a great debt.”

Halsin smiled gently. “You owe us nothing, my friend.” And with those words, he left your bedroom, closing the door behind him gently.

Sighing, Astarion slipped under the blankets and curled up beside you, watching your plump chest rise and fall from your breathing. Though your breath was still somewhat laboured, Halsin and Shadowheart’s healing was repairing you slowly. And for that, Astarion was eternally grateful.

Gently, he reached his arm over you to place his hand once more upon your stomach, focussing his senses and energy as Halsin had shown him.

After a few minutes of silence, you inhaled deeply and groaned, but remained in slumber.

Astarion stiffened as your breath rattled against his ears, and his senses focused back on your breathing.

“Just sleep, my dear. Sleep.” His words came out like a gentle plea.

With your steady and comforting breathing resuming, he felt assured that everything was finally calm. As he pressed his chest up against your sleeping form, his face rested gently against yours. Again, he focussed his senses to where his hand rested upon your belly, and a great warmth filled his entire being. He could feel them; the life that grew in you. He could now smell them, too, and tears welled up in his eyes again at the notion that all this was possible. Even though he had considered offspring before, he had never thought to bring it up to you, as he had always thought it impossible. You yourself had never mentioned children, either. Perhaps the both of you were too afraid or embarrassed to discuss it.

But it was real now, and his happiness swelled in his chest and he smiled at you sleeping beside him. If you would let him, he would love nothing more than to father more children with you one day. How he would manage running around with a gaggle of mini versions of you and himself he could not quite comprehend yet, but if it was with you, then he would manage. And with that thought lingering on his drowsy mind, he would strive to be the best father and partner that he could be.

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ramblingoak · 15 days

Text

Bookworm

Mushy May in Lucifer's Hollow: Day 17 - Funny T-Shirts

Ifrit x Zephyr

This fic is set in an alternate universe in a town called Lucifer's Hollow. It's sort of like a Satanic version of a Hallmark town. For Mushy May I'll be using the prompts to post little snippets of life for the humans and ghouls that live there 💙 Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together!

~ In Lucifer's Hollow Ifrit owns a used bookstore called Bookworm and Zephyr runs a coffee shop called The Den ~

Warnings: none, sfw, 400 words (thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!)

Looking back on it now everything made sense.

Zephyr would be the first one to admit he wasn’t really good at reading people. It wasn’t ideal, especially considering he owned and ran a coffee shop, but honestly he felt like it was better sometimes not being able to pick up on someone being rude to him. Thankfully that was a rare occurrence in Lucifer’s Hollow. Generally the only rude customers were those from out of town.

Ifrit snorted in his sleep next to him, rolling over and slinging an arm across Zephyr’s chest. He turned to peer at the fire ghoul, covering his clawed hand with one of his own. His warm skin always felt so good against his own. He let his hand move further up, his claws lightly tracing the muscles twitching under Ifrit’s skin. Zephyr didn’t stop until he reached the edge of his t-shirt, the worn fabric pulled tight across his bicep.

He knew this shirt well since it was the same one Ifrit wore every day at his bookstore, Bookworm. This one in particular, the one that was now just reserved for sleeping or working around the house, was special to them both. Zephyr leaned back slightly, just enough so the dim light from the lamp on his nightstand highlighted the faded print on the front.

Would you still love me if I was a Bookworm?

It had taken months, and a few blunt words from Aurora, for him to realize Ifrit had been flirting with him. Months of Ifrit visiting his shop, The Den, daily. Of little jokes, teasing glances and sweet compliments. He felt like such an idiot now, thinking that Ifrit was just being friendly. That he probably acted like that with everyone. And while Ifrit could be a flirt, he had a particular smile that Zephyr only saw when he was looking at him.

His boyfriend muttered something under his breath and Zephyr shushed him, swiping a cool hand across his forehead and into his hair. Ifrit sighed and relaxed again, rubbing his face against his shoulder. Zephyr smiled when he felt his tail wrap around his leg, an intimate gesture he never had gotten to experience before now. He pulled back just enough to read Ifrit’s shirt again, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Yes.” He scooted closer to the fire ghoul, relishing the warmth his body gave off. A whispered prayer to Lucifer began to fall from his lips, the Ghoulish coming to him easily even after not using it for years. “Always.”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

More snippets from this verse are on my masterlist under "Ongoing Series"!

Other Mushy May days: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16

#ifrit x zephyr #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfic #tales from lucifer's hollow #mushy may 2024 #nameless ghouls

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ihavethedreamies · 3 months

Text

Desert Storms | Woozi

Lee Jihoon (Woozi - Seventeen)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4k

Pairing: Woozi x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot, Hookup/One-Night-Stand/Strangers to Fucking

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Doll, Baby Girl, etc.), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! & F! Receiving), 69-ing, Bondage? Tied up but not like that, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!)

Author's Note: I plan on doing a story for each member of Seventeen that is this Sci-Fi, desert world, Alternate Universe, but not according to any kind of schedule.

-> Hoshi's <-

-> Wonwoo's <-

-> S.Coup's <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

Taglist: @gaslysainz

"Shit. Shit. Shit-" You cursed. You cursed yourself, you cursed the desert, the planet, everything. Why? Sandstorm. Your rover was having trouble keeping ahead of it and you were pushing her to her limits. One of the real issues with sandstorms on the planet of Sierra-Victor-Tango versus Earth was…acid. The giant burrowing space worms that lived under the dunes spit literal acid. Because of this, the sand at deeper levels was infused with that acid. So, you really, really didn't want to be out in that. The problem was, if enough of the acid sand hit the rover, it could damage it badly, and take out the glass. Then you would have been screwed. The storm was getting worse as it traveled and to stay on the road, you couldn't drive straight away from it. All of a sudden, a message came over the transceiver.

"Hey, uh, I can see you from my base. In like a kilometer take a right and then you'll be able to see it and then you can just drive straight in." A man's voice came in, the receiver made the audio crackly from the high wind. You knew about the base, but it was private, so you didn't really know anything about it. If the guy was offering, you would take him up on it. You hit the button on your radio and shouted over the noise, "Okay, great, thanks!" You weren't sure if he saw you on some kind of radar or what. Right where he told you, you took the turn and cringed at the rattling noise your rover let off. Unfortunately, the direction he had you turn was leading you more into the path of the storm. Luckily though, you didn't have far to go. Slowing down a bit, you saw the hatch to the base open just enough for your rover to fit through. As soon as your rover started to go down the ramp into the base, the door closed, and you could hear your own thoughts again. Slowing down, you sighed in relief and stopped the rover. There was another one parked down there that was much nicer and much bigger. You pulled up and shut it off, honestly not knowing if it would start when you went to leave. The motor rattled as it shut off and you had to kick the door open after you pulled the handle. Slamming the door shut, you coughed as a bunch of sand dust blasted back at you.

"How'd you get caught out in a sandstorm?" You recognized the voice of the guy who contacted you, actually able to hear it clearly. You stepped around the rover to look at him standing in the doorway that actually led into the base. He was…gorgeous actually. Not very tall yourself, you had no room to talk, but he was pretty short. However, he compensated for this by working out it seemed because he was thick. His black shirt was sleeveless and tight, his pants were equally as tight. He had longer wavy black hair pulled halfway back into a small ponytail. You waved to acknowledge his presence and retrieved your pack from the hatch of your vehicle and slung it onto your back. Approaching him, you got an even better look at his face. There was a small scar over his brow ridge that left a clean cut into his eyebrow, another small scar on the opposite cheek near his jaw. A set of snakebite piercings rested under his lower lip and his eyes were red. Not like bloodshot, his irises were red. You didn't know if it was natural or not. His ears had some ear piercings, a long pendant hanging down from the left ear with an upside-down triangle-like design. Each finger had an identical silver ring on them that probably served some purpose.

"Thank you for letting me shelter here." You told him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

"Here." He reached for it, and you hesitated for a second but handed the large pack over, keeping your satchel with you. Motioning with his head, he went deeper into the base, and you went up the short three metal stairs and inside, the door sliding closed behind you. You followed him down the short hallway, the metal was old and worn but more or less clean. There was an intersection not too far down the hall, but he kept going forward. You reached another sliding door and when he led you in, it was a stark contrast. Everything looked brand new, fancy, top of the line. It was a giant open living space with a large sectional couch and fancy holo-screen. There was a giant round table to the left and there was a decorative wall that had the kitchen on the other side. It looked like there was another big open space behind the kitchen with a bunch of consoles and other equipment set up. On the other side of the living room there was a large bedroom with the doors open and the hall went in both directions past it.

"Wow…" You gaped, looking around. The same logo that was on his earring was found in multiple places around, a big hologram floating above the center of the table, printed on the glass of the decorative wall, even scored into the glass of the coffee table.

"The storm is supposed to dissipate soon, but then another big one is coming in. You can stay here through it, no one else is here. Normally my co-commander is here too but he's not right now." The man told you and his voice brought you attention back to him. This place looked like more money was put into it than your entire hometown.

"What is this place?"

"Ever heard of the Rangers?"

"Yes?"

"This is our main base." He motioned with his head again and she followed after him and he led her down the hallway to nearly the end. The door at the end opened and he had brought her to a beautiful bedroom with a sitting area, king-sized bed, and a giant bathroom behind the bed.

"I can stay here?" You gawked and he let your bag thump on the ground as he smirked.

"Yeah, no one is using it. Woozi." He held his hand out and you nervously shook it. Even though he himself was pretty short, you were still a good three or four inches shorter than him.

"Oh, uh, (Y/N)."

"Where are you from?" Woozi moved back out of the room, and you trotted after him as he led you back toward the kitchen.

"Morgran town." You informed. He told you to take a seat at the counter and you jumped up on the stool and he opened the ice box.

"I'm not a wonderful cook so I don't have any fancy ingredients, but I can mix all this together with some rice." He had taken a bunch of small containers of leftovers and set them on the counter.

"Okay!" You were starving and hadn't had a normal meal in quite a while. He set up the rice cooker and you wondered if this was how homes on Terra looked.

"Were you born here?" Woozi asked.

"Yes. You?"

"Nah. I was born on Pledis and moved here when I was about eighteen."

"Why?"

"The co-commander, Seungcheol, convinced me to come here with him and start our own faction of Rangers. Not only are there a lot of runaway criminals here, but a lot of people who need help in the middle of the desert." He cast you a sly look as he hit the button on the rice cooker. You laughed nervously at this, and he leaned against the counter in front of you. Lord, he was hot. The way he was positioned, the muscles in his arm flexed and his shirt spread tight over his chest. He huffed when he noticed you were ogling him, and his hand came to your chin. He moved your head up, so you looked him in the eye again and your face exploded into a blush.

"U-uh, I…I'm-"

"Don't worry, doll." He tilted his head to the side, looking over your face, his thumb coming up to stroke your bottom lip. Woozi backed up with a smirk and you avoided his gaze, turning in your stool to get down and go near the couch.

"Your holo-screen is huge." You marveled and he moved out of the kitchen to join you, pointing for you to sit.

"Tap the table." He told you and you saw a little flashing light and pressed it, a holographic module popping up that worked as the remote.

"Watch whatever, I have to go finish something." He told you. You watched from the corner of your eye as he went to the room behind the kitchen, your eyes moving down to look at his ass in those tight black pants. When he got completely out of view you looked back at the module and found a listing of movies and shows that you had only ever dreamed of seeing. They even had ones that were over a hundred years old! Selecting one, a movie series based off an even older set of books about elves and wizards, you sat back to watch it. There was another button on the module that flashed, catching your attention. You tapped it, and a second smaller screen popped up in the corner showing the radar of the storms incoming.

"Shit." You groaned. Woozi had been right. The one you just escaped was still lingering over the area and there was another bigger one coming right behind it. At the bottom of the corner there might have been a third one developing as well. Oh well, it could be worse than being stuck in a fancy underground base with an extremely attractive man.

It was only about thirty minutes after you started the movie he came back out, the only reason you noticed was because the rice cooker had gone off. Pausing the movie, you got up and went to sit at the counter, watching as he mixed everything together and your mouth watered. He left it all in the same big bowl, grabbed two spoons, then nodded for you to follow him back into the living area. You hesitantly sat down, and he sat way closer to you than you even hoped for and handed you a spoon. Glancing at him, you sat back still mostly rigid, and hit play on the movie. After you got to eating it and realized how starving you were, you soon forgot that he was so close to you. He watched in amusement as you scarfed it down and you both had soon finished it off.

"Thanks for letting me stay here. I looked at the radar and it looks like the storms are just going to keep coming." You groaned, resting your head on the back of the couch. Your eyes were closed so he took the chance to look you over like you had been him. The thin fabric of your shirt had ridden up some and revealed the smooth skin on your tummy and waist, tanned with a smattering of freckles from sun exposure. Your long hair was tied back in a braid, and you wore tight leggings with mesh side panels to allow for more breathability. It wasn't too often he ran into anyone, even women, who were that much smaller than him, let alone that cute. His eyes shot back to your face, your eyes still closed and he wondered if you had fallen asleep already. Woozi wanted to just grab you and haul you onto his lap. Living out in the middle of the desert with only the rest of the guys in his Ranger group didn't give many opportunities for him to be with a woman. Now, one had just happened to show up. He didn't want to push it, but with you how you had been looking at him…

"Ugh, I think I wore myself out trying to get out of that storm. The adrenaline has finally gone away it seems." You tipped your head back and forth, your neck popping to relieve some pressure. He glanced at his watch, and it was pretty late. This time of year, the sun didn't get very low, so it was bright nearly all of the time.

"Go sleep then. If I'm not out here when you get up, you can just grab whatever from the kitchen. I'll let you know if the storm lets up sooner." He stood up with the bowl to clean it up and he watched you trudge sleepily down the hall and into the room he let you use. When you got in there, you marveled at the luxury and peeled your clothes off so you could take an actual legitimate shower. The water felt like heaven, and you were glad your spare underwear and clothes were clean. Just putting on your leggings over your panties and redoing a wrap-around breast band, you climbed in the amazing bed and immediately fell asleep.

A loud and echoing crash startled you awake, the sound of metal crunching was the opposite of reassuring. When it happened again you jumped out of the bed and ran out of the room and down the hall. You assumed the only room with the door closed was his and you got ready to knock, but the door just slid open. He was sitting up at a desk across from the bed and he glanced over at your panicked face.

"What the hell was that noise?"

"The metal crushing?"

"Yes!" You gaped and came further into the room.

"Sand worm. We're fine." He assured you, and when it happened again, you jumped so hard he got up and went to you.

"Hey, it's fine." He placed his hands on your arms, and he felt you were shaking.

"That's NOT a sand worm." You insisted, the noise happened again but louder. Even he was a little surprised by the volume of it and he walked past you and toward the equipment room. You followed close behind him and he typed on the console and a hologram of the base popped up, a bright red flashing dot appearing the top right corner.

"Oh, great." He grunted and you looked at him then back to the dot.

"What?"

"The storm must have damaged the drone silo; it seems they're all falling out of the hangar." He clicked his tongue, and you sighed in relief. Sure, that sounded expensive, but a giant monster wasn't going to break in. You were still shaking a bit; your adrenaline had spiked again but your body was so worn out that it wiped you out more.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yeah?" He stepped closer and he was dangerously close to you now.

"I won't let anything happen to you, doll." He smirked, his finger coming up and brushing a lock of hair away from your face, which turned red.

"No?" You stepped even closer, your own hand moving to trace over the rings he had on each finger. The smirk grew and the hand you were touching wrapped around yours and he pulled you to him. Chest to chest, his other arm wrapped around you, your other hand resting on his shoulder. Woozi brought your linked fingers to his lips and kissed over your knuckles, and when he reached your thumb, he sucked it into his mouth. You exhaled harshly and your free hand cupped his jaw.

"How about I help you relax?" He asked, his fiery gaze meeting yours.

"Please." You whispered; his lips so close to yours now. Letting your hand go, you dropped it to his other shoulder, and his strong arms engulfed you, pressing you into him. Woozi sealed his lips over yours and you whined, his tongue immediately swirling around yours. He tasted good, almost like some kind of soda you only had once or twice in your life. His hands on you were hot, his body pressed to yours was hard and his kiss was consuming. When he finally pulled away from the kiss, a trail of saliva connected your lips and you nearly slumped against him. His presence was all encompassing, and your head was already swimming, he was some kind of drug.

"Can I do something?" You ask, his lips still close to yours, your breath mingling.

"Whatever you want, doll." Woozi complied, so you pulled back a bit but instead of stepping away from him, you sank to your knees. His finger came to your chin and made you look up at him.

"If you're going to do that, I want you to sit on my face while you do." He told you and your eyes widened.

"Okay." You shrugged and instead of reaching his hand to help you up, he bent and scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bed. You weren't big, but he did it so easily. Letting out an 'oof' as he dropped you onto his bed, your eyes got bigger as he began to strip. The tight black shirt came off and you nearly drooled. His body looked just as good as it felt, and you couldn't wait for him to drop his pants. He undid his belt and with an aggressive snap, he pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. With a smirk, he made eye contact with you and let his pants fall. You were not expecting him to have nothing on underneath and his hard cock bounced some from being released, smacking against his stomach. Your mouth watered. Stepping out of the clothes, he stalked over to you and pushed you onto your back. It wasn't hard or aggressive, more playful, and he hooked his fingers in the waist band of both your leggings and panties, then yanked them off. Woozi deftly unsnapped your breast band and threw that off you as well. Laying on his back, he patted his shoulders and you hesitantly moved to where he wanted you.

"Come on, doll." He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled your dripping cunt onto his face. You squealed, falling forward, and catching yourself on your arms. You found yourself right in front of his pretty cock and since he was already shoving his tongue into your core, you enveloped the head of his cock with your lips. Neither of you could get over how the other tasted and he grunted when you just kept swallowing his cock deeper into your mouth and throat. His arms tightened their hold around your thighs, and he sucked on your clit. You twitched at the sensation, losing your pace and you gagged on his cock. The spasming of your throat squeezed his cock deliciously and he couldn't wait to fill your cunt. When he buried his tongue inside you as deep as he could, you moaned again, the hand loosely holding his cock squeezed a bit and his hips jumped, making you swallow him more.

"Cum, doll." He ordered, nipping your clit and you did as he told. The vibrations of your moan hit his cock and you sucked hard, setting his own orgasm off. Spurts of sticky white cum painted your throat and mouth and dripped down his shaft when you couldn't contain it all. Still semi-hard, you pulled your mouth off of him with a pop, then licked him clean.

"You taste so good~" You cooed; he was about to tell you the same thing. Helping you dismount his face; you just roll over onto your back and flop to the bed. He smirked, sitting up and rolled you again so you were on your stomach. He kneeled behind you and lifted your hips up, making you rest on your knees. Your chest and face were still touching the mattress and he rubbed his thumb over you dripping folds, then the cold metal of his rings touched the flesh and you shivered.

"W-what do those do anyway?" You asked.

"Wanna find out?" When he asked you turned to look at him and nodded. Little blue sparks flew off of them, then a hologram-like gauntlet surrounded each hand. Suddenly, warmth spread over your skin, and you yelped as ribbon like tendrils shot out from his hands and wrapped around your body. It wasn't bondage, they just wrapped around like vines, over your legs and arms, your abdomen, and breasts. They were warm and tingled and when it got done, the end landed right above your clit.

"Oh, god." You gasped; the sensation dull but incredibly sensual.

"What about this?" He asked and then the ribbons tightened, and this forced a moan out of you. His hands then grabbed the flesh of your ass, the tingling hologram on his hands leaving the same sensation as the ribbons.

"Ready?" He asked and you felt the fat head of his cock at your entrance. Your body was buzzing in so many different ways and you whined positively, and he started to ease in. The burn of his girth fucking opens your walls heightened every other pleasurable sensation in your body and he groaned at how tight you were, so wet you were literally dripping.

"Ah~ (Y/N)…" He groaned finally filling you up completely. Your head was swimming and he simply grinded as deep into you as he could, his pelvis meeting your ass. When he didn’t do anything more than that you whined pitifully, needing him to move more than that.

"Woozi…" You mewled and he groaned.

"You're so tight, baby girl." His voice had rumbled through you. You yiped when the ribbons tightened then began to move again. You couldn't see behind you, but when he groaned, you felt the ribbons wrap around his cock as well and the heat intensified, and he began to move. His thrusts were shallow but hard, and he made sure to roll as deep as he could with each thrust.

"Fuck, I'm not letting you go anytime soon, doll. Even if the storm lets up." He grunted with each thrust, then stopped. You were about to complain but he leaned over you, his hands landing by your head, and you could see better the blue light around his hands.

"You want more?"

"Pl-please…" You huffed and he pumped his hips, snapping his cock into you hard after nearly pulling out all the way. Your mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out and tears pricked your eyes at the intense feeling of him rearranging your guts. He was fucking you like an animal, nearly growling above you, drool was leaving a dark spot near your mouth on the sheets.

"W-Woo-Woozi!" Feeling your orgasm coming fast, he leaned over you more, wrapping his arms around your middle to haul you up, his chest to your back. His hands cupped your breasts and the ribbons tightened even further and he grunted two more times, spilling inside of you, this sent you over the edge. One of his hands was on your throat, just lightly holding you in place as your whole body spasmed. You orgasm faded shortly after his and your body stung, the ribbons leaving you calmed the burn, and he helped you curl up in the bed. You watched the dancing patterns of the screen saver on his wall display, dazed, barely registering him moving around. When he came back into view you slightly noticed the continuing metal crunch of the drone silo, but it was the least of your concerns.

"You know, I think the storms might last a few days…" He sat on the bed next to you, wearing a pair of boxers now.

"I hope they last the whole month," You mumbled, and this made him laugh.

"Me too, doll."

-> Hoshi's <-

-> Wonwoo's <-

-> S.Coup's <-

Master-Master List

Seventeen Master List

#ihavethedreamies #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #seventeen #svt #seventeen woozi #svt woozi #x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #kpop x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #woozi x reader #woozi smut #woozi #lee jihoon

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fanby-fckry · 2 months

Text

How to Support Your Asexual Friend (Who May or May Not Know He’s Ace)

Day 5 of Ace Alastor Week: Friendship Friday

Please ignore that I didn’t post on tumblr, yesterday, I promise I didn’t forget/give up, I’m just indecisive and late. I’ve got one up on AO3, but can’t post it here until I figure out what I’m doing.

Word Count: 2,942

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Warnings: Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Violence

Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne | Morningstar & Vaggie, Alastor & Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Alastor & Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggie

Characters: Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Rosie (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, (mostly), Episode: s01e07 Hello Rosie! (Hazbin Hotel), then timeskip to, Post-Season/Series 01, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Friendship, Developing Friendships, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being an Idiot (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Good Friend Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Supportive Charlie Magne, Supportive Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Charlie Magne | Morningstar is Bad at Feelings, yeah I said it. she’s not good at them either she just has more of them, Fallen Angel Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Good Significant Other Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Asexuality, Ace Community Inside Jokes, Unreliable Narrator, Misunderstandings, Baking, Stress Baking, Talking, Conversations, Crying, Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Violence

Series: Part 5 of Fanby’s Ace Alastor Week 2024 ( <- Prev || Next -> ) || Part 2 of Piece of Cake! ( <- Prev || )

Summary:

“Remember how you said we could work on supporting Alastor and his ace identity after we survived Extermination Day?” Charlie asked.

Vaggie nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Well, we survived!” Charlie gave an awkward, celebratory thumbs up. “So, now I wanna show my support! Be the good, allo-bisexual ally I know I can be!”

“By baking another cake,” Vaggie deadpanned.

“Yup!”

Charlie wants to show some support for Alastor and his asexuality, and decides that the best way to do so is by baking him a cake several cakes! Vaggie does her best to support Charlie in supporting Alastor.

There are only two problems:

Alastor doesn’t like cake.

Alastor doesn’t realize he’s ace.

Better on AO3

Charlie flopped down on her and Vaggie’s shared bed. “You should’ve seen them, Vaggie!” she said. “They were dancing, and singing, and really, really – honestly kind of creepily interested in the idea of getting to eat the invading Exorcists. Especially their wings.”

Charlie grimaced and Vaggie made a mental note not to expose her newly regrown wings while in Cannibal town.

“But I mean, that’s good, right?” Charlie said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as well as her girlfriend. “Because they’re on our side!”

Vaggie nodded, intently. “Bloodthirsty troops are the most effective kind, sweetie,” she assured her.

Charlie sighed. “Thanks,” she said, smiling softly. “Rosie’s really nice, though.”

“She is?”

“Mhmm,” Charlie hummed. “I didn’t know what to think of her at first because she made a joke about Alastor and I dating and how I’m too young for him, which: First, no. Not dating. I have an amazing girlfriend and I don’t think about Alastor like that, anyway. And second, even if we were dating, I’m pretty sure I’m older than him? Chronologically, at least.”

Vaggie tried her best to follow along with Charlie’s mile a minute rant, but she felt like she was missing some very important context.

“But then she told us she was just kidding, which was a huge relief, and she called Alastor an ace in the hole-”

“Wait,” Vaggie interrupted. “Alastor’s asexual?”

“Huh?” Charlie tilted her head.

“His best friend, who’s known him for decades, called him ace.”

“Ohh.” Charlie shook her head. “No, no, she called him ‘an ace in the hole.’ You know, like a secret weapon.”

“What did she say, exactly?” Vaggie asked.

Charlie thought for a moment. “She made a comment about how I’m ‘too young’ for him, as if we were dating, and then she said, ‘I’m just kidding. I know you’re an ace in the hole.’”

“So, in the context of explaining why it’s obvious that you two aren’t dating,” Vaggie said, slowly. “She called Alastor ace.”

“Yup!” Charlie said, then paused.

Vaggie could see the exact moment the penny dropped.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Oh shit. Alastor’s ace.”

“Probably aro, too,” Vaggie pointed out. “I bet Rosie said ‘ace’ instead of ‘aroace’ because it fit the pun better.”

Charlie put a hand under her chin. “You know, that actually makes a lot of things make sense,” she said. “I didn’t wanna assume anything, but Al’s kinda…”

Vaggie finished Charlie’s sentence. “Flamboyant in a way that makes gaydar go haywire?”

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah, Angel’s brought that up a few times.” Vaggie sighed. “And by ‘brought up’ I mean complained about. He thinks Alastor is either straight or an incredibly repressed gay man and can’t figure out which.”

“The answer is neither, apparently,” Vaggie added. “Not that it’s any of his business. Or ours for that matter.”

Charlie gasped. “Should we do another lesson on boundaries?” she asked.

Charlie’s words ran together as question after question came tumbling out of her mouth. “What about amatonormativity and asexual/aromantic erasure in the LGBTQIA+ community? Is there a way I can support Alastor without outing him? What if-”

Vaggie kissed her, and Charlie’s questions melted into a pleased hum against her girlfriend’s lips.

“I think we can figure that out later,” Vaggie said once the kiss broke. “Let’s just focus on protecting the hotel, and if we’re alive afterwards, then we can work on supporting Alastor, ok?”

Charlie nodded. “Ok.” She bit her lip. “I guess it’s just that…”

Vaggie waited patiently while Charlie wrung her hands together.

Charlie took a breath. “It’s easier to think about making new workshops and being a good ally to other parts of the community than it is to think about this!” She gestured vaguely to, well, everything.

“I wish I could go back in time before that meeting with Adam.” Charlie sniffled, and Vaggie grabbed a box of tissues from their bedside table. “Before I fucked everything up.”

Vaggie placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and handed her a tissue.

“You did not fuck up,” Vaggie said. “Adam is an asshole. He’s always been an asshole. And Heaven is…”

Vaggie hesitated. She couldn’t think of the right words to describe her feelings about Heaven, even now that Charlie knew what she was.

“We’re going to get through this,” she said instead, and kissed Charlie’s tear-stained cheeks. “Together.”

“Together,” Charlie repeated.

In Charlie’s defense, the first cake was incidental.

They’d just finished rebuilding the hotel – which meant a brand new kitchen! – when Alastor made his triumphant return. And what better way to celebrate the hotel’s completion and her friend’s return than with a cake?

Charlie never actually saw Alastor eat the cake, but he did accept it. And Charlie didn’t find it in the trash, later, so she was going to consider that a success!

The second cake… Well, that was intentional.

“Do we have any purple food coloring?” Charlie asked, rummaging around through the – somehow, already disorganized – kitchen cabinets.

“I’m not sure,” Vaggie said. “But I could run to the store and buy you some if you want, hon.”

“Thanks!” Charlie kept looking. “What about gray? Do they sell gray food coloring or should I just use a smaller portion of black?”

“Uh, Charlie?”

Charlie turned around. “Hm?”

Vaggie was sitting at the island, surrounded by various bakeware and ingredients Charlie had set out. “What are you making that uses all of this” – Vaggie gestured to the somewhat-organized chaos in front of her – “And purple and gray food coloring?”

“I’m baking a cake,” Charlie said cheerfully. “For Alastor.”

“Another one?” Vaggie asked.

“No,” Charlie said, before correcting herself. “Well, ok, yes, but… Let me explain!”

Charlie took a break from her hunt for purple and gray food coloring to join Vaggie at the island.

“I’m listening.”

“Remember how you said we could work on supporting Alastor and his ace identity after we survived Extermination Day?” Charlie asked.

Vaggie nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Well, we survived!” Charlie gave an awkward, celebratory thumbs up. “So, now I wanna show my support! Be the good, allo-bisexual ally I know I can be!”

“By baking another cake,” Vaggie deadpanned.

“Yup!”

“Why?”

Charlie took a deep breath. “Ok, I started by voogling ‘how to support my asexual friend’ and I found a website called HAVEN – Hell’s Asexual Visibility and Education Network, which is actually Hell’s version of a website from the Living World called AVEN that asexual Sinners created for Hell’s ace community – and I kind of wound up going down a rabbit hole about ace culture.”

“Apparently cake is a pretty big thing in the ace community. It’s a…” Charlie hesitated. “Mee-mee?” she guessed. “May-may? I’ve never actually heard anyone say that word out loud…”

“Meme,” Vaggie supplied. “Long E sound.”

“Thank you!” Charlie leaned across the island to give her a quick kiss.

“But yeah, it’s a meme,” Charlie said, pronouncing it correctly that time. “Because a lot of asexual people would rather have cake than have sex. So the saying, ‘I’d rather have cake,’ and cake in general became a whole thing.”

“And the food coloring?”

Charlie grinned so hard her cheeks started to hurt. “I’m gonna bake four layers in the colors of the asexual pride flag!”

Vaggie looked at her fondly. “I love you,” she said.

Charlie’s smile somehow got even brighter. “I love you too!”

Charlie squeaked. “This is gonna be amazing!” she said, bouncing in her seat. “I’m going to get a good grade in allyship! Something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve!”

Vaggie shook her head and sighed, a soft smile gracing her adorable face. ��Alright,” she said. “Let’s bake a cake.”

Why the hell was Charlie baking Alastor so many cakes?

The first one, that made sense. Alastor had just returned after being mortally wounded in the battle to defend the hotel, and dare he say it, a celebration was in order.

Of course, he would’ve preferred a strong drink or some freshly killed venison, but he graciously accepted the gift he was given. He didn’t eat it of course, but it would’ve been rude to reject Charlie’s misguided attempt at a welcome home gift.

But then came a second. And a third. And a fourth, fifth, sixth cake. What the fuck was going on?

Was there a joke he wasn’t in on? Had Charlie developed some sort of dessert-related madness? Was this her latest hairbrained scheme to send Damned Souls skyward?

It would all come to an end if he would just turn the damned things down. He knew that, but…

Charlie stood in front of Alastor, holding the sixth – the sixth – cake, smiling like the sun he hadn’t seen since 1933. He took the cake, thanked her, and left.

Something had to be done about this. He needed to go see Rosie.

Vaggie walked warily into the hotel’s kitchen. It looked like some kind of culinary warzone. Mixing bowls and baking sheets were piled precariously on top of egg cartons and sacks of flour.

“Hey, hon? Charlie? Sweetie?”

Charlie popped her head up from behind one of the towers of bakeware. There was purple cake batter on her cheek. “Yes?”

“Don’t you think this is getting to be a little…”

Somewhere, something crashed to the ground. Vaggie hoped it wasn’t something breakable. Niffty had a habit of collecting shards of broken glass or ceramic and turning them into makeshift weaponry.

“Much?” Vaggie finished.

Charlie tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Vaggie pursed her lips. “It’s just that…”

A bag of sugar fell from its perch. The only thing that stopped it from hitting Charlie in the face was Vaggie’s quick reflexes.

Vaggie opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted yet again. Not by another object falling from the crumbling towers, but by a different kind of chaos all together.

Alastor returned to the hotel at a completely reasonable rate.

Which is to say, as fast as demonically possible. That was a very reasonable rate considering he was facing the possibility of a seventh cake he could neither eat nor refuse.

When he arrived at the hotel, the first thing he heard was something made of glass being shattered on the kitchen floor. He could only hope that it was Husker drinking while cooking or Niffty breaking glassware to have a mess to clean and sharp objects to play with.

Much to Alastor’s chagrin, it was neither.

The kitchen was a disaster. How Charlie had managed to get it in such a state was beyond him. Alastor had cooked dinner for the other hotel residents just a few nights ago, and while the organizational system was somewhat of a mess – as is often the case when you have seven cooks in the kitchen – it wasn’t anywhere near the catastrophic levels of the kitchen’s current state.

Vaggie was balancing on her toes, wings outstretched, with one arm in the air, holding a bag of sugar over Charlie’s head.

“Hello there, ladies!” Alastor made his presence known before Vaggie could do something ridiculously sappy like pour sugar on Charlie’s head and call her ‘sweet.’

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, knowing damned well that he was.

“No!” Charlie said at the same time that Vaggie groaned, “Yes!”

“Ah, good to see we’re all on the same page!”

Charlie smiled nervously while Vaggie grumbled something under her breath in Spanish. Alastor didn’t speak Spanish, but he was fairly certain that whatever she was saying was both directed at him and incredibly rude. He magnanimously decided to ignore it.

“Charlie,” Alastor said, allowing his voice to drop slightly. “If I might have a word.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, of course!” Charlie made her way through the absolute nightmare that was the hotel’s kitchen, occasionally cursing when something crashed to the ground in her wake.

Vaggie glared daggers at Alastor from over Charlie’s shoulder. And yet, there was something beneath it. Some sense of desperateness. Interesting… He should follow up on that.

“What did you wanna talk about, Al?” Charlie asked once she was finally standing face to face with Alastor.

“I’d like to discuss the cakes.”

Charlie’s face lit up, and from across the room, that look of desperation and wrath on Vaggie’s face intensified. Very interesting indeed.

Almost interesting to make him pause his attempts to stop this nonsense long enough to figure out how he could use it to his advantage. But not quite.

“While I appreciate the gesture, I must admit, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” Alastor adjusted his monocle, trying to ignore the way Charlie’s cheery demeanor had started to droop.

He could only hope that Rosie was right about this.

“In fact, I’d rather have garlic bread,” Alastor said, repeating the exact words Rosie had used.

Instantly, Charlie’s expression changed. To what was debatable. Alastor thought he saw about ten different emotions run across her face, most of which he had never had the displeasure of feeling, himself.

When she finally did speak, the words came rushing out all at once. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t mean to assume!”

Charlie reached out as if to touch him, then pulled back, balling her hands into fists and holding them rigid against her sides. Smart girl.

“I’m so, so sorry, Alastor!” she said, barely pausing for breath. “Of course, I know aces aren’t a monolith, I just thought that…”

Charlie continued speaking, but Alastor wasn’t paying very close attention. Whatever she was saying was of little importance and made even less sense.

However, there was one word that kept catching his ear, persistently clamoring across his consciousness like a single note out of tune in an otherwise unremarkable song. And like an off-key note, it didn’t seem to fit within the context provided for it.

Which begged the question…

Why did everyone keep calling him ‘ace?’

Oh, Charlie was starting to look teary eyed. He’d better tune back in.

“…and I just wanna be a good friend.” Charlie’s voice wavered. Her knuckles were somehow even whiter than usual as she fought to keep her hands at her sides, and tears were already starting to spill down her cheeks.

Alastor made an executive decision to cut the waterworks off before they could truly begin. Of course, this would mean he’d be liable for Charlie’s famous ‘happy tears,’ but well… anything was better than this.

Alastor reached out and hugged Charlie, who promptly collapsed onto his shoulder and began to cry what he hoped were the aforementioned ‘happy tears.’

“You are a good friend, my dear,” he said, which triggered another – happy? – sob.

Alastor looked to Vaggie for help. He was out of his depth, here. Somehow Rosie’s advice had both made things better and worse.

Vaggie – whether for the sake of her sweetheart or to put Alastor out of his misery – met them in the doorway.

Alastor was just about to pass Charlie off to Vaggie when she lifted her head off of his shoulder.

Charlie looked up at Alastor with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. “Thank you, Alastor,” she said. “That means a lot.”

Alastor’s own smile softened. “I do consider you a friend, Charlie,” he said, his voice almost entirely unfiltered.

Charlie made a truly pathetic – and somewhat endearing – whimpering sound, and between that and her expression, Alastor suspected that the ‘happy tears’ which had finally begun to stem were threatening to return in full force.

“That’s quite enough of that!” Alastor spun Charlie out of his arms and into Vaggie’s.

“I think I’ve had enough cake to last a lifetime, and enough sentimentality to last two!” Alastor made a show of dusting himself off. Well, it was mostly for show. His shoulder was wet, and a bit of magic goes a long way when combined with such a gesture.

“If you do decide to transfer your obsessive baking fixation into garlic bread, please limit yourself to once a month or less,” Alastor said casually. And then, with just a hint of darkness, “Lest I lose my appetite for that as well.”

Charlie sniffled and wiped her tears away with her palms. Vaggie held her protectively, wings still visible. Her feathers were fluffed the way Husker’s sometimes got when he was feeling rebellious, and she looked like she was poised to kill should Charlie give the word.

Instead, Charlie gave quite the opposite! She giggled, a much more appealing sound than all the sobbing – happy or otherwise. “I can do that,” she said.

Both Alastor and Vaggie let out a sigh of relief.

Oh, so that’s what the look was about. Vaggie was as disturbed by Charlie’s baking mania as Alastor was.

Alastor probably could’ve used that to his advantage – and potentially gotten another Deal out of it – but he was honestly just grateful that the whole thing was finished.

Alastor and Vaggie shared a brief and odd moment of comradery, silently celebrating the end of a hell within Hell.

“Well, it was nice chatting with you both,” Alastor said, more than ready to leave both the conversation and the kitchen. “I’m happy we could put this whole cake confusion behind us!”

“Agreed,” Vaggie said. Her tone and expression spoke volumes. Clearly she’d witnessed horrors beyond Alastor’s comprehension. Which is saying a lot considering the Eldritch nature of his abilities.

Charlie laughed and hummed an, “Mhmm,” in agreement.

Alastor was going to consider that a success!

Alastor hummed along to a song he’d strung together from the airwaves as he made his exit – read, ‘escape’ – from the kitchen.

That had gone smoother than expected, all things considered.

“Ha!” he laughed to himself. Piece of cake.

#fanby’s fuckery #fanby’s fics #acealastorweek2024 #hazbin hotel #alastor #charlie morningstar #vaggie #rosie hazbin hotel #aroace alastor #asexual alastor #aromantic alastor #chaggie

47 notes · View notes

evanesdust · 5 months

Text

need you tonight (and always)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Additional Tags: POV Stiles Stilinski, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Deputy Derek Hale, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Crushes, Confessions, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Knotting, Rimming, Second Chances, Getting Together

Summary:

On his way home from work, Stiles's Jeep broke down. Which normally wouldn't have been a problem, except his heat was two weeks early, so he needed to get home. Now. Fortunately, Deputy Derek came to his rescue—in more ways than one.

It was half past ten when Stiles's Jeep broke down.

"Fuck my life," he groaned, banging his head against the steering wheel. He chanted in prayer as he tried the ignition again. "Okay, c'mon, please start. Please start, please start, please start…"

Nothing.

He muttered a curse at the realization that he was stuck, stranded on the side of the road.

"Why now? Why? Why is this my life?" Because while he wasn't surprised the Jeep broke down—honestly, the damn thing was practically held together by duct tape and hope—Stiles would have preferred it to happen at literally any other time than right now.

His stomach cramped on cue, as if he needed to be reminded why his Jeep breaking down sucked so fucking bad right now. His heat hit early. He'd been at the library studying when he started feeling warm. There was already a light flush on his cheeks when he went to the bathroom, but he didn't think anything of it. Not even when he began to grow restless.

It wasn't until he got to work that afternoon that he noticed a lot of people turning his way, their noses held high as they sniffed the air. Two hours into his shift, his boss pulled him aside, telling him there were complaints about allowing an omega in heat to work without scent blockers.

Stiles argued that he wasn't in heat, but then the cramping started.

It played out like a bad movie. His stomach clenched, and his boxers grew damp with slick. Then Brett—a regular at the bakery—came in. He was always so nice, so Stiles was startled when Brett damn near dragged him over the counter and pinned him against it.

Brett's eyes flashed red, and he growled something about Stiles's scent but thankfully had enough control to pull himself away before doing anything more. As Brett ran out of the shop, he glanced over his shoulder, throwing Stiles an apologetic look.

Stiles bit back a curse. His heat wasn't due for another two weeks. Thankfully, he'd managed to make it through the rest of his shift without incident. Of course, it was also spent in the back office, filing paperwork at his boss's insistence.

Seriously, fuck his life.

Stiles dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up Scott's number. He didn't have the time to try and figure out what was wrong with Roscoe, and who better to call to pick him up than his best friend-slash-roommate, right? Except Scott didn't answer.

So he tried again. "C'mon, Scottie. Pick up, pick up, pick up."

When the call clicked to voicemail for a second time, Stiles remembered Scott was out on a date.

"Wish I were on a fucking date," he muttered. Preferably with his crush, Derek Hale.

They'd met nearly six months ago at a bar. Stiles had been out with friends when Derek walked in. The attraction was immediate. One thing led to another, and within the hour, Derek had Stiles pinned up against a wall and then bent over his couch, their clothes haphazardly strewn around Derek's loft.

Unfortunately, while they had explosive chemistry, any chance of a second time was thrown out the window when Derek learned that Stiles was the sheriff's son. As it turned out, Derek was the newest deputy for the Beacon County Sheriff's Department and didn't want to risk any kind of conflict by screwing around with his boss's son.

Memories of the way Derek had touched him flash through Stiles's mind, making his body hot, his cock hard, and his hole slick.

God, what Stiles would do for a repeat. Seriously. Derek's dick was magnificent.

But that wasn't the only reason Stiles liked Derek. Sure, he was drawn in by Derek's stupidly handsome face, ridiculous muscles, and fantastic cock, but that wasn't what kept his crush alive all these months. Derek was genuinely one of the nicest guys Stiles had ever met. He was always volunteering at the local cat rescue in town. Not only changing the litter boxes and making sure the cats had food and water but also sitting with them. Seriously, the image of Derek Hale cuddling kittens was adorable.

Then, there was the time a storm blew through town, damaging some homes. Derek was the first person to grab a toolbox and ask what he could do to help. And, to top it off, Derek took in three betas who were without a pack. He provided them a safe haven, a home. A family. Honestly, Stiles admired the hell out of him.

Another cramp hit, pulling Stiles out of his thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he called his dad, but there was no answer. He wouldn't be surprised if his dad was still at work, so he called the sheriff's station.

"Beacon County Sheriff's Department. This is Deputy Hale speaking. How may I help you?"

"Er, he-ey, Deputy Hale." Stiles chuckled nervously because, of course, it would be Derek who answered. "It's Stiles."

"Hi, Stiles."

God, the way Derek says his name made a shiver run down Stiles's spine. His pants became uncomfortably damp.

"Stiles?"

"Sorry, um," Stiles cleared his throat. "Is my dad busy? I tried calling his cell, but he didn't answer."

There was some shuffling over the line, presumably as Derek got up from his desk to check.

"His door's closed. He's doing evals this week and called Graeme in a while ago, so he might still be with her. Is this an emergency? I can interrupt."

"Nonono," Stiles said quickly. "When he's done, can you just let him know that my Jeep died again? I'm sitting out by," he glanced around, trying to get a bearing for where he was, "Old Windsor Road."

"My shift's actually done. I can pick you up."

"No, that's— Really, you don't have to. Besides, if you did that, then you'd be going out of your way to take me home. I can wait until my dad's free." And the last thing Stiles needed was for Derek to scent his arousal. Just the thought of Derek being there made him leak more slick.

"Are you sure?" Before Stiles could answer, Derek said, "Actually, Tara just left his office. I'll transfer you now."

Oh, thank God. "Awesome. Thanks, Derek."

"No problem. Just one second."

There was a click and then the line rang twice before his dad picked up. "Sheriff Stilinski speaking."

"He-ey, Dad. You know how I'm your favorite son?"

"You're my only son."

"And therefore your favorite," Stiles insisted.

"Meh. Maybe if you visited more."

"Rude." Stiles rolled his eyes, too used to his dad's teasing. "Anyway, Roscoe died."

"Stiles…" His dad sighed. "I know how important the Jeep is to you, but—"

"I will never abandon this Jeep, you understand me? Ever." Though Stiles knew that at some point, someday, he'd have to give up his mom's old Jeep and find something more reliable. "I'm gonna fix her, but I need to get home first. I already tried Scott, but he didn't answer."

"Alright. Where are you?"

"I'm on—" Stiles was cut off by three rapid beeps. He realized his call dropped when he pulled his phone away from his ear. "Shit."

And, because his life sucked, his phone died as he tried to call back. And, naturally, his portable charger wasn't in the glove compartment where it should be.

Seriously, fuck his life.

What was that old saying? When it rains, it pours? Well, right now, it was a damn torrential downpour.

"I charged you!" Stiles yelled, glaring at his phone as if that would magically turn it back on.

The car was suddenly too small, the metal exterior closing in around him as anger and frustration coursed through his veins, so he climbed out, slamming the door behind him.

The moon hung high in the sky as Stiles paced along the edge of the preserve. The trees cast ominous shadows in the early autumn breeze, their dark fingers stretching toward him in the moonlight.

He'd seen enough horror movies to be freaked out by being alone this close to the woods. These kinds of situations never ended well for guys who were one hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone—not to mention how bad his luck had already been tonight.

No, stop!

He was a grown man; he was absolutely not scared. Nope.

A cool gust of wind breezed over Stiles, and he briskly rubbed his hands over his arms, smoothing away the goosebumps as he blew out a breath. "Okay. Okay. This is fine. Everything's fine."

Famous last words.

His stomach clenched, and he hoped his dad was on the way because he seriously needed to get home as soon as possible. He needed his dildo—the knotting one if the way his hole clenched desperately around nothing was any indication.

He briefly considered walking to his dad's. It was closer than his apartment, and he knew he could hole up in his old room during his heat because, as much as he loved Scott, he'd rather have his dad checking in on him. Scott's alpha control was good but not great, and it was always awkward when Scott popped boners just because Stiles was in heat.

But his phone was dead, and there was no way he was walking through the woods without a light source. Plus, if any random alpha came across him… Nope, Stiles didn't even want to think about that. Instead, he thought about his bed and dildo. Absolutely not about Derek because that just made him clench with need. Fuck, he really needed to be filled. Like right now.

It was only a few minutes before a siren wailed and headlights appeared around the bend. Red and blue lights flashed atop the sheriff's cruiser that parked behind Stiles's Jeep, and Stiles sighed in relief.

The driver's side door opened and a tall figure walked toward him, but the moonlight wasn't enough for Stiles to make out any details. It had to be his dad, though.

"Oh, thank God. You have no idea how happy I am to see y—" Stiles stopped short because the person coming closer wasn't his dad.

Fuck.

Seriously, no one should look that good in a uniform, but Derek was easily the most gorgeous man Stiles had ever seen.

Stiles's eyes swept over Derek, whose uniform fit so snugly it practically clung to him—so taut across his thighs, hips, and broad chest it was just shy of indecent. Derek was the epitome of sex on legs. A walking wet dream.

God, and those arms!

Stiles couldn't help but remember how those muscular, tanned biceps held him against a wall as Derek fucked him senseless.

Derek's nostrils flared.

Stiles flushed in embarrassment, in complete mortification. Derek was an alpha werewolf, so there was no way he couldn't smell Stiles's arousal or the slick that was now dripping down his legs. "I am so sorry! What are you doing here?"

"Told your dad I'd pick you up," Derek said, his words now slurring around his fangs. His eyes flashed crimson as his nostrils flared again.

With supernatural speed, Derek was on top of Stiles, pressing him against the Jeep with his face shoved against the crook of Stiles's neck.

Stiles sucked in a breath because that shouldn't have been as hot as it was, but he lost all train of thought because Derek's scruff felt fantastic against his skin.

He moaned wantonly. His cock was hard—painfully so—and he was pretty sure if he dropped trou right now, his boxers would land on the ground with a sickening splat.

"Oh my God, yes!" Stiles gripped Derek's hips, rutting against him as Derek mouthed at his neck. "Pleasepleaseplease."

He'd been tempted to ask Derek about helping him through his heat, but he didn't think Derek would do it since he'd shut down any possibility of a relationship, and Stiles didn't want to make things awkward. Not to mention, Derek probably would have said no, considering Stiles was still the sheriff's son.

Derek wrenched himself away, his chest heaving and his hands clenched at his sides as if it was taking everything to hold himself back. "Get in the cruiser and go."

"Wait, what?" Stiles frowned, confused.

"I don't—I need—my control…" Derek growled. "You need to go. Now. I can't—I can't control myself around you."

"Why?"

That didn't make any sense because Derek always had impeccable control. Anytime there was a call involving an omega in heat, Derek was the only alpha his dad trusted to deal with it. Like Scott, most alphas had at least some reaction to an omega in heat, like popping a boner or beta-shifting. Not Derek, though. It had earned him quite the reputation and was another reason Stiles thought so highly of him.

"Because it's you!" Derek growled again. "God, your scent. I can't—"

"What about my scent?" Stiles crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed, even though all he wanted to do was get on all fours and present his ass to Derek for the taking.

Derek let out a pained whine. "You smell like cinnamon rolls and home. Sweet and familiar."

Oh.

Stiles's eyes went wide. Derek liked him.

Derek liked him.

But why? Their situation hadn't changed at all. Stiles was still the sheriff's son, and if Derek really did like him, he would have said something before now. Right?

Still, all Stiles could think was, "You mean we could have been together this entire time? Months of sex! We've missed months of sex!" His yell echoed through the trees. Shit. Okay, he definitely hadn't meant to say all that out loud. "Not that I just want you for your dick or anything," he quickly added, "but I'm in heat and horny and you're standing there, staring at me like you wanna eat me."

Derek growled again, and when Stiles glanced at him, it looked like Derek was seriously second-guessing his taste in men. Or, at least, his attraction to Stiles. But Stiles couldn't really focus on that right now because he was in heat, and Derek had already admitted to liking him. So, no, Stiles didn't feel bad about being an antagonizing little shit. Not at all.

Plus, there were instincts at play. He was an omega in heat with a very attractive alpha werewolf looking at him like he was the most desirable prey. Like he'd love to just devour Stiles.

And Stiles was more than willing to let him. So, instead of getting in the cruiser, he smirked and stepped back.

"Stiles." Derek's voice was hard, like he was warning Stiles not to tempt him.

Well, where was the fun in that? So without a second thought, Stiles ran.

A howl rang out behind him, the sound echoing through the preserve. Stiles swore he could feel it in his bones, shaking his very core—Derek was calling for him, and Stiles desperately wanted to answer.

His pulse skyrocketed. He let out a shuddering breath as blood surged to his head, drowning out nearly everything until he heard the snap of a branch breaking. The sound filled him with a rush of excitement. His breath hitched and he forced himself to pick up his speed.

Another branch broke, and then another. The sound grew closerclosercloser, and when Stiles glanced behind himself, he tripped and fell onto his ass in his haste to get away. Rocks and twigs dug into his palms as he pushed himself up. He didn't bother dusting off the dirt as he spun on his heels and started to run again.

There was no way he was making this easy for Derek.

Another howl broke through the trees, only this time, it sounded almost gleeful.

Stiles ran until his lungs burned—until his legs gave out. He was pretty sure that Derek could have taken him down by now, but it was like Derek was teasing him.

Like this was a game, and Stiles was the prize.

Stiles pivoted, trying not to trip again as he crouched against a fallen oak tree. His skin tingled, his stomach swooping, and his heart beating an erratic tempo against his ribcage as he tried to outrun an alpha werewolf.

Thwack.

Stiles banged his head against the tree trunk before hauling himself up. His thighs burned as he ran again, wincing as the leaves crunched beneath his feet, giving away his position.

Come on, Stiles, think!

There was a snap of another branch breaking. Stiles blanched as he fell again, and then—

He was pinned. Derek's hard body pressed him to the ground, his teeth settling against Stiles's neck. All it would take was the slightest pressure to pierce his flesh. So Stiles waited.

Only it never came. He whined as the weight on his back disappeared, and then he heard a groan.

Stiles tried to flip over, but strong hands gripped his hips, keeping him still. He squealed in surprise when Derek shoved his face between Stiles's ass cheeks, inhaling like a man starved for air.

Stiles's hole clenched in response, and a thick line of slick dripped between his thighs. Derek released a pleased rumble-purr and lapped at the wet spot on the back of Stiles's pants.

God, Stiles was so ready for Derek to fuck him now.

"I will," Derek said, his voice low and rough.

Shit. Stiles must have said that out loud.

"Please. Please, Derek." Stiles seriously needed to be filled—needed something as the first wave of heat took over.

"I've got you, baby."

Stiles had never really cared for terms of endearment, but Derek could call him anything right now, and he wouldn't care.

Cold air hit Stiles's ass as the back of his jeans and boxers were ripped open, the tattered fabric falling against his thighs. He glanced over his shoulder and glared, but the look of hunger on Derek's face instantly made him forget why he was mad.

Then Stiles forgot how to breathe because Derek's face was back between his asscheeks, his breath ghosting along the crack, followed by strong, slow sweeps of his tongue over Stiles's hole.

"Taste so good," Derek murmured like he was unwilling to pull away for even a second. "Missed this. Dreamt about tasting you again."

Derek's fingers joined in on the action, and Stiles reached back, brazenly spreading himself wide open for Derek.

It was like every sensation has been amplified by a thousand. Every bead of sweat felt heavy on Stiles's skin; the tickle and scratch of Derek's scruff against his ass sent jolts of pleasure up Stiles's spine. He was so keyed up that it wouldn't take long for him to get off with the way Derek was working him over.

"You have such a greedy hole. So hot and tight, sucking me in like you'll never get enough," Derek praised, his voice gruff as he crooked his fingers just right. Stiles cried out, barely managing to snake a hand under himself to wrap around his own cock before it pulsed, the warmth of his release spilling over his fingers. Still, he kept stroking until he had nothing left and his muscles stopped convulsing.

Derek growled hungrily, flipping Stiles over to lap at his balls and spent cock. Stiles lifted his hand to his mouth and licked his fingers, smirking when Derek growled again. Then Stiles moaned as Derek grabbed his hand, bringing it to his mouth, lapping up the rest of the cum on Stiles's fingers.

"Oh, fuck. That's hot." Once Derek licked every trace of cum from his fingers, Stiles asked, "Are you gonna fuck me now?"

Derek grunted, and somehow Stiles knew that was Derek-speak for 'yes.' Except instead of lining his cock up and driving into Stiles, Derek stood, easily hoisting Stiles up with him, too—one hand settled on his ass to hold him up. Stiles instinctively wrapped his legs around Derek's waist and opened his mouth to ask where they were going.

"Not here," Derek interrupted before Stiles could even speak. "I'm not knotting you in the middle of the woods."

Stiles bit back a grin. He loved that even though Derek's control was tenuous right now, he had enough sense for that. He also loved that Derek slid two fingers into his hole, knowing how desperate he was to be filled. Stiles clenched around his fingers and moaned. Now that he'd had an orgasm, it would be wave after wave of heat for the next four days. He couldn't even bring himself to care that Derek was carrying him through the woods, ass out on display for all to see while Derek was still fully clothed in his deputy's uniform.

"Ah, God, your fingers feel so good." Stiles rolled his hips and mouthed at Derek's neck. When Derek crooked his fingers just right, Stiles moaned again.

It wasn't enough, though. Stiles became frustrated as he keened and pushed back for more.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry," Derek said, adding a third finger. "We're almost there, I promise."

Stiles didn't respond, palming himself until he came again, Derek's name on his lips. Always Derek. Only Derek.

Derek increased his pace, and soon, they were in front of a house Stiles had never seen before.

"Where—?"

"It's the pack house," Derek told him, pausing at the base of the front porch steps. Stiles whined when Derek's fingers slipped out of him. "It's okay, it's okay," Derek soothed. He shrugged out of his jacket, quickly covering Stiles's ass before hurrying up the steps and kicking the door open so hard it splintered the wood.

Stiles blushed at the thoughtfulness.

There was a snort, and when Stiles glanced over his shoulder, he saw Derek's beta, Erica, standing in the entryway. Her arms were crossed, and she had a perfectly plucked brow raised. "The door was unlocked, y'know?"

"Not now, Erica!" Derek barked out, tromping past both her and one of the other betas that Derek took in a few months ago. Boyd, if Stiles remembered correctly. Everything was getting hazy, though. All he wanted right now was for Derek to fill him. He wanted Derek's knot.

Derek growled and carried him up the stairs, but not before Stiles distantly heard Erica call out, "We're going to meet Isaac at the bar. Don't do anything I wouldn't d—"

However, her words were cut off as soon as Derek slammed his bedroom door shut.

Derek was surprisingly gentle when he laid Stiles on the center of the bed, considering he had practically devolved into a caveman. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, illuminating Stiles as he fisted the soft, silky sheets. It was like he was under a spotlight.

"Derek. Derek, please. Want you to fuck me so bad," Stiles said, unable to keep quiet under Derek's scrutinizing gaze. "Need you."

The pleas must have worked because the next thing he knew, they were both naked, and Derek's deliciously warm body was blanketing him.

Stiles trembled as Derek's hands trailed over his body, sliding down his sides to his thighs, urging Stiles to spread his legs. Derek settled between them, cupping Stiles's ass and lifting him slightly.

Derek's fingers were at Stiles's hole again, gathering slick on his fingers, then running them over his—quite honestly—massive cock and getting it wet.

"Are you ready?" Derek asked breathlessly, lining himself up.

Stiles's back arched off the bed as he looked up at Derek with desperate, pleading eyes. "Fuck me. Need it. Need to feel you inside of me. Pleasepleaseplease."

Derek growled and rocked forward, sliding inside him with one smooth thrust. Stiles cried out and threw his head back. When Derek found an angle that had him hitting Stiles's prostate with every thrust, Stiles released the white-knuckle grip he had on the sheets in favor of raking his blunt nails down Derek's back.

The bed creaked as they rocked in perfect rhythm, and Stiles mindlessly murmured his pleasure. Yes. More. Fuckfuckfuck.

Derek growled with each thrust, repeating the same word over and over again. "Mine."

"Yours," Stiles assured him. "Only yours. My alpha."

"Mine."

"Yoursyoursyours," Stiles cried as he dug his feet into the firm, muscular globes of Derek's ass.

Derek growled against his neck, nipping and sucking what were sure to be dark, red bruises into his skin. "You don't even know—fuck—how much I've missed this. Wanted this. God, Stiles—"

Stiles muttered a string of curses and pleas as Derek fucked him mercilessly, sending jolts of white-hot electricity throughout his body.

"Fuck," Derek moaned, rutting into Stiles—faster, deeper, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a syncopated rhythm against their primal grunts and groans and Stiles's helpless whimpers.

His hole pulsed around Derek's cock. His legs clenched around Derek's waist, and he came for the third time that night with a shout, stifling his scream into the crook of Derek's neck as he shook through his release.

Derek kissed him, hot and insistent. Stiles couldn't help but moan into Derek's mouth when his hole stretched even more as Derek's knot swelled. It caught against Stiles's rim a few times until Derek couldn't pull out any longer. Every pulse of Derek's cock sent shock waves through Stiles's body. He'd never felt so full. So sated.

Stiles was hypnotized by the look of pleasure that contorted Derek's face. It was a look of almost-awed pain, as if this were so good, it might just kill him.

Derek ground against him forcefully until Stiles cried out Derek's name again as another orgasm hit him out of nowhere. It was everything he'd ever wanted, yet more than he'd ever dreamed of at the same time. He felt amazing—panting hard and completely out of breath while his whole body tingled with pleasure.

So good, so perfect.

"Mine," Derek said again, collapsing on Stiles's chest. They were slick with sweat, but neither could be bothered to move.

Stiles could tell Derek was in full control again when he trailed a hand down his side, his touch featherlight.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Derek asked quietly.

"No. Feels good. So full." Stiles blushed when Derek pushed up from his elbows to look down between them. As he pictured his hole stretched over Derek's knot, he clenched reflexively, sending another shiver down his spine.

God. His hole probably looked fucking obscene.

Derek made a pained sound and grabbed Stiles's hips to still him. "Keep doing that and it won't go down any time soon."

"How long?" Stiles asked since Derek hadn't knotted him the last time.

Derek leaned down, nuzzling into the crook of Stiles's neck. "Don't know. I've never actually knotted anyone before."

The news surprised Stiles. "You haven't?"

"I've never wanted to."

"But you do now?" Because Derek liked him. For some reason, Stiles pictured Sandra Bullock's character from Miss Congeniality and sang, "You think I'm gorgeous. You want to date me. You want to love me. Marry me."

"Yes. I want that," Derek said seriously before his face softened. "Somehow, despite the fact that you're clearly insane—"

"Hey!"

"—I like you. I always have, but I was being stupid."

"You were," Stiles said with a nod, smiling softly as his heart flipped in his chest. "Not gonna let you be stupid anymore."

"I know. In fact, I already asked your dad for his permission to—"

"You asked my dad," Stiles interrupted, "for permission to date me?"

"I asked him how he would feel if we started dating." Derek held his finger to Stiles's lips to stop him from interrupting again. "It was just a courtesy since he is my boss, but I've been working up the courage to ask you out for the past few months. Him saying yes was just reassurance because if you hated me at all, then I'm pretty sure he would have told me not to bother."

"Months?" Stiles shook his head, not understanding why Derek would think he hated him.

"I know I messed things up when I found out you were my boss's son. You've kept your distance, and I was sure it was because you didn't want anything to do with me anymore."

"That's not true! I was respecting your decision."

"I know. I know that now." Derek brushed his fingers down the side of Stiles's face, smiling softly.

Stiles sighed. "Well, at least that explains why my dad was acting weird during dinner last week. He kept grinning. It was…disturbing."

Derek chuckled. "Speaking of which…do you wanna let your dad or Scott know that you'll be spending your heat here?"

"Yeah, I should. Can I borrow your phone? Mine's dead."

"Of course."

Thankfully, Derek's pants were close, so he was able to grab his cell phone with a minimal amount of maneuvering. Stiles sent a quick message to both his dad and Scott so they didn't worry. Then, as much as he hated to admit it, exhaustion pulled at him. Multiple orgasms in a short amount of time would do that to a person.

He yawned. "'m tired."

"Okay." Derek kissed his shoulder. "Sleep. I'll get you cleaned up as soon as my knot goes down."

Stiles whined at the thought of not being filled.

"Shh...it's okay. Trust me, baby. I'll take care of you," Derek said, giving him a sweet kiss. "Wait, let's—" He wrapped his arms around Stiles and carefully flipped them until Stiles was lying on top of him. "There. How's that? More comfortable?"

Stiles mumbled his agreement incoherently, even though he would have been perfectly fine with Derek's weight over him. Derek's knot tugged deliciously at his rim, but he couldn't stop his eyes from closing. With Derek's arms holding him tightly, he fell asleep to the rhythmic rise and fall of Derek's chest against his cheek and a warm, happy feeling in his gut. One that was filled with promises of tomorrow, their future, and forever.

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek au #holy shit i wrote something

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britcision · 1 year

Text

Okay so… today is a little bit of a long one, so we’ll see if we’re back at Tumblr breaking length or juuuust on the right side

But! Finally, much anticipated, we have the man himself: John Constantine! Here to share secrets and save the day! (Not)

And! This chapter got us right up to the edge, next chapter is gonna push me over to one MILLION words on AO3 y’all!! I’ve been flirting with it the past couple years but finally we’re here!

So. Might push the next one out faster. Might slow the next one down, since we’re in heavy waters again. And, since we are in the heavy waters, Imma tag on some warnings:

1) we gonna be speculating a little more on Jason’s death in this one, from a couple of viewpoints. We’re also discussing Cass’s in particular, and its repercussions.

No gore or details, just some death themes, mostly from Jason’s perspective after he and Danny leave the manor (Jason’s second POV segment)

2) Bruce is gonna make some very bad decisions about stimulants and concussions, mostly off screen but it is mentioned at the end of our first Bruce POV segment

And now the links!

First and link to AO3:

———————

Never Make A Promise You Can’t Keep

Constantine hadn’t been looking forward to discussing Amity Park with the Justice League. Not the first time he’d been sent, and not for a single second after.

But hours turned into days, days to weeks, weeks to years. He’d almost thought he’d gotten away with it and that they wouldn’t ask.

Which was probably what had gotten the big Bat’s fuckin’ attention, wasn’t it. Couldn’t possibly let the universe have something nice for Johnny Constantine.

Luckily it was damn hard to lose something in the House of Mystery unless the House wanted it lost. Today she was feeling merciful and gave him the book on the second try.

It’d have been nice if he needed to refresh his memory of the case. If the knowledge of Amity Park hadn’t been sitting like a weight on his awareness since before he’d been.

Honestly he could probably point to it from anywhere on Earth. Most magic users could, if they had the faintest alignment with death.

Amity Park was goddamn wrong, even if it looked like things had turned out alright for now. Still, there were types of wrong you didn’t poke at.

Going prodding around would only make things worse.

And now he had to go explain that to Captain Prod himself, and try and persuade the fuckin’ Batman that no news was good news.

At least the Superboys had listened when he told them to clear off until he could visit in person. They’d pinky sworn they were back in Metropolis, and he’d heard enough traffic to believe them.

They could just as easily fly straight back to Alaska, but they weren’t stupid. They knew how to listen.

(Possibly from trauma related to the times Young Justice hadn’t listened to him, but he’d take what he could get.)

Now he just had to persuade the Bat that he knew what he was talking about.

Constantine hated debriefings with Batman. The guy had no grasp of magic, which was perfectly fair for most folks.

He preferred that. It kept them out of his kind of trouble, meant he didn’t have to worry about them until it got bad enough they’d accept whatever snapped sentence he managed.

Batman though. Batman treated magicians like it was their fault that the world didn’t work the way he personally preferred. Like they had any say in the how and why of magic.

Asshole.

And now he wanted to scold John like a naughty child about something he had no way to understand. Well, fuck that.

For better or worse, the Justice League made Amity Park his problem. Years late or not, this was his show, and he wasn’t going to take shit from anyone.

Thumbing quickly through the book, he kinda hated how easily it fell open to the relevant page. Like he’d already spent way too long looking.

Even he didn’t fuck with the Infinite Realms. Not if he could help it.

Stuffing in his notes from the city itself he closed the book, left the House, and hurried to one of the closer zeta tubes. Didn’t matter which city he was spat out in, he could find one.

His number didn’t coax even a flicker of the usual dry amusement as he stepped out into the bat cave, scowling up at the massive screen.

League records. Great. He strode across the floor, hoping they could sort this crap out fast.

“What the fuck’s got you lookin’ into Amity Park?” He asked as the Bat turned to face him, book tucked under his arm.

None of his usual prevaricating or fucking around. No chance for the fucker to try his usual “control the conversation” shit.

If it had any effect whatsoever, it didn’t show. Damn white outs. Batman just stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the computer, pulling up another page.

Constantine didn’t look. He didn’t want to know.

“Why did you mark Amity Park as a prank?” The big Bat asked in his stupid, gravelly tones.

Constantine rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t mark it as a fuckin’ prank, I marked it as a no fly zone for your little lot, so again: what the fuck came out of Amity Park?”

Batman stilled for a moment, doing that annoying “human computer” bit again. John preferred each and every one of the actual cyborgs, even the ones that tried to kill him.

Then he turned back, swivelling the chair around to fully face John like a movie super villain. Asshole.

“Over two thousand legitimate cries for help came out of Amity Park, and were ignored. If they were marked for the Justice League Dark, you should have responded, not deleted them.”

And that sounded way too much like an accusation. And completely fuckin’ irrelevant.

Something deeply unpleasant was tugging at the edge of Constantine’s awareness, just below the irritation he scraped over the sense of impending doom he’d been ignoring for the last hour.

He pushed it down, scowling at Bruce as he crossed the last of the distance and slammed the book down on the table next to the keyboard, gesturing up at the screens.

Still not bothering to look. He didn’t want to fuckin’ know.

“Years ago, Batty. This could be time fuckin’ sensitive, so quit pissing me about an’ tell me what. Exactly. Got you looking into Amity Park.”

There was a moment of hesitance, and he just fucking hated that. Nothing that made Batman hesitate could possibly be… good.

The feeling at the back of his mind suddenly clicked. His eyes widened and he groaned, wishing he had something stronger than a cigarette. Maybe a bullet.

“Great. Just fuckin’ great. They’re here.”

Groping around behind him, he grabbed another swivel chair and folded down into it, elbows bracing on the desk and burying his face in his hands.

Well, this was the nightmare situation.

From the fucking death taint seeping into his fuckin’ skin, something extremely fuckin’ big had oozed its way out of the Realms, and settled itself in Gotham.

Batman’s attention had snapped to, the man suddenly alert and watchful as Constantine slumped.

One hand dove into a pocket for the carton of cigarettes, Bat Cave rules be damned. Not much fuckin’ point, but he wasn’t doing this sober, and his flask was too small.

For once the Bat didn’t comment as he flicked the lighter open, lit up, and took a long drag. Just focused that laser stare on Constantine’s face.

At least he’d grasped the gravity of the matter.

“What is here?” The Bat finally asked when it became clear Constantine wasn’t elaborating, sounding annoyed.

Constantine took another drag of his smoke. Some days nicotine just wasn’t enough.

“Start from the beginning, Bats. Tell me everything that led up to you lookin’ into Amity Park, and everything you found since,” he demanded, hoping there was still a point to asking.

“If this is time sensitive, Constantine, you need to tell me what is happening,” Batman growled, tensed like he wanted to leap out of his chair and loom like one of his fuckin’ gargoyles.

The bat sounded cranky. Fuck him.

Constantine fixed him with a level stare.

“Then you’d better get fuckin’ talking, hadn’t you? I need to know how fuckin’ bad it is before I know first steps.”

Batman hesitated a moment longer, then turned back to his computer.

“I can summon the League-”

“No time,” Constantine cut him off acerbically, shaking his head, “and might make shit worse. Just fuckin’… report. Gimme yer damn report.”

For all that the Bat loved paperwork, loved to bury them all in bureaucracy, he dithered another moment before nodding, pulling up…

Well lookie there, he already had a literal report typed up. Great.

Taking another long drag of his cigarette Constantine leaned back in the chair and scanned the document.

Hopefully this wouldn’t take long. Or the extra details he could already tell he’d need, that had prompted the dull and clinical report.

Jason had tensed as Danny did. First because of the sudden alertness he could feel in Danny’s aura, even reduced back down to conversational levels.

(And that had been fun. The more times he felt Danny’s aura wrapped around him, the longer he spent with his chest tight and Danny’s presence right down to his lungs…

He felt cold when it went away. Almost lonely, surrounded by people. Fucking ancients help him, he was getting used to it.)

Was that what it’d feel like if he felt that Danny was in danger? A rush of adrenaline?

It was a little weird being so in tune with someone, but not in a bad way. Danny didn’t seem upset, just suddenly on guard in a way that the whole table noticed.

On guard, and… amused. And then he spoke and Jason tensed again.

“So that’s John Constantine… huh.”

Danny could sense John Constantine. That was… Really not the strangest thing, but it didn’t mean Jason had to like it.

If Danny could sense Constantine, could Constantine sense Danny? Jason wasn’t sure if he should ask in public.

Tim had way less reservations.

“Wait, what do you mean? What just happened?” He asked, breaking away from Tucker for a moment. But at least Tucker also looked confused.

Danny shook his head, chuckling softly and finishing up his food.

“Oh, sorry. It’s Sad Trenchcoat Guy,” he added for Sam and Tucker’s benefit, both of whom relaxed like that actually meant something.

Sam was back in her original clothes now, although Jason hadn’t given her the thermos back yet. Once her parents arrived, maybe.

Jason stifled a snicker, along with most of the Gothamites. It was a pretty accurate description of Constantine.

“Still in the dark over here,” Duke put in, a slight frown on his face.

Danny shrugged again and grinned at him.

“It’s kinda a ghost thing. I can sense other ghosts, or certain kinds of magic users. Constantine came to Amity Park not that long after I died,” he explained casually.

Tim and Dick shared meaningful looks behind Tucker’s head, and Jason stifled another chuckle. They thought they were so discrete.

Dick leaned in again, arms folded on the table as he gave Danny his best innocent interest.

“Oh? That’s kinda weird, do you know why?” He asked casually. Not questioning where Danny thought John was now.

He wanted to try and lead them away from the topic, probably. Too bad for him, if he’d asked he might have gotten some idea of how far Danny’s power stretched.

He’d explained to Jason about his aura covering most of the city, although he hadn’t claimed it as his haunt. But if Dickie didn’t want to know, Jason wouldn’t tell.

Sam fielded the question, rolling her eyes and folding her arms.

“We thought he might have come to help, since that was around when the ghost attacks started. He didn’t though,” she added bitterly, and Danny kicked her under the table.

“We don’t actually know why he came,” he explained, giving Dick a half smile, “he never talked to us. He did talk to some of the other ghosts though.”

“Wait, you can just do that?” Steph asked, her brows furrowed. Whether she was playing civilian or actually wasn’t sure, Jason wouldn’t put a bet on.

The amount most of the bat clan knew about magic and ghosts used to be that Jason was a zombie.

Which, as it turned out, was wrong.

Danny gave her a blank look, then shrugged again.

“I mean, yeah? You literally can just go ask half the time, but he was doing some fancy stuff. Binding circles and demanding truth, that kinda shit,” he added, making a face.

“He wasn’t popular among the living either,” Tucker agreed with a snicker. “Lotta weird questions for people, and no answers. We figured he was one of those occult nuts.”

“That’d explain the binding circles and truth thing,” Duke agreed with a solemn nod, folding his own arms. Honestly, watching them all play civilian was kinda adorable.

Tucker hesitated a moment, then shrugged and nodded, conceding the point.

“I mean, you’ve got me there. But he never tried to get anywhere near the fights, and then one day he just vanished. We got a ton more weird tourists for a while, but he was the weirdest,” he finished with relish.

Sam snorted again, clearly still annoyed about the whole mess. Maybe she’d been the one who actually wanted help.

Danny hadn’t mentioned how he felt about it yet, and Jason hadn’t asked, but they’d all been abandoned. Fucking Jason wasn’t happy about it.

“He was the only one who actually knew what he was doing,” she huffed, scowling at the table. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “So if he’s in Gotham, I’m gonna call it a bad sign.”

Privately, Jason was tempted to agree with her. John Constantine was a danger magnet, and Jason was half tempted to go and have a word himself.

Word in the Bat Chat was that Constantine was why Danny had never gotten any backup before. Danny himself might not be looking to start a fight over it, but Jason had Opinions on teen heroes.

And the adults who should have been protecting them.

Not with Bruce around though. He’d have to wait and see if Constantine stayed in town.

It’d give him time to ask Danny about the suddenly constant undercurrent of suppressed laughter he could feel.

In the bat cave, Constantine squinted at the picture Batman had pulled up from the gala. Not exactly the best picture on earth, but it was clear enough to tell. Shaking his head, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, could be worse,” he decided, tossing aside his second cigarette butt. The report had been complete, he’d give old Bats that, and he’d even been allowed to smoke through it.

But a black gloved hand covered his when he reached for the pack again.

Fucker.

Constantine let it slide for now, raising both hands in surrender and then pointing at the screen.

“Looks like you’ve got the halfa. Not bad news, as it goes. He’s at least still half human, which is probably why your precious city’s still intact.”

He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if another ghost tried to set up a haunt in Gotham. The old girl’s Curse would have something to say about it.

Batman didn’t look noticeably reassured though.

“Enough stalling, Constantine. What is this all about? What happened in Amity Park?” He demanded roughly, and Constantine was grudgingly impressed.

Seemed like that ol’ bat hyper focus was going to win out over even a threat to his own city. Or he hadn’t been fully listening.

No bet.

Constantine sighed again, gesturing to the screen.

“You got a ley line map somewhere on this thing?” He asked, mostly just to annoy the bat a little further. Not like he wasn’t gonna give him the answers.

Batman hesitated for a moment, then set to typing. Probably… yup, going into the JL Dark files. Zatanna kept a helpful reference folder for the mundanes.

Constantine didn’t think they needed any more help than they asked for, but she’d been right this time and he owed her a beer for it. A second later the map was on screen.

Constantine nodded again, pointing to the general area of Illinois.

“Pull up Amity Park on that map,” he instructed, wheeling his chair back out of reach to pull out a third cigarette.

Both got him an annoyed frown from old Batsy.

“What is this supposed to mean?” He asked in the old gravelly growl, the map already obediently zooming in.

Constantine lit his smoke and waved at the screen again.

“Y’know what ley lines are?” He asked back, watching the map scroll around.

Not one with a search function then. Batsy’d have to find it by hand. Sucks to be him.

It kept him from focusing much attention on John anyway, so that was a win.

“I know the places they meet are magical nexus points,” Batman admitted reluctantly, like he didn’t hoard information about everything on earth.

Constantine nodded, not willing to entertain his issues.

“Amity Park’s on a dozen of them,” he said bluntly, and watched the guy stiffen.

Zoom out a bit, find the flowering spot where damn near every ley line through that part of the world crossed. Zoomed back in to find Amity Park.

The bat scowled at the screen for a while, then at John, who’d put his feet up on the desk. Tough titties, they weren’t coming down.

“But what does that mean, Constantine,” he growled, and John sighed.

Cupped his hands in front of him, paused, and shook his head.

“Alright, I’m crap at metaphors so bear with me. You know about multiple dimensions?” He asked and the bat nodded impatiently.

Like he shouldn’t have asked. Like this fucker hadn’t just asked for the fuckin’ kindergartener explanation.

Whatever.

“Yes. There’s a different dimension on the other side of the ley lines?” He asked, and Constantine did his very best not to roll his eyes.

Well. Maybe not his very best.

But he didn’t do it as hard as he could have.

“No. There’s way too many other dimensions. But what the ley lines do is weaken a place in this dimension, especially where they cross. Amity Park is a fuckin’ sieve,” he said with finality, waiting for the Bat to catch up.

And sure enough, those frown lines etched themselves deep again. This guy was gonna make John Fuckin’ Constantine look like a fresh faced baby.

“So other dimensions can cross through?” He asked again, and John sighed.

Reductive fucker.

“No. Yes. Sort of. Because some stupid motherfucker in Amity Park didn’t just use the natural portals or holes; they punched a fuckin’ permanent portal to the Infinite Realms.”

Honestly using the natural portals would have been bad enough in his opinion. Reality was basically swiss cheese in Amity, and getting anything’s attention would be beyond dangerous.

He hadn’t even liked visiting.

Batman looked more stoic, which John assumed meant he wasn’t keeping up. Scrubbing his free hand through his hair, he blew out a stream of smoke and frowned.

“So you get natural portals between our dimension other dimensions. It’s how all that “evil other self” crap keeps happening. With me?” He asked dryly.

The bat nodded without speaking, which was as close to an admission of confusion as Constantine figured he’d get.

Whatever.

“You get more portals on ley lines, and more again where two cross. About a dozen cross in Amity Park, so they get lots of natural portals. Yes?”

The bat nodded again, face pinching up like he resented John’s tone. Double tough, he’d had every chance to read Zatanna’s primers.

If John was doing Ley Lines For Dummies the dummies could keep their attitudes to themselves.

“Natural portals, they open and close on their own. Rest of the world, they don’t usually stay open for long. They need power to stop the world from… mending the hole.”

Which was the worst fucking explanation of all time and not remotely what happened, but who fucking cared. Batty wanted to weigh in again.

“So natural portals also stay open longer around Amity Park,” he growled, trying to get to the next step of the explanation.

Which, actually, John hadn’t really thought about. Pursing his lips, he let his gaze drift to the smoke swirling around the ceiling.

There were actual fucking bats up there.

Of course there were.

Dramatic bastard.

Forcing his attention back to the bastard in question, he waved a hand to dispel the last stream of smoke.

“Doesn’t matter what natural portals do. Some asshole went to the spot in reality most likely to break on its own, and decided to punch a hole. A permanent hole, into the Infinite Realms.”

Batman took a deep, even breath in, like he was trying to hold onto his temper. Yeah, well, he’d walked face first into Amity Fuckin’ Park, now he had to join John in Hell.

“What are the Infinite Realms?” He asked, sounding as patient as ever. Brownie points for trying, John wasn’t going to.

“It’s where the unclaimed dead go. Souls not ready to move on, souls that were never born, and, much worse, it occasionally pops out personifications of forces or belief,” he ground out the last words, teeth gritting in spite of himself.

The bat stilled for a long moment, drawing in another slow, steady breath. Probably counting to ten.

“What.” It wasn’t even a question really, a flat statement of dissatisfaction.

It meant not talking about Amity Park for a bit longer though, so Constantine leaned in.

“God shit. Concepts like Time, Hope, Growth. Anything that someone, somewhere, truly believes in. Well, not just anyone,” he corrected, and Did Not enjoy the way Batman’s jaw clenched.

Not even a bit.

“It takes a lot of juice, makin’ a whole entity. But the Infinite Realms are the core of all the dimensions, the intersection they all go through, and that’s where the belief settles. The more people who believe, the more clearly they believe it, and eventually you get enough to form a personality.”

He gave the bat a little time to digest that one. To really let it sink in what a fuckin’ problem the Infinite Realms could be.

And then a thought occurred to him.

“Your city’s got one, y’know?” He mentioned almost as an afterthought, and Batty Did Not like that.

His head snapped up, white outs narrowing to slits as he glared.

“What?!” He demanded sharply and Constantine waved a hand.

“Gotham. Dunno if it’s all the shit you lot go through, or the stubborn arseholes that live ‘ere, but Gotham has a city spirit.”

No need to mention the curse yet. Batsy was already having a day.

That’d be for the next time he ticked Constantine off.

This time, just that revelation seemed to have been enough to stun the bat. Constantine left him to sit in this one until he was ready though.

Processing.

He wasn’t completely heartless.

He was a little grudgingly impressed by how quickly Batman put it aside and refocused on the matter in hand.

“And that’s why the Infinite Realms are dangerous? These powerful personifications?” He asked cautiously, like he expected John to say no again.

Smart man.

Constantine gave him a dry smile.

“If fuckin’ only. There’s spirits in there, Ancients, and every one of ‘em could give Darkseid a run for his money. But even the ghosts of the Realms are a fuckin’ dangerous lot. You know Deadman?”

The bat nodded to indicate that he did, brows furrowing.

“He can’t be seen or heard without magical assistance,” he agreed, that same caution present.

At least he was a quick learner. Constantine nodded in satisfaction.

“He’s a ghost made by magic. Ghosts from the Realms don’t have anything like the same limitations. They can’t be seen or touched unless they want to, and they can damn well affect the world around ‘em.”

John shuddered, remembering some of the attacks he’d seen. Nothing stronger than a baseline demon, but the damage you could do when no one else could touch you, or stop you…

And he shook his head, locking the damage back down.

“And worse, they’re fuckin’ unpredictable. Demons, they’re easy. They all want the same shit. Realms ghosts? If one of ‘em decides fuckin’ cheese is their obsession, that’s it. They’ll drown a city in cheddar.”

The bat was staring at him again, back on that stoic “I have no idea what’s happening so I’ll look big and scary til it all makes sense again” bullshit.

Constantine sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look. I ain’t even told ya the worst of it yet. How about we jus’ take it as read that the Infinite Realms are bad fuckin’ news, okay?” He asked as patiently as he could.

There was that little twitch, that little scrunch again. Not a happy Batty.

And he wasn’t gonna get happier while he made John teach him Magic For Dummies either.

But he nodded, folding his arms reluctantly.

“Then why did you leave the people of Amity Park to face them alone?” He asked bluntly, and… well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

Constantine stared blankly at him.

“You want Superman gettin’ body hopped by a ghostie craving all the cheddar in the mid west?” He asked in turn, and there it was.

The little indrawn breath. The fuckin’ scale of the problem.

Fuckin’ FINALLY.

“Look, Amity Park has a hero. Had. The halfa.” He waved vaguely at the screen again, the picture of Bruce’s mystery kid now buried several windows deep.

Didn’t matter.

“He’s got all the powers the ghosts do, an’ can’t be possessed. Last thing the poor little fuck needed was to face an overshadowed super.”

And yeah, the Bat still didn’t look happy (more to the better, that’d be a terrifying sight all on its own), but at least he had a reason for resting bitch face now.

Constantine sighed, waving a hand vaguely and tossing the latest butt down.

“Look, I can’t stop ya from pokin’ around. Not for lack of trying, mind. The Realms are a dangerous place, an’ Amity Park’s practically on the other side already. I dunno why the kid left, I don’t care. You though, Bats? You’re gonna do me a proper fuckin’ oath.”

He levelled his best serious stare, useless as usual against the damn white outs. It’d kill the asswipe to look human.

Batman shifted again, clearly feeling the weight of the last word.

Good.

“An oath?” He asked warily, and Constantine nodded, holding out his hand.

“On yer name, on yer blood, on yer tie to this fuckin’ city. No matter what you do lookin’ at the Infinite fuckin’ Realms. You do not. Fuck. With the Ghost King.”

The bat stared down at his hand like there was something wrong with it. John assumed anyway. The pissy face could be for anything.

And then he asked the question, because of fuckin’ course he did.

“What is the Ghost King?”

John sighed heavily, leaving his hand where it was, waiting for the oath.

“The prettiest fuckin’ princess of them all, what d’you fuckin’ think. The Ghost King rules the Infinite Realms, and by all accounts the last one was a bloody tyrant. Good news is he probably never noticed Amity Park yet, cuz America isn’t a smoking crater.”

Honestly, maybe he’d add a chapter to Zatanna’s document. Stamp it all across any reference anyone tried to make to Amity Fuckin’ Park so he never had to do this again.

He caught the Bat’s gaze again, weighting his words with enough power that every sound in the cave died around them.

“It took all the damn Ancients to seal Pariah Dark once. And someone’s beaten him, and taken his throne. I don’t fuckin’ know who, I don’t ask, but if they’re tough enough to beat Pariah, they are beyond what the League can do. Your only chance is to stay the fuck outta their way. Swear it.”

Batman stared at him for a long moment, and then down at the outstretched hand. Reached out and clasped it in his own.

“I swear. I will not knowingly upset the Ghost King.”

John gripped tighter, realized almost immediately that it was pointless against the reinforced gloves, and did it anyway.

“None of that, Batty. No bullshit. You do not fuck with the Ghost King. You hear the faintest goddamn whisper of their name, you turn tail and fuckin’ run. We will not survive their attention.”

He stared the stupid white outs down, as long as it took, and didn’t let go. Batman stared at him for a while, clearly absorbing the gravity of his words.

Constantine couldn’t remember asking a member of the League to swear to anything before. Usually he was the buyer in deals, not the keeper.

Woulda been nice to remain so, but nothing stopped the fuckin’ bat from sticking his nose in, so here was John Constantine, last condom of the universe.

Last desperate scrap of protection against a fuckin’ dick.

Finally the bat nodded, grip tightening in return.

“I swear. I will not engage with the Ghost King.”

Harley had gotten back just before Sam had to leave, with perfect timing to see her to the door actually.

The look on Pamela Manson’s face when Harley kissed Sam on each cheek and waved her off would keep Danny warm on cold nights.

A quick check of flight times back to Massachusetts (like Danny wasn’t going to take shortcuts) confirmed that Tucker could have one more night in Gotham.

Tim immediately offered to put him up in Wayne Manor again, clearly not allowing the chance to slip by him two nights in a row. Tucker was only too happy to accept, although Steph and Cass begged off.

Probably for their hero patrols. Danny wasn’t exactly sure how many vigilantes Gotham had, there seemed to be a new one every few months, but having eight of them at the gala last night probably meant all the rest had been out.

Obviously Red Robin wouldn’t be out tonight either, but there were enough of them to cover for each other.

Danny was kinda jealous of that. It had been just him for so long, and then him and Valerie, which hadn’t been better until she stopped hunting him too. He’d have loved a night off.

Still, their numbers meant that Jason probably wouldn’t need to go back to the night life unless he actually wanted to. He was definitely still built for it, but Danny couldn’t imagine anyone wanted to ask him to.

Most of the bats had clearly had their own run ins with death, but Jason’s had stuck in ways even Danny knew he didn’t quite get.

Jason had been so tense at just the thought of Danny being a teen hero. It wasn’t like that’d get easier when it was his little siblings swinging from rooftops.

Danny’s hero career might have started with his own death, but he personally was of the opinion that that’d be a perfectly fine reason to end one too.

So Dick, Steph, and Cass headed out not too long after Sam, and Danny wasn’t exactly surprised when Jason’s background angst jumped.

He’d stayed on edge since Danny and Bruce got back, even when Harley told them Bruce was off dealing with his own shit and probably wouldn’t be out of his room all night.

Danny’d bet fifty bucks that the arrival of Constantine actually meant Bruce was in the bat cave being suspicious, but he wasn’t gonna say it.

Tim had shown them to a games room, for all that he’d apparently also moved out. He still knew where everything was, and soon had them hooked up for Mariokart on the biggest TV Danny ever saw.

They’d played a couple rounds (Harley was expectedly devastating with red shells) and while Danny and Tucker were having fun, he could feel Jason stressing.

Like, even if he stuck his fingers in his ears and ignored the aura. The guy was tensed so tight his shoulders strained at his shirt, which woulda been visually interesting if Danny didn’t know why.

Cass was one near death experience from slipping back across the boundary for good.

Cass was off punching criminals with rocket launchers in body armour and spandex.

Duke was probably actually in bed, Signal did morning patrols, and Damian was obstinately refusing to play video games with them perched on the back of the couch, but still.

Dick and Steph had both given one life to the cause too, and for all Dick was a cop and in danger on his day job too, cops pretty famously showed up after the vigilantes ended the party.

More than half Jason’s immediate family were back in the line of fire and Danny could practically taste Jason’s Obsession eating away at him.

As much as he tried to pretend he was playing along and gave a shit about winning, the controller creaked in his hands more than a couple casual races should allow.

So, yeah, if he couldn’t get Jason to crack a smile with this one, he was gonna gently bow them both the fuck outta the manor.

He kept half an eye on Tim, who had a glass of water.

“Hey, you guys heard the theory about Batman?” He asked casually, just as another round of Mariokart started.

Jason kicked him in the ankle but otherwise ignored him, which was fair. He’d been exposed to Danny’s bullshit.

Tim stiffened and then forced himself to relax, Tucker rolled his eyes and jostled Danny from his other side, but it was Harley who answered.

Innocent as the day she was born.

“Oh? What? Is it that he’s a lizardman? Cuz I got right up on that cowl and he’s definitely a mammal,” she said casually, not even looking away from the screen.

Danny was pretty sure he heard Damian almost slip off his perch.

He was a little bit in love with Harley Quinn. He should get her number for Jazz, maybe his big sister would learn to have a little fun.

Grinning broad and only half fake, he drifted a turn to pick up a double item from under Tucker’s nose.

“Shit, yeah, you might actually know! It’s his secret identity!” He exclaimed cheerfully, and felt the tension in the room ratchet up.

From Tim and Damian. Jason… still wasn’t paying attention.

Not like he was deeply immersed in the game, for all he kept up he was nowhere near the speed demon that handed Danny his ass the night before.

Hmm. Better get his attention.

Tim and Damian had already settled again, probably remembering he was already In The Know even if Tucker wasn’t, and Harley had given him a very knowing look right before she fire flowered him.

Almost ready.

He waited until Tim had taken a hasty sip of water on a calm stretch, nudged Jason in the shins, and made sure he was louder than the music.

“So d’you think it’s possible that Markiplier’s Batman?”

Tim sprayed water across the couch, Harley fucking cackled, and Jason snapped his head around to stare at Danny so hard he cricked his neck.

Danny red shelled him for good measure, just so he wasn’t missing anything on screen.

Tucker rolled his eyes, also deeply used to Danny’s bullshit and much more interested in gaming revenge.

“Fuck off Danny, Markiplier isn’t even a Gothamite,” he said disdainfully and Danny shook his head, grinning.

“That’s why it’s the perfect cover. I mean, Batman wants to keep his secret identity a secret, right? So having an identity that very publicly “isn’t in Gotham” makes perfect sense!” He argued cheerfully.

Jason half snorted a laugh beside him, picking back up and speeding his way back into the race. Across the couch Tim wiped his face, still catching his breath.

“I fucking hate that that made sense,” he moaned, and Harley cackled again.

“Nah, he’s got a point! How does anyone know where a youtuber lives? We only see one room!” She agreed cheerfully, clearly leaning in.

It was so nice to have a true showwoman in the crowd.

Damian looked angry in the confused way now, and Danny would hazard a guess he didn’t watch youtube at all, let alone a lets player. That might have made it funnier, had there been no other concerns.

Beside him Jason huffed out another dry chuckle, shaking his head with the barest hint of a smile.

“I can’t believe Batman has an OnlyFans,” he said in a solemn, almost sorrowful voice… and dropped a blue shell.

Tim groaned like his soul had gone with it, clinging desperately to his first place lead. Harley cackled and added her own green shells to the mix, dropping all three as they came to the home stretch.

“Don’t forget the calendar of tasteful nudes! All for charity, just what Batsy would like,” she crowed with evident glee, and Tucker snorted a laugh.

“It’d explain all the surgeries,” he agreed reluctantly, and Danny had a sudden, utterly wicked idea.

“Hey… now that Batman’s on OnlyFans, d’you think he’ll convince the whole Justice League to do a pinup calendar, or just the other bats?” He asked innocently, watching said bats from the corner of his eye.

Well, Robins technically, but since only Tim was of age birds didn’t seem appropriate.

Tim himself threw his controller to the ground, abandoning the game and throwing himself over the back of the couch and almost hitting Damian on the way.

Damian definitely hissed at him like a startled cat.

No way Danny imagined that this close to the finish.

Tucker hesitated for a long moment, clearly considering his odds of winning, but when Harley blasted past Tim’s spun out corpse and across the finish line he abandoned his controller too to check on Tim.

Harley was surprisingly good at the game when flopped sideways on her chosen couch, laughing too hard to breathe. Danny breezed into an easy third behind her and Jason, giving the other man an assessing look.

A little wary of reaching out with his aura, especially when Jason was on edge. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Didn’t want to be too invasive, if he was honest. Danny had… kinda always been the one who was new to aura stuff before. And he’d gotten used to it, in the Ghost Zone.

He’d never spent this much time with another halfa before. Especially not without a single trace of punching or stabbing.

Except in Mariokart, where the Geneva Convention held no sway.

Jason had clearly noticed him looking though, and read the concern even without Danny pushing. He gave Danny’s shoulder a gentle bump, a nudge of fine-stop worrying alongside.

Danny nudged back, his own disbelief tinged with understanding-empathy-worried too.

But, that was kinda the other thing… the thing he didn’t really want to bring up around the other bats just yet.

And while Jason had smiled, Danny didn’t think he’d mind them dipping out.

Faking a yawn, he stretched, cracked his back, and looked over to where Tim had rejoined the couch.

“Honestly, I’m beat. I gotta try and get back into a better sleep schedule before classes start,” he said, pulling a face at the self-reminder.

Their break was coming to its end, and then he’d be back into university. His class schedule was flexible, more afternoons than early mornings, but he’d… miss this.

Free time to just spend the whole day hanging out with friends and catching up. Meeting Jason’s family, Jason meeting his.

Danny didn’t actually know what Jason did, whether he was working or going back to school, but it was gonna come up soon.

They had a trip to Frostbite to plan, some ecto shots from Danny’s fridge, and at some point he still had to introduce Jason to Frighty… and probably ask the guy if he wanted to be called that still.

It’d be a little weird to start calling him Halloween or whatever, but frankly him obeying Danny’s orders and calling him “my liege” was way fucking weirder so it’d be fine.

And about four more days before half of Danny’s time would be eaten by lectures, study halls, and projects. Fuck, maybe Jason would give him a hand with those too.

So long as he wasn’t sick of Danny by then.

Another quick glance showed that Jason’s face had reset into that tense almost-scowl again, staring past the TV.

At the other end of the couch, Tim gave a disgruntled huff.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that next time,” he grumbled, shifting to Tucker with an adorable moment of sudden concern. “Do you need me to show you to a room too, or…”

Tucker shook his head with a snicker, giving Danny a side eye.

“Nah, unlike that weakling I got used to the vigilante sleep schedule back in high school. I’m good for a couple more hours at least,” he bragged.

Danny flipped him off, hauling himself to his feet and giving Jason a nudge.

“Yeah, well, this weakling fought a croc last night and needs his sleep. Mind giving me a ride back?” He asked when Jason looked up at him.

Gently offered a touch of easy out-reassurance-trust me.

The deep furrows in Jason’s brows twitched until he caught on and his expression cleared. He nodded quickly and pulled himself to his feet.

“Yeah, we can take my bike.” Then he hesitated and looked a little uncertain. “You never told me where you live.”

It took Danny a moment to realise that… no, he really hadn’t, because that just plain didn’t feel right. But no, he’d met Jason again in that coffee shop, then come to the gala with Sam.

Hadn’t gone home last night, just stopped at one of Jason’s apparently multiple places; at least he was doing better than Danny had thought from the first apartment.

He found himself chuckling at the thought, shaking his head.

“Oh yeah, we’ve only been to your place… I’m at the south dorm at Gotham U, I can give you directions as we get closer,” he offered and Jason nodded.

He felt… weird? Like he was surprised Danny had told him where he lived, and ashamed of being surprised.

Danny decided not to dig into it, offering Jason his arm and bowing like all those Shakespeare plays he knew Jason loved.

“Shall we?”

Jason’s moment of surprise was quickly swallowed by delight and he bowed back, then tucked his hand into Danny’s elbow. Almost definitely knew etiquette better than Danny did, so Danny wasn’t gonna doubt him.

“We shall. I’ll drop you off and head home,” he agreed, then paused and glanced back at Harley.

Whose giggling had completely ended and was now watching them like her favourite sitcom. Chin in hands and all.

“Did you wanna meet up here tomorrow, or…” Jason trailed off, obviously also a little put off by her intensity.

She perked up when addressed, giving him a cheery grin and a double thumbs up.

“Here or th’ station, I don’t mind! Hey, did ya wanna come too, Danny boy?” She asked sweetly, head cocked to the side and just waaaay too innocent.

Not that Danny could work out what she was up to.

“Uh… to do what?” He asked carefully, head cocking to match hers before he noticed and straightened up.

Her grin widened, so she noticed.

“Oh, Jason an’ I are gonna go check on my buddy Waylon, see if we can’t work out what he was doin’ at the gala. If youse threw down he might like ta see ya there?”

Which honestly left Danny at a loss, until Tim explained.

“Killer Croc. His actual name’s Waylon Jones, and he was Harley’s tenant in Coney Island before coming back to Gotham,” he said casually, and Danny stilled.

There was an intensity in the room that hadn’t been there before, a sudden wave that sent a chill down his spine. Something from Harley, suddenly predator sharp in a way he hadn’t felt since Skulker had been a serious threat.

For the life of him though, he couldn’t put his finger on what though, since she didn’t move. Just grinned like she had been all along.

“People called him Killer Croc cuz of his skin condition. He gave up tryin’ ta change their minds,” she said with a light shrug, completely belied by the intensity of her stare.

Danny couldn’t look away until she released him, something satisfied in the quirk of her lip. Like she could see the sudden well of memory in his chest.

He’d never actually given in to all the things his parents had called Phantom. They’d been ashamed of all of them when the truth came out, and he’d only had to put up with them for a few years.

He tried to imagine decades of it, being called a monster for things he couldn’t control. For nothing more than a weird scaly skin condition.

He couldn’t imagine going full bomb vest over it, but Danny was man enough to admit he might just be a little touchy because of Jason’s death.

Which Waylon might not even know about.

Suddenly he actually did want to know why they’d attacked the gala.

Until now it had just been inevitable, someone was going to so why not them, but… well. He’d felt it under the whole plan, every stupid step.

Jason had trusted Waylon, not Danny, to keep things from getting out of hand. To know that a tussle was part of the fun.

Danny hadn’t planned on asking, but. Yeah.

“I’d like that,” he agreed quickly, nodding, at about the same time as Tucker found his own voice.

“Wait, that’s a skin condition? He’s just like that?” The techie asked sharply, staring around at Tim and Damian to confirm.

And got a disdainful look from Damian back.

“Tt, what else would it be? Do you know many scaled people?” He asked archly.

Danny’s mind snapped directly to Dora and her asshole brother. Knew Tucker’s had gone to the same place a second later.

“More than you’d think,” he and Tucker said in unison, and they shared a grin. If there was one benefit to their fucked up ghost hunting years, it was shutting down smart ass remarks.

Damian only looked more annoyed at being corrected, and Tucker shrugged.

“I thought he mighta been a scientist and tried to fuse himself with a lizard or something, like in Spider-Man,” he elaborated, and Danny kinda hated how much their lives resembled superhero movies.

Not that he’d say that in a room full of bats.

Damian’s brows drew down even further and he sneered, displeasure evident, but Jason cut him off before he could speak.

“Before you make a comment about mad scientists I’m gonna remind you we live in a city with Viktor Fries,” he said dryly and Damian’s mouth snapped shut.

Big brother privileges.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Ellie had given Danny those?

Tucker gave Danny a confused look, and Danny just shrugged back. He didn’t pay much attention to Gotham’s various rogues; he didn’t want to tempt his Obsession.

Tim chimed in again, without actually looking at Tucker which was kinda impressive. Guess they were just very obviously new to Gotham.

“Dr Freeze. He uses a lot of liquid nitrogen and freeze rays, he’s usually after money or diamonds to try and cure his wife,” he explained with a slight shrug.

Tucker made a confused noise.

“So… couldn’t Bruce just pay him off and keep him from bothering the city?” He asked carefully, glancing around the room.

Jason actually snorted a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“If he could, he would have. What Fries wants isn’t possible yet.”

Not possible for humans. Part of Danny perked up, wondering if Frostbite might have the answers… but no. It wasn’t his job to solve every problem in the world.

Bringing healthy humans to the Zone was iffy. An already sick woman… well, she might get hastened along her journey to the afterlife.

And this was a conversation he really wanted to keep away from, honestly. Gotham’s rogues weren’t his problem. Couldn’t be his problem.

Danny fought ghosts, unkillable entities who enjoyed missile attacks as sport. He wasn’t interested in learning how squishy human rogues were; it had been bad enough with his friends in the line of fire.

Mega pass on being the firing squad.

He almost reconsidered the trip tomorrow, but… he trusted Jason. Trusted Jason knew where he was coming from, and that neither of them wanted to trip Danny’s Obsession.

So he gave the big guy a smile and an elbow nudge, nodding for the door.

“Not that rogue chat isn’t fascinating, but you were taking me to bed?” He asked hopefully, and only realised what he’d said when Harley stuffed half her fist in her mouth to laugh.

And now, now Danny had a choice. He could feel the heat threatening to build, and blushing? Blushing would make things much worse.

Jason’s cheeks had pinked and that was adorable and Danny would ectoblast anyone who gave him shit for it, but if DANNY blushed, Tucker would never let it go.

No, the better answer had to be to play it off, and what did you do to counter red in makeup? You added green.

Not that Danny had used ectoplasm as a fucking colour corrector before, but he might as well try. So he let his grin go saucy, eyebrows waggling, and tried a teeny bit of spectral ice to cool his cheeks.

It made Jason chuckle again, so he’d take it as a win, and Jason gave him another bow, hand still tucked in Danny’s arm.

“Your chariot awaits.”

Tim and Tucker mimed puking almost simultaneously. They were perfect for each other. And had no taste, so that worked out well for them.

Danny ignored them all and gave the room a last wave, heading for the door and tugging Jason along with.

“Night all, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow Harley, and Tucker just text me when you’re up and we’ll see about getting you home,” he called brightly, definitely not about to stop no matter what anyone said.

Not even when Harley hauled herself vertical and call after them,

“Oh, Danny! If the bat calendars do come out, shall I grab you a Red Hood one?” She asked saucily and Danny felt Jason’s grip spasm in his elbow.

Which. He was gonna try putting together later, but tonight he really did wanna get out of there before long.

Who even was Red Hood?

Danny’d never seen him and he hadn’t turned up at the gala, so he didn’t have a guess ready, just like Batwoman.

A couple of people in one of Danny’s classes simped constantly over his thighs, but Danny now figured it was because they hadn’t met Jason.

It was probably easiest to agree, so he gave her a thumbs up over his shoulder.

“Autographed please!”

The headache that had lessened as he talked to Harley was back in full swing, along with a throbbing pulse in his temples and roiling nausea in his gut.

Constantine’s damn cigarettes weren’t helping, but Bruce just didn’t feel up to wrestling them away from him.

He’d expected… well. He hadn’t expected Constantine to come through full of fire and indignation, accusing Bruce of making the fucking mess.

His bad feeling had intensified too, not in the slightest relaxed that Constantine could feel that scrungly fucking kid all the way up in the manor.

No matter what Constantine said about the “halfa”, that could not bode well. Not with the look he’d seen on the man’s fucking face.

Steph called him an occult OSHA violation in a trench coat. Anything that scared him worried Bruce.

He could put up with some smoke and some pain to get the information he needed with a minimum of fuss.

He was beginning to wish he’d gotten some sleep though. Or could have someone get him a drink of water.

He’d shown Constantine the missed call logs from Amity Park, and the magician swore in ways that made Bruce see flashes of colour.

(That might have been the concussion talking, but Bruce could remember the almost buzzing swearwords he’d heard from Sam Manson and wasn’t sure. Nothing could be trusted.)

Not at the volume of the logs, that hadn’t surprised him. No, Constantine had gotten serious when Bruce shared the logs Tim had first shown him.

‘Earth is gone. The sky is green and Earth is gone.’

“Alright, that? That’s very fuckin’ bad,” the magician grumbled, reaching into his pocket for a flask for the first time since he’d arrived.

At least it wasn’t another goddamn cigarette. Little fucking meow meow magician.

(Bruce wasn’t quite sure what that one meant, but Steph usually said it with enough derision it had to apply.)

“So I assumed,” he gritted out, jaw clenching against another pang of pain.

Constantine levelled him with a blank stare. Bruce made a conscious effort to relax his face. The tensing wasn’t helping anyway.

“No, Batman. I mean really, really not fuckin’ good. They never called again?” He asked, and the sudden gravity in his voice sunk through layers of ache and irritation.

He sounded as serious as he’d been about the oath. That definitely wasn’t good.

Bruce shook his head, scrolling demonstratively to the end of the file.

“Not after this cluster of messages, all within the same day.”

Tim had all sorts of explanations for that. Bruce fervently hoped he was right and it was just pique on the part of Amity Park; he’d take them being angry with the League over anything else.

Especially anything that made John Constantine look that serious.

“An’ the town’s still there?” He asked, like that was a reasonable question.

Except… Bruce suddenly wasn’t sure. There were alumni from Amity Park, people who’d moved away, but the sheer lack of online information about the town itself…

They hadn’t even been able to get a clear satellite image.

He should have noticed that. He should have checked that. If he hadn’t been so twisted up in his worries about Jason…

But no, that wasn’t fair.

Bruce closed his eyes a moment, calming himself down. Breathing through the sluggish throb at his temples.

None of their Amity Parkers talked about the town like it was missing, or anything out of the ordinary. His children would have flagged it.

This wasn’t an oversight, but Constantine may know something that none of his family could have assumed.

He just had to get this finished. This briefing with Constantine, his report to the League, Jason… no. Sleep first, some pain killers, a more thorough scan.

Maybe a day of recovery, as soon as he could afford one. Wait until his head cleared.

Harley was right, Jason deserved the best Bruce could give him, and trying to talk to his son now would not go well. Bruce was only barely tolerating Constantine’s presence.

For all the man was alarmingly combative about this subject, he was a pussycat compared to Jason in a mood. Jason knew far more about what would hurt Bruce most.

Jason had always been what hurt Bruce most, ever since he’d held his lifeless body. Jason, and even the thought of one of his other children following him where Bruce couldn’t go.

No. He just had to get through this.

Refocusing on John-Bloody… no, that wasn’t helping either. On Constantine.

“From what we’ve gathered from people who have left Amity Park since, they still have access to the outside world.” He wasn’t quite sure what else he could commit to now.

It didn’t seem to satisfy. It didn’t satisfy Bruce either.

“Okay, but ya remember what I said about the fabric of reality bein’ swiss fuckin’ cheese around this city?” Constantine asked, his usual drawl starkly absent.

Bruce found himself tensing again. Wishing this was something he could fight.

“Yes. We haven’t been able to receive any satellite imagery of the town, nor any footage or communication online from within.”

He could pull up all the data, all the social media, but he knew Constantine wouldn’t care. It wasn’t what he’d asked for.

And sure enough, Constantine hauled himself back to his feet, striding towards the zeta tubes.

“Right. Well, guess we’re takin’ a field trip to th’ Watchtower, B-man, because you’re really not gonna like what I’d have to do to this lovely cave to get the intel I need. We’ll need every sensor you lot have, because that?”

Constantine half turned on his walk, finger jabbing at that last message. Barely even glancing in Bruce’s direction.

It felt like an accusation.

“That’s not fuckin’ good. That sounds like the Infinite Fucking Realms,” he declared darkly, trench coat billowing around him as he stalked across the cave.

Bruce almost flinched. Like he had no control over his expressions.

He needed sleep.

He needed answers. Needed to know what had happened, and what had to happen to fix it.

Needed to know they hadn’t let a half dead child take on an entire alternate dimension alone, because no matter how little he trusted the man Danny was, the thought of the child still ached.

Needed to know if that suspicion was actually justified by anything but his own inability to accept Jason’s clear. To have an unknown factor in Jason’s life.

Constantine’s reaction was one point in Bruce’s favour.

Whatever they found about the current state of Amity Park… would tell the rest.

He forced himself out of his seat to follow Constantine, hand straying to the pocket on his belt that held his emergency stimulants.

Alfred wouldn’t be pleased, the tiny pills carried an adrenaline boost that was wearing even at full health, but he needed to be sharp. Just for a few more hours.

He could pass what they learned off to Clark and Diana, and to his children when he returned. Just for a little while. A few hours.

Amity Park had gone unnoticed for years, as little as Bruce liked that fact. He could only hope that whatever threat it presented would lie dormant just a little longer.

Fuck the no killing rule, Jason was gonna murder Harley Quinn. And by that, yeah, he probably actually meant “seek vengeance in some small but annoying way”, but still.

He didn’t actually have a crush on Danny. It was a bit they were putting on to fuck with his nosey brothers, and it was probably a good sign that they’d apparently fooled Harley too.

But Harley was a hopeless romantic and prone to see romance where none existed, so maybe it wasn’t that good.

More importantly, Danny didn’t fucking know he was Red Hood yet. He’d have to text Harley tonight and drill that in, since she’d definitely picked up that Danny was in on the secret.

And since apparently they were all gonna be hanging out tomorrow.

He kinda wished he hadn’t brought it up. That Harley hadn’t asked.

He’d monopolised so much of Danny’s time already over the break, three full days and they still had to make that run back to Frostbite.

Danny must have had some other plans. Something he actually wanted to do with his time instead of just following Jason around.

The gala had been fun though. And so had today, it just… Jason couldn’t help feeling he was being too needy. Too clingy, with a guy he’d known for all of a week, if you were generous.

Being around Danny made him feel like himself for the first time in fucking years, and he knew what he’d have given up for that.

He didn’t want to be too much. Too pushy. Didn’t want Danny to get sick of hanging out with him so soon, and leave him right back where he’d been; bitter, angry, and alone.

At least Danny didn’t seem to be thinking too much about Harley’s parting shot. There was definitely something on his mind, but they hadn’t actually unlinked arms.

Jason could feel his aura.

Concern-worry-worry.

Shit, they hadn’t fucking unlinked arms. Should they? Should Jason have? For fucks sake he was literally clinging to the guy, this was fucking ridiculous, he should just.

But Danny hadn’t pulled away.

It’d be weird to pull away now.

Jason managed to keep himself distracted in that little spiral all the way to the garage he’d parked his bike in. Danny waited until they left the manor’s grounds to speak again though, arms tightening around Jason’s chest.

“Pull over a sec?” He called above the wind, and Jason very firmly did not let that pitch him further. He pulled over, still firmly in the heights and far from any living souls.

Unless theirs counted. Probably not.

He dropped the kickstand and pulled off his helmet, hoping Danny just wanted to talk. Maybe ask him to make his excuses to Harley.

Ask Jason to drop him at the university and not follow him home. That’d make sense. He didn’t need a wayward puppy.

He didn’t actually get off the bike. Didn’t want to give up Danny’s arms wrapped around him, even if it was just for expedience.

And maybe realised that wasn’t a great idea when Danny rested his cheek on Jason’s back and a warm wave of relax-safe-reassurance threatened to swallow him.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” Danny admitted softly, and Jason damn near bolted. Barely heard the next words, which…

Well.

He knew Danny tended to overlook things. But it turned out he could be pretty damn perceptive too.

“She’s gonna be okay, you know. Cass. I can feel her anywhere in the city if I try, and I’ll know if something happens to her.”

And just like that, the pit dropped out of Jason’s stomach.

He’d been trying not to think about it. Pretended he didn’t know what she’d be doing when she left, out in the city, one fucking accident from being like him.

Even worrying about Danny getting sick of him was better than that.

She might not even need the pit to bring her back this time. Gotham had a fuck ton of native ectoplasm even for a city; it couldn’t not.

Ectoplasm was made of and attracted to raw emotional energy. For all that people died every day in the city, more were born or moved in to join their ranks.

Gotham would be a metaphorical ghost town if they hadn’t, instead of the literal version slowly creeping across the city’s vigilantes.

From the rogues’ overdramatic schemes to the peoples’ undercurrent of rage and defiant joy, Gotham seethed with emotion. Most of the dead didn’t stay to use the ecto up, and every rogue attack brought a fresh wave.

Not clean ectoplasm like the realms, but tainted with their individual torments, the fierce glee, the desire to burn, it all churned into an ambient ectoplasm Danny swore he’d never seen in another city.

And that defiant spirit, the Gotham je ne sais quoi that made people put up with all the rogue attacks and dangers, was powerful too. Jason had known that even as a kid.

Now, it was literally the reason he was alive.

He might have a second core filling his system with pit water, but they’d both have dried up without the boundless “fuck off” energy Gotham was built on.

He’d felt it the second he returned. He was alive in Gotham in a way he hadn’t been in Nanda Parbat, anywhere but the fucking pit. It let him think clearly.

Well.

Apparently Danny let him think clearly. That still stung. But it shouldn’t have surprised him.

He’d never been much of anything that other people didn’t make him.

It was why he didn’t really mind Clockwork trying to make him Danny’s knight within a couple hours of learning he was half dead. It was kinda what he did.

People had been using him as a weapon since he swung a tire iron at Batman himself. Protecting the guy who gave him his fucking soul back?

He’d have done that anyway, for free. And he got a kickass gun and a supernatural sense of when said asshole needed him. Honestly, easiest job of his life.

The catch would come eventually, but this whole “feeling the intent of people you talk to” thing left him way less suspicious than he still kinda felt he should be.

He’d rather that than be left nebulously owing his whole self to Danny with no way to repay him and no idea where the catch would come from.

It had just… never occurred to him that the same way Danny could reach out and find Vlad, he’d be able to find Cass. Or Jason himself, probably.

Jason hadn’t realised how tightly he’d wound himself until the pressure eased.

He sucked in a breath that seemed to fill his chest for the first time in hours, folded his arms forward onto the handlebars, and let his head rest against them.

Danny followed him down, never losing contact but his face slipping lower and lower down Jason’s back. It almost made him chuckle, imagining how they must have looked.

Actually, he did. Just a moment, a soft and almost giddy sound that he choked back immediately. He sounded… well. Not like himself.

He’d been itching since the girls left to patrol, wishing he could join them. Be Cass’s backup in the field and be sure she wasn’t going in on anything big alone.

Cass was a step beyond competent, she was exceptional and she’d been doing this for years without a shadow. On a regular day, she wouldn’t need help.

But hearing how close she was to losing her humanity and not coming back right no matter what had him on edge. He wanted to shield her, protect her from what he’d gone through.

It wasn’t that he wanted her out of the fight. The idea of asking her not to go out hadn’t even occurred to him. She could make her own choices and he’d back her with all he had.

He just absolutely fucking hated the idea that she was out there alone, while he had fucking nothing on him that’d let him go after her if she did need backup.

If she needed help, he’d have to waste time gearing up before he could go out after her. The other bats would have her back, they all would, so long as they weren’t busy too.

It wasn’t like he was anyone’s first choice for backup even now, he just.

Yeah. He might kinda get what Danny meant about his Obsession being protection. Protecting the bats was a recent addition, but Jason had burned himself out on enough missing kids since he got back to suspect.

He’d have to ask what an actual capital-letter Obsession felt like, but that would wait for another time.

Just knowing that Cass would be safe, had another pair of eyes and more powers than a Kryptonian watching her back made him feel like he could breathe again.

Even knowing that though, he was glad to have left the manor. He could take Danny home, suit up, and… wait.

Danny had no choice but to move back as he straightened, half turning to frown down at the smaller man.

“Is that why you wanted to leave?” He asked quietly, gauging Danny’s face.

Had Danny worked it out on his own? Felt him stressing out about his baby sister back in the field?

Did Danny know that Jason wanted to join her, if not necessarily which costume he wore, and cut his night short?

Would Danny do that for him?

The answer was obvious in the other man’s face as Danny shrugged, even before he spoke.

“I didn’t wanna put you on the spot, and I figured you’d rather get out of there,” he explained casually, leaning just a little into Jason. Enough to feel what warmth Danny had.

Jason hesitated for a long moment, not sure what to say. If he should thank Danny. If Danny would ask, and if Jason should tell him he was the Red Hood now.

It’d be weirder the longer he didn’t mention it. Like he was keeping a secret.

The same secret Danny had kept as a teenager, so at least he’d probably understand, but Jason didn’t like how it felt. He wasn’t fucking ashamed of being the Red Hood.

He’d done shit no one else ever could have, and every inch of his territory was safer than it had ever been without him. He was proud of what he’d done, even if he wouldn’t brag about his methods.

It worked. It got him where he was today, where he didn’t need to kill anymore because people turned tail at the hint of his damn name.

He still didn’t know how Danny felt about killing. It wasn’t something that came up in conversation much. Maybe he’d find a way to ask first.

Tonight, he managed a stiff nod and leaned a little of his own weight back into Danny. Even if the guy thought he was just gonna go home and mope there instead, it was a win.

“Thanks,” he said softly, half wishing for his helmet’s voice modulator. He didn’t like hearing his own voice sound so… vulnerable.

Danny, fucking angel of mercy that he was, chuckled softly and gave him a gentle tap upside the head.

“Yeah, well. Also wasn’t sure how the others would react to “99% of you are permanently on my radar” anyway, and I wanted to make sure you knew for Cass,” he explained cheerfully.

And yeah, Jason still hadn’t really processed that yet, and wasn’t even sure how he’d react. Smart fucking call on Danny’s part.

Chuckling under his breath, Jason shook his head and flipped the kickstand back up.

“Anything else before I take you to bed?” He asked, half teasing Danny’s own unfortunate choice of words earlier.

They were absolutely still fucking with his family to think this was some kind of romantic relationship. Maybe a bit to punish Bruce, who clearly couldn’t handle the idea of Jason happy.

Danny laughed, a hint of something Jason almost identified behind it, then settled himself more firmly against Jason’s back, hanging on properly again.

“Not a damn thing. Oh, are you gonna come pick me up tomorrow or do I make my own way to the manor to join you and Harley?” He asked, snugged up tight.

Jason had almost forgotten that was happening. Apparently. And suddenly he was glad for at least the motorcycle helmet as his cheeks flushed pink.

Fuck he’d say he was trailing after Danny like a puppy, except Danny was the one going where Jason needed to be.

Another excuse to get Danny on his bike, arms around him.

Fuck off Jason Todd, Romance Heroine. It was a goddamn jailbreak, if a legal one. Not a fucking meet cute.

“If you actually want to come,” he agreed a little hesitantly, because the voice that insisted he was just a burden and Danny was only humouring him wasn’t all displacement activity after all.

Or pit related, apparently. Delightful.

He coulda tried to pretend it was, but that had been more convincing back when it was always a background grumble of anger, not the little calm pool of happiness now sitting in his gut.

Unforeseen side effect of getting his toxic sludge cleaned up: he was gonna have to own some of his own bullshit now. Work out what was his and what wasn’t.

Danny leaned back a little, grip loosening, and Jason could feel concern like a whisper soft touch.

“Yeah… I would, if you don’t mind? It seems like he’s important to you.”

Jason wasted a moment trying to work out what the hell Danny meant by that.

Did he want to meet Croc cuz he was important to Jason? Or did he think Jason wouldn’t want him to if he was important?

Cuz while yeah, Jason considered Waylon a friend (and thanks, Harley, for the new name crisis, love that. The guy introduced himself as Killer Croc but Jason knew all about controlling a narrative) it wasn’t like he was family. Not like Dick, Cass, or the others.

Except. Roy was family. Long before any of the bats made it back into Jason’s good books, Roy was one of the first people to be happy Jason was alive.

And Waylon had helped Roy get help when Ollie fucking kicked him out.

Waylon had been a restraining hand on Jason’s shoulder too, in the bad old days. Keeping him from pushing too hard, going too big, doing something he really couldn’t come back from.

Family didn’t have to mean annoying texts at four AM. Didn’t have to come around for dinner every Sunday; how often did any of them really see Harley?

Fuck, how often would they have seen each other if Alfred didn’t have them all firmly under his culinary thumb.

Waylon had to count as a reliable old uncle at least.

And that kinda made it a different question. Did Jason want Danny to meet his family?

It had been an easy “yes” with the bats, not least because the nosy bastards would muscle their way in regardless. Croc…

Waylon never judged Jason. From his highest highs to lowest lows, he never looked down on him. Not even when he was telling Jason to stop and think.

It kinda made Jason ache for what his life should have been. His, and Waylon’s if he’d never been called Killer Croc.

And maybe it’d give Jason a read on how Danny would react to the Red Hood thing. Or whether or not Danny already knew.

Jason was gonna blame Bruce for this chronic overthinking. Definitely not something he’d had on his own.

He’d thought about it long enough that he could feel Danny tensing, and he forced himself to snap out of it. In all honesty, it wasn’t his business what Danny thought he’d get out of it.

In the end, there was no point second guessing what someone else wanted to do with their time. It was Danny’s call. Not his.

And that kinda helped.

He half shrugged, leaning back into Danny for a moment and tugging him forwards again.

“I mean, we’re not “Thanksgiving at each others’ houses” close, but… he’s helped me out since I came back. More than I expected anyone to. I don’t mind if you wanna meet him,” Jason explained.

Danny obediently moved back into position to go, his aura a gentle hum of curiosity-concern-interest at Jason’s back.

“So do I make my own way, or…”

“I’ll come get you, probably around eleven?” Jason offered, definitely NOT thinking about Danny being back in this same position very soon.

He was gonna have to get another helmet for the bike. Immortal Ghost King or not, it just felt rude at this point.

After Danny and Jason left, Tim, Harley, and Tucker played a few more rounds of Mariokart together. Switched to a couple other games. Damian abandoned them almost immediately, disappearing half way through a round.

Probably to start a patrol of his own, or go try to spy on Danny and Jason.

Eventually Harley wished both the boys well and headed out with a cheery wave.

“Right, maybe I’ll see ya tomorrow or maybe not, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she called cheerfully, then paused and pointed at Tucker. “An’ keep an eye on Tim. Make sure he sleeps.”

Tim rolled his eyes, not looking up from their new round of SpiderHeck to wave her off. Tucker did, and Tim took advantage to swing across the map and cut him down with a lightsaber.

Amateur.

“Huh? Oh, sure! Fucking hell Tim,” Tuck complained as his attention switched back to the defeat screen.

Tim snickered, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs.

“Hey, not my fault you can’t keep your head in the game,” he teased smugly. Tucker poked him in the face.

“Not my fault I have enough manners to look at people when they talk to me. So is Harley gonna be staying in the manor too?” He added curiously, glancing around.

They easily had the rooms for it, though Tim didn’t really wanna think about it. What might Harley get up to on a 2am snack run?

Although it wasn’t that far from 2am now.

“I don’t think so, she has a place in the city at the moment,” he mused, his mind beginning to shift.

It wasn’t that he’d been waiting for witnesses to clear out, exactly. Everyone was in on the secret, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to head down to the Bat Cave even when they had the larger group.

It was just… they’d been having fun. It’d be rude to leave their guests, and Bruce was already being cranky down in the cave.

Of course, Tim’d gotten another ping on his zeta tube monitoring program an hour or so ago. Constantine and Bruce both checking out, probably to the Watchtower.

So it’d be safe now, and they’d reached an okay stopping point. Tim had no doubt that Tucker would prefer checking out the cave over any games.

Tim couldn’t let him on the bat computer yet, but he could show Tucker a couple of Tim’s better scanning programs. Maybe even ping Babs and see how the others were doing.

See if she had time to talk to Tucker in person. Maybe he could show them both how he’d encrypted that server, which Tim suspected would involve ectoplasm.

Not like he couldn’t link the PDA to an un-networked monitor so that they could all see what he was doing though. Hell, they could record it for Bruce.

He’d love having answers to the Amity Park problem. If Tucker would let Tim run the PDA for a few minutes…

Still, it was just good manners to check in.

Alfred would be thrilled that they were learning to communicate.

Pulling out his phone, he shot Bruce a quick text.

‘Hey, we’re gonna head down to the Cave. You mind if I give a tour?’

It didn’t take long to get a reply, which was usually a good sign. It meant Bruce wasn’t hyperfocused enough to ignore his phone.

Maybe things with Constantine were going well.

The length of the reply wasn’t as reassuring, but not a surprise either. Bruce wasn’t exactly wordy in person, and only less so over text.

‘Go ahead.’

No indication of when he’d be back, but that was fine. They could compare notes whenever that turned out to be.

Tim turned to Tucker, grinning in anticipation of the other man’s reaction.

“So, wanna see something cool?” He asked, and felt gratified when Tucker’s eyes widened and a matching grin spread across his face.

But who wouldn’t be excited to see the Bat Cave?

“Hell yeah!”

Tucker followed Tim eagerly out of the games room, mind already buzzing with all the things the young genius might want to show him.

Did they have a tech lab in Wayne Manor? They definitely had the space for it, and it had to be safer than keeping one at Tim’s downtown apartment.

Bruce might not have been much of a techie but Tim was personally responsible for enough big developments that he was considered a prodigy even in Tucker’s circles.

Of course the guy had the advantage of near limitless money and resources, especially after Drake Industries merged with Wayne Enterprises.

With that kinda money, Tucker himself could have revolutionised the world. But, Tuck had the advantage of the Ghost Zone and ecto tech, so he wasn’t too upset.

Especially not if Tim was really going to let him see where the magic happened.

He did nearly let out an audible groan as Tim led him into an office and activated a secret elevator in a clock. Maybe Danny had a point… maybe all billionaires were dramatic assholes.

Maybe Sam had a point, and they were all evil. Maybe Tim was bringing him down to an evil lab.

Caution reluctantly seeped into Tucker’s excitement, but he fought it off sharply. Tim was a good guy, they were becoming real friends, and Tuck couldn’t believe a fellow techie would betray him.

Besides, no one in Gotham knew shit about ghost tech, or liminals. It wasn’t like Tucker would actually be in any danger from a scrawny nerd like Tim.

Even if he did have very nice shoulders. Shapely arms. An almost snatched waist that almost tipped to androgyny, but he carried it so well.

Anyway.

Tim definitely wouldn’t hurt him.

It was probably just a super secure underground tech lab, to keep anyone from stealing secrets. Tucker let himself hype up again, imagining the kind of security measures Tim could install underground.

It’d remove the chances of someone sneaking through a back window for sure. And sure, rock wouldn’t stop a ghost, but it stopped pretty much anyone else if you added seismic sensors.

It made sense, really, putting all Tim’s very coolest and most secret cutting edge tech experiments somewhere that no one would expect, and almost no one could get to.

Tucker found himself rocking forward on his toes as the elevator descended, and flushed a little when he noticed Tim smiling.

He was excited, sue him. It beat worrying that he was about to get his first go at the Danny Fenton Lab Experience.

Thankfully no one ever cared enough to capture the nerds.

Tim was quiet on the way down, clearly savouring the anticipation, and that suited Tucker fine. It wasn’t a long ride, and he all but bounced out of the doors as soon as they opened.

Stopped.

Stared around at blank stone walls, stalactites on the ceiling, and… a waterfall? A robotic dinosaur? A row of display cases?

This was not a super cool high tech research lab.

This kinda might be a supervillain cave.

Tucker’s heart sank for a moment, especially as he noticed more and more Batman themed pieces on walls and cases.

Bruce Wayne (please don’t let it be Tim’s secret project any more, Tucker couldn’t bear it) was obsessed with Batman. Collecting trophies.

Probably wanted to catch the hero himself and stuff him in a case. Rich people were all like that apparently.

Except… the locker room? Off to one side? Where a freshly laundered Red Robin uniform hung, neat and pristine?

Collector freaks never let anyone clean their stuff, especially if it might have had gross hero sweat to obsess over.

And that was the Batmobile, parked next to a large garage door. An array of motorcycles, and Tucker was no expert on Gotham’s heroes but there were at least three colour schemes.

Someone had been changing the oil on one of them.

A massive computer screen, surrounded by smaller screens at various angles, and as he approached in awe he spotted a bat sticker on almost every monitor.

No way anyone ever stole THE Batcomputer. People would notice. Someone would talk, there were legends about Batman’s set up!

Half Tucker’s class would have killed for a look at the tech, no way they wouldn’t know if it ever got loose.

Which meant.

Tucker knew his jaw had dropped. Couldn’t find it in himself to close it as he turned back to Tim, eyes wide, and watched all colour drain from the other man’s face.

“Is this the fucking Bat Cave?! Is Bruce Fucking Wayne actually Batman?!” He exclaimed eagerly, not even wondering why Tim suddenly looked so shocked.

This really was the best day ever.

Wait.

“You DO know the fucking Oracle!”

Well.

The curse of Robin had come for Tim at last. Bruce was absolutely going to fucking kill him.

But, okay, in his defence, it totally wasn’t Tim’s fault! He’d assumed Tucker already knew because Danny one thousand percent definitely did, he called Dick out in costume!

And Tucker was still trustworthy! Still an asset! And he’d help Tim get past the firewalls, get into Amity Park, all they had to do was get enough work done before Bruce came back.

And killed Tim.

For bringing an unknowing civilian into the fucking bat cave.

Best day ever.

Tim sucked in a great rasping breath, suddenly aware that he’d completely stopped breathing somewhere in there, and shook his head.

Okay. Snap out of it Tim.

Those nights with Alfred-supervision had made him weak, no way only thirty-six hours without sleep should have done this to him.

Too bad, sleep deprivation would have been a great excuse.

He wasted a moment lamenting his lack of immediate coffee and turned his focus to the actual problem: the Amity Park firewall.

Tucker was still staring at him in awe and triumph, though worry was creeping in. Tim pulled on a charming smile, walking to the batcomputer and gesturing for Tucker to join him.

“Uh… yeah, sorry, I thought Danny already told you or I’d have said. I didn’t mean to spring it on you,” he lied, like he’d have ever let the secret slip.

Tucker pouted then, folding his arms.

“Oh, of course Danny knows. Bet that’s how he and Jason met. So does that mean you’re…” he trailed off curiously, clearly hoping Tim would fill in the blank.

Tim considered being mildly offended that Tucker didn’t think he could be Oracle, but he valued his digital security. Zero chance Babs wouldn’t be pulling this video up later for a laugh.

He nodded to his suit instead, the new one hanging waiting. Probably for tomorrow night at this point, since there was no reason to change just to hang out in the cave.

“Red Robin. I ah… saw you last night at the gala,” he added sheepishly, wondering just how much of Tim’s minor breakdown Tucker had noticed while waiting to give Tim the tablet.

And Tucker’s eyes lit up, clearly remembering, and he grinned, clapping his hands together.

“Oh! That explains why you left, huh? I guess someone had to deal with the rogues and stuff,” he mused thoughtfully.

Tim had to hope he wasn’t thinking about the exact same thing. At least the discovery was going well so far; Tim couldn’t think of many people he’d had to share this particular secret with, and most of the ones who did had been villains at one time or another, but still.

Tucker was keeping up, wasn’t freaking out, and had gotten over his surprise in record time. Tim definitely wasn’t disappointed.

Tuck had been a vigilante himself after all, it’s not like he was a civilian. And had already admitted he didn’t pay much attention to vigilantes, so he might not even know which one Red Robin was.

It’d just. Have been nice if he was more impressed.

Not that Tim cared. He wasn’t Red Robin to impress people, and usually didn’t even think about it.

And Tucker didn’t seem surprised or upset when Tim steered him to one of the tables beside the batcomputer instead of the big baby itself, and got one of the un-networked monitors out.

“Pretty much. I get a little… antsy if a takedown goes too easily, because with Riddler it usually means we’re missing something,” he explained dryly, pointing Tucker to a second wheely chair to pull over, “but yesterday it was apparently just a shitty rush job on his part.”

Tucker snickered at that, wheeling the directed chair over and sitting eagerly beside Tim, still darting looks at the bigger screens.

“Should I be mad I didn’t get their best work?” He mock-pondered, and Tim snickered.

“Probably. But Riddler and Croc aren’t really A-listers or big on the mass destruction side anyway.”

“Waylon,” Tucker corrected almost absent mindedly, pulling out his PDA.

Tim missed exactly what he did next as he remembered Harley’s little tidbit, and he pulled a face.

“Yeah… I’ve not exactly had the one-on-one time with him Jason’s had, I don’t think we’re on a first name basis,” he explained, shaking his head as the monitor sprung to life.

Tucker snorted a laugh, flicking through screens on the PDA.

“What, Mr Jones then? Want me to just start downloading the Amity Park records first, then we’ll go hunting?” He added, and Tim nodded quickly, snickering himself at the vision.

Nothing threw a shining ball of confusion into a fight like calling someone “Mr Jones”. He’d have to try it if Croc… Mr Jones was gonna be back on the scene.

It was the name that went on all of his prison paperwork, so it wasn’t like it was a secret identity the same way the bats had.

“Honestly? Better than Waylon. And yeah, we can start with the government files and news reports, just so we have a backup. Then we’ll look around and find out what else B thinks we’ll need.”

Tucker snickered beside him, flicking quickly through screens on the PDA. Despite it being purely for his benefit, Tim pretty much ignored the monitor, keeping most of his attention on the device itself.

It was chunky and very retro, but given the processing power and space for storage? There was a definite charm to it.

Maybe Tucker would let him play around on it later.

But, in the spirit of not being killed when Bruce returned… there was one thing they definitely needed to talk about.

“I…” Tim sucked in a deep breath. He’d put good money on Tuck, Danny, and Sam being what actually solved Amity Park’s last calls to the League.

It might be a traumatic memory. Probably was. But he had to ask. And better him than Bruce.

Tucker looked up when he trailed off, making a curious noise. Not exactly asking what Tim wasn’t saying, but showing he’d noticed the pause.

Sighing to himself, Tim wheeled across to the batcomputer. Bruce probably still had the files up.

“I also think we need to talk about these,” he explained, pulling up the records for the Justice League’s missed calls. Hundreds of them.

Tucker just looked nonplussed for a moment, then sobered. Probably when the dates sank in and told him what they were talking about.

“Oh… yeah. Probably,” he agreed, sounding more serious than Tim had ever heard him. Which kinda proved Tim’s point about traumatic memories.

Leaving the records on screen, Tim wheeled back over, pulling out one of his larger recorders. This conversation might take a while.

“Do you mind if I just record what you tell me? B’s gonna want a full write up. He’s off ripping a strip off of Constantine as we speak, probably, cuz whatever he did… this lot went past voice mail and straight to the trash.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology, wasn’t exactly an excuse, and Tim cut himself off before it turned into whining. The past was past, and it was too late to change that now.

Something complicated crossed Tucker’s face as he spoke, and Tim tried not to look too closely. Didn’t want his overly analytical side latching on.

The only thing they could do was work out what happened, and if there was still anything the league could do to make up for majorly dropping the ball.

Tucker sucked in a deep breath of his own, letting it out in a low whistle.

“Y’know, I thought we were coming down here for fun and tech talk,” he said almost wistfully, and Tim chuckled wryly.

“We can definitely still do that. It’ll just unknot Bruce’s panties some if we’ve got this part out of the way before he gets back. That way you’re just telling me, no “swooping menace in the shadows”,” he added half sarcastically, and Tucker laughed.

He looked… well. Haunted. But that wasn’t exactly a sensible descriptor for a guy who spent years hunting ghosts.

Not too bad though. No tremors, no tightness in the eyes or jaw that said he was hiding something. His skin was still a rich, warm brown, no paler than before.

If he was having a deeper reaction than the tiredness, he was hiding it in a way Tim couldn’t hope to spot. That… was probably the best sign Tim had seen about this particular shit show.

Chuckling to himself, Tucker checked the PDA one more time, then set it on the table and turned to face Tim directly.

“Yeah, might as well do it during the file download. Your setup is gorgeous, but that’s still gonna take a while. If you ask me, you’re not gonna need to ask Danny about it later, right?” He asked, and Tim bit his lip.

Less good sign. Seemed Danny carried more of the weight of this one too.

“B’ll probably want his side, and to check the stories match, but Jason won’t let him push Danny into anything,” he offered instead of a blanket statement.

Tucker cocked his head a little, examining Tim for a long moment in a way that made him feel almost… dissected. Like a piece of tech Tucker had taken apart, and was looking for secrets in.

Finally the older boy nodded and shrugged, leaning back.

“Yeah, fair. It’s damn hard to pin Danny down if he wants to leave anyway. There’s some Fenton tech that’d do it, but it’s not like you can get that here. So… where do you want me to start?”

Filing away that comment about the Fenton tech for later, Tim jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the big screen.

“Do we have time to start at the beginning? The first calls?” He asked, half expecting the answer to be “no”.

Tucker glanced down at his PDA, and snickered.

“Well, I can give you the Cliff’s Notes version. And then if you have questions you can ask?”

Which… yeah, Tim glanced at their little offline monitor. It was a pretty big download; Tucker had meant it when he said he was grabbing everything for them.

That had to be a sign of good faith, right?

And then after that they’d have to shift everything over to an un-networked hard drive. After whatever Tuck had to do to de-ecto it.

Shoulders settling, Tim put the recorder on the table before him.

“Sounds good. So… Tucker Foley, current top student at MIT and soon to be receiver of a Wayne Enterprises internship,” he teased, enjoying the way Tucker snickered again, also visibly relaxing.

Might as well make this as comfortable as possible. They could break after Tucker finished for some drinks or something.

“What happened in Amity Park?”

On the Watchtower, Bruce slid his phone back into its pouch on his utility belt and returned his attention to the pacing magician.

He’d pulled up every type of reading they could gather from Amity Park for the week of the last distress call, and from their current logs.

Thermal imaging, infrared and ultraviolets, seismography, electromagnetic waves, spectrography, and several that Bruce wasn’t sure what they were, just that the Justice League Dark were the only ones who used them.

The fact that even Bruce could see extremely obvious spikes on more than half of them was not a good sign. It made checking the dates almost superfluous.

Nor was the way that even though those spikes had lowered within that same day… they’d never gone all the way back down.

In every magical sense they could detect (and half a dozen scientific ways he was actually comfortable with), Amity Park glowed like a cartoon nuke.

The only good news was that their radiation sensors had gone straight back down to normal after the initial spikes. Which made no scientific sense given the normal decay of radioactive materials, but Bruce was not going to argue.

He appreciated Tim checking in though. The gesture towards clearer communication. He wasn’t sure exactly what Tim would want to show Harley in a tour of the bat cave, but honestly?

He wasn’t going to ask. It was nice to have something that wasn’t his problem, and he trusted Tim and Harley, together or separately.

It wasn’t like Tim would bring anyone else down to the cave.

——————

😇

I regret nothing.

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Next Chapter:

#danny fenton dead and loving it #dp x dc #dpxdc #dead on main ship #danny x jason #never make a promise you can’t keep #jason: oh man danny must be so sick of me i’m taking up all of his time 😔#danny: dang i gotta go back to school soon instead of spending 24 hours a day with my new bestie this is clearly normal to be sad about #and suddenly constantine was there! wooooo #gonna try and wrap up waylon and harvey next chapter (wish me luck)#we gots bigger fish to fry 😏#and maybe a justice league meeting just for fun #chapter 12 #counting is hard

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lovesickgolbach · 1 year

Text

Words I didn't say 3 || LN4

Description: Things were different this time around.

Pairings: Lando Norris x Verstappen!reader

Warnings: none! actually, my dutch might be a liiiiiittle off so sorry about that, at least i tried :)

A/N: hello! hi! my writing style has DRASTICALLY changed so this fic is like 10x better quality than the other two so... oops. Maybe i'll rewrite them one day, maybe not. we'll see.

but for now- enjoy and thank you for reading <3

Part 1 , Part 2

A week had gone by since you and Max had your falling out, he had texted you but you had ignored them all by leaving him on read or just archiving the chat so that his name wouldn’t be on your screen every time you opened your phone.

You were deeply hurt by Max’s actions, not just because of the yelling, but because he accused you of lying. It hurt because he was your twin brother, literally your other half, he was your best friend and you know everything about each other (yes, everything). How he could accuse you of lying to him so easily just baffles you.

The thing is— Max knows how you feel about your father, he knows why you never initiate any sort of communication from your side with him, even though he’s at nearly every race weekend. You’ve accepted the fact that Max will always worship your father and you respect his decision not to completely cut him off, but you spoke with him about this and he knows to keep Jos away from you.

You sit on Lando’s couch, swimming in your thoughts as you stare at a message from Kelly, this was the first text she has sent you all week, not wanting to get between you and your brother’s drama. You sigh, locking your phone and tossing it to the side.

“Hey,” Lando speaks up as he walks into the apartment, looking sweaty and disheveled from his workout. You had to physically restrain yourself from not jumping on top of him. Things have been mostly normal between the two of you, the only thing that’s changed is that you aren’t dating anymore. You don’t sleep in his bed, you don't kiss or have sex or cuddle when you watch movies. You’ve been sleeping in the guest room since that night you showed up at his doorstep in tears.

“Hey,” you respond, shooting him a soft smile. “How was the workout?” You question, watching him as he refills his water bottle and taking a few sips. “It was alright, fucking hot but it was alright.” He flops down next to you on the couch, letting out a huff of air.

“Heard anything from Max?” he questions, looking over at you. You roll your eyes, “What do you think? Even Kelly is texting me now. Says he’s been quiet,” You shrug, shifting to cross your legs. Lando looks over at you, “He was at the gym, when I got there. He looks like shit, honestly. He did try talking to me, but I ignored him. I was sure he was almost in tears when I walked off.” His expression is neutral as he speaks, wanting to gauge your answer.

“Good.” Is all you say in response. Yeah, you feel bad for making your brother (who doesn’t like to get emotional) cry, but he had yelled at you and sent you into a full blown panic attack. He deserved to be upset. He deserved to be worried.

“Y/N—” Lando starts, but you cut him off by lifting your hand to silence him. “I am planning on going back to his place anyway, tomorrow. He’ll survive one more night.”

Lando just nods, before getting up. “I’m going to hop in the shower. Do you… want to talk after I’m done?” he questions, you just nod, “Yeah, we should talk, properly, I guess.”

He nods silently before making his way over to his bedroom and closing the door.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

But you do it anyway.

You jump up from the couch, running over to his room before opening the door, not bothering to knock. Lando lets out a surprised scream, standing in only his white boxers, trying to desperately cover himself up. “Y/N!? What are you—”

You cut him off with a kiss, smashing your lips together roughly, he instantly kisses back, his hands finding their way to your waist. You pull back after a moment, breathless and red-lipped from the kissing. You look into his eyes, those gentle blue-green eyes you fell in love with when you first looked at him.

“This is not me fully forgiving you… we need to— we need to discuss a few things still, but this is me telling you I still love you, I still want to be with you and— and I do love you, I still love you, I never stopped, Lando, But if— if we want us to work out, we can’t hide anymore, I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to kiss you in the paddock and sit in your garage, I want to hold your hand in public, I want to be known as your girlfriend.” Your words come out shaky, a few tears running down your face.

Lando nods rapidly, “Yes, yes anything you want, baby, anything. I won’t lose you again, I won’t. I’m so sorry, so so sorry.” He pulls you into a tight hug which you reciprocate immediately. You feel so safe with him. Your heart is his, it always has been.

“Do you… want to join me in the shower?” Lando asks, unsure of where your boundaries are set at this point in time. It’s not like he’s never seen you naked so you shrug, before pulling your top off.

“Why not,” You smile, taking his hand and dragging him into the bathroom.

–

The next day, Lando drives you back to your brother's place, parking in the driveway. You turn to him, kissing his cheek softly. “I think it’s better if i do this alone, okay? I will text you.”

Lando nods, giving you a reassuring smile. “You can do this, I love you.”

“I love you too.” You kiss him again quickly before walking to the front door and letting yourself in. Before you can even step a foot into the house you are nearly tackled to the ground by a little figure.

“Y/N!!!!!!” The little girl screeches, trying to practically climb her way up into your arms. “Hey sweet P!” You plaster on a smile, picking her up and hugging her tightly. God, you loved this little girl so much. “Missed you,” She mumbles into your neck and you can't help the sting you feel in your chest. You didn't think about her when you left, usually she would see you at least once or twice every week, your chest stings thinking about how she was probably waiting for you to visit but you never came.

“I missed you too,” You kiss her cheek as you make your way to the living room, where you found your brother, yelling into his headphones at whoever he was playing with.

You move so that you're in his field of vision, still cradling P against your chest. His head snaps up when he sees you.

“Y/N…” Max looks surprised to see you.

You place P down gently, “Go play upstairs and I will come play with you okay?” You smile brightly at the little girl who nods vigorously, making a beeline for the stairs.

“Do not run up the stairs Penelope!” Max yells after her, turning back to you before placing his controller down.

"Y/N…” He starts again but you shake your head, effectively cutting him off. “I do not want your excuses. Ik verdiende niet wat je me hebt aangedaan.” I did not deserve what you did to me.

Max looks down at his hands. “Jij bezit my niet,” You don't own me. You growled, feeling the same kind of anger you felt just a week prior. “You are my brother and that is it, I can do with my life what I want. You don't get to yell at me like Dad used to, you don't get to yell at me and expect me to just—” you vaguely gesture with your hands, “— crack and tell you everything.”

“En Max, hoe durf je me te beschuldigen van liegen!” And Max, how dare you accuse me of lying! Your voice came out as a low, calm growl. You take a deep breath, trying not to fucking combust on the spot.

Max is silent, but nods.

“Did you… did you… did you…have a panic attack? When you left?” He asks after a beat of silence, his eyes brimmed with tears. You know your brother isn't a crier, so this is hurting him just as much as it's hurting you. It’s gone too far.

"Yeah... I went straight to Lando's... I couldn't—" You shut your eyes, squeezing them together in an attempt to stop the tears. It's all become too much. It's all been blown way out of proportion.

You let your boyfriend and Max’s best friend get in the way of your relationship you have with your brother. The special bond you two had, has been damaged because of some stupid boy. You both were blinded, Max was blinded by his protectiveness of you and you were blinded by your loyalty to Lando.

You sigh, moving across the room to sit down next to him. You lay your head on his shoulder. “Why did you say I lied to you… I have never ever lied to you, Max.” Your voice was laced with pure hurt, your heart breaking from the beginning just thinking of Max accusing you of lying.

“I was just angry, Y/N. He promised to not hurt you and he did, he did hurt you and I was just so fucking angry, I could not believe you were defending him…”

Silence fell upon the room again, the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic sniffling coming from you and Max. He laid his head against yours.

“Je leek zoveel op papa op dat moment. It was so scary, Max.” You looked so much like Dad in that moment. You let out a sob that you've been trying to suppress. Your brothers’ arm wraps around your shoulder's protectively.

“Het spijt me, Y/N, vergeef me alsjeblieft,” I am so sorry, Y/N, please forgive me. Max looks over to you, and all you can do is nod. It wouldn't help anyone if you just stayed angry, and you were exhausted anyways.

You just wanted things to go back to normal.

And slowly but surely they did, you had eventually moved back in with Lando, your relationship had slowly but surely gotten back to where it was, perhaps even better than it was. Max had been trying his best to not be overbearing, giving you space and trying not to play the role of an overprotective brother who gives his sister no freedom.

There was definitely still some tension between Max and Lando, Max still didn't fully trust him with you after everything, but things were different now. The public knew about your relationship now, girls no longer flung themselves at your boyfriend, touching him and feeling him up and down at every opportunity thinking he’s single. Lando had been working on proving himself, that he’s changed, that he's loyal to you and only you.

Things were different this time around.

Things have been good.

Things will get even better.

You can't wait to see what the future holds.

#f1 x you #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #formula1 x you #lando norris imagine #ln4 #lando norris fanfic

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pillarsoflove · 1 year

Note

can i request sleep over hcs with any characters? can be platonic or romantic!

hi! yes! sleepovers are so fun 🫶 sorry these are short, I couldn't think of much :(

gn!reader, they/them if any

characters: march 7th, dan heng, sampo, stelle (f!mc), caelus (m!mc)

up for interpretation of platonic or romantic!! fluff 🫶

March!

first off, definitely the type to forget to give you a blanket

but don't worry!! she has a lot of those soft decorative ones, so you aren't short on options, she just forgot

"this is a sleepover! you think you're supposed to sleep??" fr

if you are just friends, she definitely asks about who you're romantically interested in

gossiping about your trailblaze missions!! giggling about some people you met, thoughts on what happened, I'm ngl y'all definitely smack talk people you don't like too

hello!!! dress up?? yes

she doesn't typically like people close to her face, but if you two are close enough to have a sleepover she trusts you enough to allow you near her face! so you can mess with her hair or do her makeup

you both eventually knock out with the lights still on

Dan Heng!

if you have a sleepover you either don't live on the express or it was an accident

in the accident case you probably wanted to spend more time together and ended up falling asleep in his "room" (the archives), or you had a nightmare and being in the same room as him calmed you down

offers you his bed and he'll sleep on a pallet on the floor – it isn't much different from his makeshift bed already – just less padding

if you end up falling asleep after trying to spend more time with him he'll carry you to his bed, not wanting to risk waking you up by carrying you to your room if you live on the express

idc how big you are, he's stronger than he looks, he has hidden muscles similar to swimmers thanks to his weapon!

sampo!

good luck man, I don't think he has a house

just hops from one hotel/motel to the other

so you're either sleeping in your room, or in a hotel room

if you're part of the astral express, the hotel room is probably the better option considering the hate dan heng and March has for him

and the others probably will as well ngl

anyway! he will offer to sleep in the same bed if the room only has one bed as a joke

(platonic only, or romantic but haven't slept in the same bed yet ->) insult is probably what he's expecting, if you want to catch him of guard, accept, it's funny bc wait?? what?? deadass??

if y'all are friends he's trying to explain it was a joke without sounding like a loser 🤧

probably snores

if you wake him up bc he's snoring too loud he's gonna go on about how he needs his beauty rest so excuse you

stelle!

honestly, I think she would enjoy chill nights

like she's everywhere all the time during the day, so calm nights are a nice break, plus she's tired from the day

you two do some small activities, like maybe playing a game, or reading, or just talking, maybe watching a movie

the room lights are dim too! off during a movie :)

I feel like she would have a seal plushie..

won't go to sleep until you say when because she doesn't want to make you feel pressured to sleep at the same time as her

though if you take too long she'll probably nod off in a beanbag

offers you her bed too! let's you sleep with her seal plushie if you want (if you have plushies then let her sleep with one at the next sleepover pleasee)!!

skin care together!! you can use each other's headbands for the night, just for fun :)

caelus!

he also doesn't say when he wants to sleep because he doesn't want you to feel pressured

plus I feel like it's hard for him to get to sleep anyway, so it's not hard for him to stay up

will take an interest in your items if you brought any knick knacks over

like a ring holder, music box, fidget toy, figurine, etc etc

he wants to see what it does and know the story behind it if you have one

honestly, just wants to spend time with you, doesn't care what you do, so it's up to you!

be warned, if you do each other's nails, he's not great at it and will end up getting quite a bit on your skin and the polish on your nails might (will) be a big lumpy

but he does his best! might even try to make a design on it if you ask, though it comes out unrecognizable (he's still happy with it if you are, also, gets happy if he sees you still wearing it a while after!)

once it's time for sleep he'll turn out the lights and plug in his nightlight (apologizes profusely if it bothers you, he can't sleep without it though)

sleeps on a pallet next to the bed while you sleep on the bed

also has a plushie! it's a grey cat

it typically sits on his desk, he only sleeps with it if he's having a particularly hard night, so you can sleep with it if you want

just make sure to put it back on the desk tomorrow though

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lesvegas · 11 months

Text

FNV Quest Mods That Don't Suck

I know I've made modlists before but talk of DLC-sized mods made me want to make another. Big, DLC-sized quest mods are nine times outta ten messy, poorly-made and poorly-written, feel like they should've been fo3 mods, or have numerous other qualities that are detestable to normal people with taste. I've played most of the popular ones and hate nearly all of them. Here are the ones I actually can recommend.

Note: I also highly recommend having a proper modding setup before installing any of these. Everyone and their mother has already recommended the Viva New Vegas guide before because it works and it's beginner-friendly.

Allow me to spare your dash by putting this list under a cut.

"DLC-sized" Quest Mods

Boom to the Moon - A quest where you go to the moon (yes, really) to find out what happened to a man's wife. I promise it's way better than I could possibly describe. Honestly I recommend almost all of Jokerine's mods for her attention to detail and all the cool shit she makes. This quest mod doesn't even end with the moon trip, you'll also get the best-written mod companion I've ever seen. Seriously please give this one a try if nothing else on this list.

Autumn Leaves - A murder mystery in an archival library vault inhabited by Protectrons. Story so good Bethesda stole it to make a fo4 DLC. No combat, no need for weapons or companions. WARNING: if you suck at navigating vaults like I do you may have a bad time finding stuff (there's a walkthrough in the files). Also some of the lines are a bit odd because the author's first language isn't English. Also one character is a bigot in every way possible because he's intentionally designed to be as punchable as possible. Despite all of this it's still easily one of the best quest mods I've ever experienced.

Unfortunately, making quest mods DLC-sized in general leaves ample opportunity for shit to get messy fast, so honestly your best bet for quest mods is smaller scale, vanilla-feeling mods. So while I highly recommend the above mods, I'd recommend the following ones even more for a more seamless experience.

"Vanilla-feeling" Quest Mods

The Collector - A quest given by a broker in which you collect debts from gamblers. Similar to the Atomic Wrangler quest Debt Collector.

Caravan Tournament - Do you suck at Caravan? Skill issue. Play this anyway and tell me how it feels to lose because I'm sure it's just as interesting as winning but I'm too good at Caravan to to see it for myself. If you get good you get to see a tiny Robobrain wearing a hat.

Working On The Chain Gang - A Powder Ganger Quest Mod - Okay, technically this makes a second faction of Powder Gangers that aren't affected by your reputation with the vanilla Powder Gangers (so yes, even if they hate you, you can experience this mod). These new Powder Gangers reorganize themselves into a legitimate faction that blends seamlessly into the Mojave NPC ecosystem.

The Moon Comes Over the Tower - This one is technically cut content, but that just means it's peak vanilla-feel. Restores the rest of the quest where Emily Ortal asks you to bug Mr. House's network in which you actually have to travel to places to do it.

Okay, these ones are silly, but trust me

Among Us But It's Fallout - It's a vault with a murder mystery you get to solve! Memes aside it's honestly really well done and you should try it.

The Hollander Hotel and Casino - For a quest involving a haunted hotel (no jumpscares, don't worry), this one feels a little goofy at times, especially with The Shining references and the guy outside selling nothing but 500 bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla. But you should give it a try anyway.

Legion Quests

Haven't done a Legion run not because you don't like being a bad guy, but because the Legion route feels lacking? Try some of these.

Legion Quests Expanded - Adds more Legion quests and expands several vanilla quests.

A Golden Opportunity - Legion El Dorado Quest - A quest where the Legion goes in and shuts down the NCR's El Dorado station.

Five Card Ante - A Legion Quest Mod - A quest parallel to Three Card Bounty in which you get to eliminate the NCR's First Recon.

Yes I Would Actually - A Legion Quest Mod - You know how Bitter Springs has three quests you can do for the NCR? Well, now you can do them for the Legion instead. You can even recruit help from the Great Khans to fuck the NCR's shit up.

#fnv #fonv #fnv quests #fnv mods #fnv modlist

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vodika-vibes · 1 month

Text

The War Chest

A Magic and Knights AU

Summary: It’s been fifty years since the war between Mandalore and Serrano ended. A war that ended with an uneasy peace between the two nations…an uneasy peace that has since grown into something stronger. You are a daughter of one of the Noble Houses of Serrano, though only through marriage. You stand to inherit nothing from your step-family, unlike your mother. So, in an attempt to get your feet under you, you turn to treasure hunting.

Pairing: Pre Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 5400

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly @the-bad-batch-baroness

A/N: So, I know Kix already has a story in this AU, but I'm giving him another one that is unconnected from the last one. This one, I think, fits a little better with the rest of the stories. Also, there's a fun little twist at the end that I'm not sure about, honestly. Anyway, I started writing this at 8 am and it's now 2 pm, and I managed to write it without any breaks. Go me~

“Rumor has it,” You arch a single brow as the man you’re talking to, a pirate who you’ve had more than one run in with, “That Count Dooku’s War Chest has been discovered.”

You wave your hand as if brushing the rumor aside, “Everyone knows that Dooku’s War Chest was propaganda from Mandalore.” You counter with a roll of your eyes.

“That was the accepted fact. 50 years ago.” He leans into your space and you lean back to try and keep him from breathing in your face, “Come on, girlie. You’re not even remotely curious.”

“I’m far more interested in facts, Shen. Not fairy tales.”

“Bah! You’re no fun.”

“If you want someone willing to chase fairy tales, you should be talking to Lyna, not me.” You eye your drink, and then push it to the side.

“Lyna is an archeologist,” Shen counters bitterly, “She’s all, ‘this belongs in a museum’ and ‘we should return this to its rightful owner’. She’s even less fun than you!”

“Come on, you tell her about Dooku’s war chest, and she’ll be all over it,” You say as you lean back in your chair, “Can you give me anything more than fairy tales?”

“No.” He folds his arms, “You were more fun when you were running with the crew.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you’ve mentioned. If you’re not going to try and help, you can take off. Find some other patsy to do the research for you.”

Shen scowls at you, and then pushes to his feet and storms away. He hasn’t changed since you were kids, tragic but understandable.

In any event, you’re not going to get any intel on your next score here. So you suppose that the archives is your next destination. Which is a shame, the archivists are always so annoying when you decide to visit.

They’re all, “Oh, Lady Nalcin has come for a visit!” Which is annoying since, A, you’re not Lady Nalcin, that position belongs to your mother. And B, you don’t even carry that Nalcin last name, seeing as your father is still alive.

Mother just had to marry Serrano nobility, didn’t she.

You push away from the table and shove your hands into your pockets as you meander through the bar. You step through the open door, into the cool air of the autumn evening and you inhale deeply.

You love this time of year. Not too hot, not too cold, and none of the plants you’re allergic to are spewing pollen. If you could live someplace where it’s autumn year round, you’d be a happy woman.

Tragically, such places don’t exist.

You turn to the left, starting towards the inn you’re staying at for the time being, when you hear heavy footsteps behind you. You tense and half turn, your baton falling into your hand from where it’s stored in your sleeve.

And then you turn properly.

The person running up to you looks like a college students, slightly younger than you, with wide eyes hidden behind thick glasses. She’s gasping for breath, and is barely able to say your name

But, garbled as it is, she does say your name.

You slide your baton back up your sleeve, and take a good look at her. She’s well dressed, and she’s wearing a brooch that marks her as a daughter of one of the High Houses. She’s also nearly bent in two trying to catch her breath.

“...are you okay?” You ask, after watching her gasp for air for a moment.

“I-” She gasps out, “Not fit-”

“...I can tell.”

The younger woman takes a deep breath and then straightens, “My name is Evie Wilsi, I’m the oldest daughter of House Wilsi. You are the daughter of Lord Nalcin, right?”

“Step-daughter.” You correct flatly.

“Yes. That.” She takes a step towards you, “You’re…something of an archeologist, right?”

“In a manner of speaking, sure.”

“I want to hire you!”

“...what?”

The girl flushes, “I…um…sorry. I would like to hire you, please.”

You stare at her and arch a single brow, waiting for her to continue.

“I want to hire you to find Dooku’s war-” You roll your eyes and turn your back on her to walk away, “W-wait!” She grabs your wrist and then scrambles so she’s standing in front of you, “I know that this sounds…insane-”

“Dooku’s War Chest doesn’t exist.” You say flatly, “It was a rumor. No more.”

“I have reason to believe that it does exist.”

You sigh and shake your head, “Look, Miss Wilsi, I don’t chase fairy tales. Period.” You tug your hand out of her loose grip and step around her to continue to the inn.

“2 million.”

You stop mid-step, and turn your head to stare at her, “I beg your pardon.”

Her hands are clenched into fists near her chin, “Two million credits. You’ll get two million credits just for taking the contract, and another two million when you find the war chest.”

You turn to face her fully, “And if the war chest doesn’t exist?”

“Then…then you’ll still get the second half of your payment. But only after you exhaust all avenues.”

“And you can afford this?”

“Yes.”

Your eyes narrow at her, “Prove it.”

She nods and pulls out her comm, pulling up her banking information, before she turns the device towards you. You glance at the number on the screen and your brows raise, “Four million credits is almost your entire bank account, is this worth that much to you?”

“Yes.” She stows her comm again, “It’s…everything to me.”

You fold your arms, and shift your weight slightly as you examine her. Over the years, you’ve become very good at reading people. Part of it is your natural magic, an innate ability to read intentions off of people, most of it, however, is just experience.

She’s being honest.

Not only does she believe that the War Chest is real, it really does mean everything to her.

You drop your arms, “Fine. But I want to be paid immediately.”

“Deal! Is there someplace we can…talk?”

You turn your back on her, and start walking away, and then you pause and glance over your shoulder, “Follow.” You don’t want to see if she’s following your instructions, you just start walking, your feet leading you to your favorite food cart.

“A…food cart?”

“Don’t knock it til you try it,” You reply as you order a caf and move to the side to wait until it’s done. Your maybe employer’s nose is scrunched up in distaste.

“Is this where you want to talk?”

“Surrounded by people? No.” You accept the cup of caf, and motion for her to keep following you. You lead her down several winding roads, and then make a sharp left into the biggest cemetery in the area.

You notice her hesitate at the gate, but you don’t slow down. If this means as much to her as she implies, as much as your magic is telling you it means to her, she’ll follow you anyway.

And you’re right.

Though she dithers at the gate for half a minute, eventually she hurries to catch up with you as you head into the older parts of the cemetery. As soon as you’re sure that there isn’t anyone around you can listen in on your conversation, no one alive at least, you perch yourself on the worn down stone wall and stare at the other woman.

“Alright. I’m all ears.”

“Here?” She asks, her voice hushed, “Isn’t it…disrespectful?”

You just tilt your head, “People don’t come to this part of the cemetery, which means no one can eavesdrop.”

“Right. Right.” Evie paces in front of you for a moment, and then she stops, “How much do you know of the Six Great Houses?”

“Assume I know nothing.”

“Right. Right! Okay. I can work with that.” Her hands curl into fists again, “There is a hierarchy to the six families, with House Dooku at the top of the pyramid, and House Wilsi at the bottom. House Nalcin is nearer to the top than the bottom.”

You lean back on the wall and take a sip of your caf, waiting for her to continue.

“This is why, 50 years ago, it was so easy for House Dooku to incite a war with Mandalore.” Evie continues.

“As I understand it,” You interrupt, “House Dooku was manipulated into it by what’s his face from Naboo.”

Evie looks genuinely pained, “You mean Court Wizard Palpatine?”

“That’s the bitch.”

She takes a deep breath, “You’re right. He was, and it was only after Count Dooku was killed that we were able to sue for peace-”

You sigh heavily, “Evie, what does this have to do with the price of chicken in Corellia?”

“...what?”

“Why does this matter?”

“Oh. Well, my family lost a lot of clout during the war…we sided with House Dooku. It seemed like a politically sound choice…so when the peace treaty was signed…we lost almost all of our status. We almost lost our noble name.”

“And?”

“And, finding Dooku’s war chest will do so much in helping us recover from this.”

“If it exists.”

“It does! It does. I’ve been researching this for years, my whole family has, and we have a solid lead.” Evie says as she steps closer to you, “It’s…here.” She digs into her purse and shoves a thin notebook at you, “All of the evidence is there, if you know where to look-”

You set your cup to the side and flip the notebook open, every page is filled with different handwriting. The notebook has clearly been in the works for years.

“Count Dooku had a safe house. He had many safe houses, in many different countries. But in the middle of the war, he vanished for three months. My family thinks he went to Hoth.”

You arch a brow, “Well, if that’s where he decided to hide his war chest, it explains why no one has found it.”

“Yes! Exactly. According to records, Count Dooku’s safe house was up in the mountains of Hoth, which would be nearly impossible for anyone to traverse at the time-”

“It’s still impossible to traverse.” You point out, “The storms of Hoth never stop, and you need special gear and equipment to survive even the lower parts-”

“Yes, but you’ve done the impossible before.” Evie says, “I mean, you’re the one who found Palpatine’s palace in Mustafar-”

“You’re not wrong, I just hate that you mentioned it.” You mutter.

“Can you help?”

You stare at her, silently, for a moment, and then you sigh and nod. “Yeah, alright.”

“Really! Oh, this is-”

You hold up a finger, silencing her, “Several conditions. 1, I hold on to this for as long as it takes for me to read it cover to cover.”

“Deal!”

“2, you are coming with me. It’s the only way for your family to get all of the credit.”

“Of course. I’ll even pay for everything we need to survive-”

“3,” You interrupt again, “We can’t leave for 6 months.”

“...what! Why?”

“I’m not fool enough to try and climb a mountain in Hoth in the dead of winter. And good luck trying to find anyone who will.” You say flatly.

“...you raise a fair point. So we’ll head out in the spring.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Evie claps her hands together in excitement, “Oh! You won’t regret this! I promise.”

Your gaze drifts off of her, lingering on a dark thread connecting Evie with something else, a thread that only you can see with your magic, “Well,” You murmur, “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it.”

“Hm?” Evie tilts her head, “Oh! Right, payment.” She pulls her comm out and hurriedly, very hurriedly, sends you the two million credits that you’re owed for taking her contract.

You watch your bank account shoot up, and then promptly move the money from that account into your personal account, “I need your comm code,” You say once that’s done, “I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”

“I can’t wait!”

And then Evie is gone, hurrying out of the cemetery with none of the grace that you’d expect to see from a lady of her standing.

You watch her leave, and then pick up your cup of caf and take a sip, while eyeing the notebook thoughtfully, “Well, it won’t be boring at least.”

7 Months Later

Hoth is a miserable place.

Frigid even in the dead of summer, with very few animals that won’t kill you as soon as they see you.

True to her word, Evie did prepare everything that you might need for an expedition, and then some. You have a base camp, vehicles that are suited for the freezing weather, and cold weather gear that is light enough to move in, yet heavy enough to protect you from the biting wind.

There are also people. So many people. Aides and attendants, and bodyguards. Not to mention maids and chefs and butlers. You’re not impressed, at all.

“So, I was thinking we’d go up the mountain in the morning?” Evie says, her eyes alight with some emotion that you don’t want to think too hard about.

“Mm, bad idea.” You reply, as you eye a group of men that you know come from a Merc Group, “There’s a bad storm rolling in, we go out in it, we don’t come back.”

“Oh, really?” She glances at the monitor and makes a face at the massive storm rushing in, “I should tell the others to prepare for the storm.” Evie mumbles, before she gets to her feet and hurries out of the room.

You’re alone for a moment, before one of the mercs brushes past you. “You should know,” He murmurs, his voice low, “The moment you find this treasure, we have orders to remove you from the equation.”

“Hmm.”

“You saved my life that day on Taris, this is me returning the favor.”

“Noted.” He glances at you, and then continues walking. The exchange took less than 5 seconds.

Luckily, you prepared for this exact scenario.

It’s not like this is the first time a client has betrayed you, after all.

You remain in the monitoring room for a bit longer, watching the storm build and grow in strength, and then, when you’re sure it’s late enough, you meander to your “room”.

You waste some time in your room, packing what few items you need to be able to survive in the storm, and then you cut out the lights, and you wait.

One hour passes. And then two.

And finally the lights dim in the hallway, and you know it’s time to go.

You don the severe weather gear that you bought yourself, grab your bag, the notebook, and you slip out the window.

As you figure, you have about five hours before anyone notices that you’re missing, and by the time they notice you’re gone, the storm will have erased any and all evidence of where you might have gone.

You walk quickly through the snow, wanting to get as far as you can before the storm hits. Though, you do take the time to veer towards a ravine just long enough to toss the notebook as well as a decoy pack down the ravine. With luck, anyone chasing you will think that you succumbed to the storm and nature.

The trick won’t work for long, but it will buy you a couple of hours, at the minimum.

That done, and with a storm moving in, you veer towards the mountain range. According to some of the notes you decoded, Count Dooku had pathways dug through all of the mountain ranges. You just need to find an entrance.

Luckily for you, Dooku wasn’t half as clever as he thought he was, and you were able to find an entrance in less than two hours. Unluckily, the passageways aren’t heated or lit.

You dig around in your pocket for your lamp sphere and light it with a touch of magic, ordering it to circle your head as you walk through the empty tunnels.

“Let’s see,” You say, aloud, to yourself, “If I was Dooku and needed to hide a war chest, where would I hide it?” You look around, peering down identical dark passages, and you sigh.

If you have to search every passage, you’ll be here for ages. There has to be an easier way.

You close your eyes for a moment, and focus your magic on your eyes, and then open them again.

Your natural magic isn’t the most useful for your chosen career path. You can see intentions, which is useful in foreign countries when it comes to bartering and when dealing with clients.

It is an innate magic, you don’t have to focus on it at all.

However, if you focus your magic on your eyes, and if you’re lucky, sometimes you can see traces of people’s intentions. Memories, written on the world around them.

It’s a desperate act. Dooku has been dead for almost fifty years. The odds of any of his intentions having been strong enough to leave an echo so far into the future is…unlikely, but you have to try.

As you fear, there’s no hint of intention in any of the passages.

You’re about to power down your magic, when you catch a glimpse of something higher than where you are. You focus your gaze on the dim glow and you frown.

The intention is…strong, but faint at the same time.

You puzzle through what you’re seeing. Strong implies that someone is actively in the passages with you. But the faintness implies…slumber, perhaps. Maybe someone lives in these passages.

Well, it’s better than continuing blind.

So you mentally mark the location in your head, and you start heading that way.

It takes time, though, to find the right path that will take you to the right level. The passageways were designed as a labyrinth, and you wonder if the passages aren’t complete, or if Dooku was just that paranoid near the end of his life.

You’ve never heard one way or the other.

But finally, after many dead ends, several looping paths, and one time when you thought you were going up but were actually going down, you reach a door.

You send a silent prayer to the patron god or treasure hunters, and then push the door open.

It creaks loudly, and another hard push causes it to fall inwards. “Whoops.” You whisper as dirt and dust swells around you. You wave the dust away from your face, and then step into the room properly.

It’s…empty.

Well, okay. Not really empty.

There, sitting in the middle of the room, is a massive crystal formation.

It looks man-made, to your eyes. Crystals don’t generally grow in such a deliberate way, at least not in your experience.

You move closer to the crystal and circle it, your eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

Now that you’re closer, it looks like there’s something inside it. You press your hand against the stone and try to peer through the cloudy material, but you might as well be trying to look through a solid wall.

You rip your gloves off, and press your bare hands against the planes of the crystal. Slowly you feel around the edges of each plane you can reach. And then…there, near the bottom, on the opposite side of where you started, you find a single sigil carved into the crystal.

Now, sigils and runes are basic magic.

It is, quite literally, magic 101.

But you’ve never been interested in modern runes or sigils, preferring to focus more on the more ancient versions that you normally encounter while on your treasure hunts.

That said, runes are runes, right?

They all get activated in the same way.

So you pull your hand back and summon a small amount of magic to your fingertips, and press your fingers against the sigil. “Please don’t be a bomb.”

For a moment, nothing happens, and then there’s a loud crack. And then another one. And a third.

And you’re forced to dive out of the way as the crystal shatters, sending large shards crumbling to the ground.

Then you see what was in the middle of the crystal, and your heart sinks.

It’s a man. Maybe about the same age as you, or a bit older, with a strict military cut and a five o’clock shadow. He’s wearing mandalorian armor, with the symbol of the medical corps on his shoulders.

You hurry over to him and kneel next to his head as he releases a low groan. You push your hood off your head, and tug your scarf down and goggles up as his eyes flutter open.

He looks like-

Your lips turn down in thought.

“Hey, can you hear me?” You ask, shoving your concerns to the side.

“Y-yes,” His voice is raspy and he blinks a couple of times, as if trying to clear his vision.

“What’s your name, soldier?” You ask, as you help him sit up.

“Kix…M’name is Kix.” He groans as you sit him up and he looks around the room, and then at you, “Your accent…you’re not Mandalorian.”

It’s not a question.

“Good ear,” You pull your bag off your back and dig through it, please let you have enough cold weather gear for him. “I’m Corellian, born and raised.” Kriff, you don’t.

Kix looks around, sharpness sliding through his gaze as he shakes off the sleep, “This isn’t Corellia.”

“That is correct.” You reply, before cursing, “How good is that at keeping you warm?” You ask with a nod towards his armor, and the helmet laying half forgotten in the shards of crystal.

“Good enough.” He lets out a pained groan as he gets to his feet, “Why?”

“Well, because it’s a wee bit chilly outside, on account of us being in Hoth.” You reply dryly and you stand and grab his helmet. You make sure that there aren’t any crystals inside the helmet and you offer it to him.

“...Hoth?”

“The one and the same.”

“What is a Corellian doing here?” Kix asks suspiciously.

“Well, I was hired to find Dooku’s war chest.” You glance at the crystal shards, and then at Kix, “And I found it, apparently. I’m not generally in the business of saving people, but I suppose I’ll make an exception.”

“...what?”

You glance to the side when you hear, what sounds like, magic explosions, “Times up, I’m afraid.” You look around, and then find another door, “This way, hopefully this door stood the test of time better than that one.” You pull your scarf and hood back on, “Put your helmet on, it’s freezing.”

Kix pulls his helmet on, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “What’s going on? What’s with the explosions?”

You glance at him, before you focus on the door, “Oh. My former employers. The Wilsi family from Serrano. I was informed that they were going to kill me once I found the War Chest, so I decided to cancel the contract.”

“You keep mentioning this war chest, what is it?” Kix asks as he walks over to you and helps you open the door wide enough that the pair of you are able to leave the room.

“Well, unless we find a vault full of riches, I think it’s you.”

Kix pauses, “What?”

You glance at him, “There’s no easy way to say this, but it’s been 50 years since the war between Serrano and Mandalore ended.” He freezes, and you quickly tug him out of the room and shut the door, “Listen to me, Kix, I know that this is a shock to you. I know that. But if we don’t start moving, we die here. Can you contain your totally understandable freak out until we’re somewhere safe?”

It’s kind of eerie, having that blank helmet staring at you, but slowly Kix nods, and you release a sigh of relief.

“Come on, this place is like a maze. Maybe we can use that to our advantage.” You turn to the left, and Kix falls into step behind you.

All you have to do is find a way out, and make sure that neither you, nor Kix, die. And then, somehow, get him back to Mandalore.

No pressure.

“Can we take a break, please?” Kix asks as he helps her close another door, leaving the pair of them in a slightly warmer room, “I can’t hear the explosions anymore.”

She frowns, though it’s only noticeable because she pulled her scarf down a little bit ago. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve apparently been in stasis for fifty years-” And isn’t that a kicker, how is he supposed to deal with that? How can he deal with that? His brothers are all going to be in their 70s- “I just need a break, that’s all.”

She nods, and tugs her hood down, before she sits on a rock, stretching her legs out in front of her. Kix watches her for a moment, before he sits on another rock, “So…who are you, anyway?”

She blinks, and then laughs, “Sorry, I never actually introduced myself, did I?” She introduces herself with a slightly crooked smile, “My mother would have my head for such rudeness.”

“And what is it that you do?”

“I’m an archeologist. Technically. That’s what my degree says at least.” Her name, something long and complicated, does not suit her at all. So Kix makes a mental note to just call her runi, and then moves along.

“That sounds like you don’t actually do archeology, runi.”

“Eh, I go to old places and look for old things to sell to people who would rather stay safe than do things.” She waves her hand.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“You’re a tomb robber.”

“I am not!”

“Oh, so you have permission to take these items then.” Kix asks.

“I…well..not exactly. But I haven’t exactly been denied permission either-”

Kix smirks, “Tomb robber.”

“Yeah…well..what do you do?”

“I’m a medic. A perfectly respectable career that isn’t illegal.” Kix replies.

She huffs, but doesn’t respond, so Kix takes it as a win.

“So, I assume you have a plan?” He asks, “To get us out of this mess.”

“I have a broad idea of what needs to happen, but as for the details…not so much.”

“...what?”

“Why plan? I mean, they never work out like they’re supposed to.” She shrugs, “But in the end, I do intend to get you back to Mandalore.

“And you’re going to do this without a plan?” Kix asks.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

He heaves out a sigh and then stands and pulls his helmet back on, “Maybe I should stick around with you. Stars know how you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Rude,” She scowls at him, but scrambles to her feet and pulls her cold weather gear on as well, “I-” She pauses and her head snaps to the side, “Motherkarking-...they’re planning on blowing up some of the tunnels. We need to go up and…over, I think.”

“Then let’s go. I’ll follow you.”

Kix watches as she leads him through the winding halls, pausing every now and then as though she’s following a path that only she can see. Having some kind of magic would make her survival a lot more understandable, all things considered.

He very nearly stumbles as a massive explosion makes the whole mountain shake, and Kix has to tackle runi through a door to keep them both from being crushed.

Turns out to have been a good thing, as the room they ended up in had a single set of stairs that lead somewhere else. It’s good enough for Kix, as he hoists runi to her feet and ushers her to the stairs and up.

And up.

Finally she throws open a door at the top of the stairs and they find themselves in a workshop of some kind.

“This must be where Dooku did his magical studies,” She notes as she peers at some of the books lining the walls.

“Wouldn’t there be a teleportation circle in here somewhere?” Kix asks, thinking back to the wizards tower back in Mandalore.

“Well, yeah. Probably. But I’m not wizard, I might be able to make it trigger it’s last destination, but-”

“This mountain is coming down, like it or not. Anywhere is better than here.”

“Ugh…fine! Help me find it.”

The pair search frantically around the room, before Kix lets out a shout of triumph. “Found it!” Runi hurries over to him and, with Kix’s help, clears the teleportation circle.

“Um…let’s see, it looks like it’s set to teleport somewhere…west?” She says as she scans the runes.

“West is good enough.” Kix shoves her into the circle as the building trembles, “Can you activate it?”

“Can I activate it.” She scoffs, “Of course I can activate it, but I have no control over where we land.”

“Better there than here,” Kix points out logically, and she makes a face, but clearly doesn’t disagree.

The runes start to glow, faintly at first, and then brighter.

Runi pulls her hands away from the seals, her eyes widening in panic, “Oh…oh bad…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Um…” She turns panicked eyes on him, “The runes and sigils are reacting to the magic of the explosions…they…this is bad.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Kix asks, and runi opens her mouth to reply, but before she can say anything the teleportation circle activates.

It’s the most painful thing that Kix has ever felt in his life, and he’s almost grateful when he blacks out.

His last coherent thought is that he hopes runi is okay.

Kix wakes with a groan, this is beginning to become a habit for him. His everything is throbbing in pain, and it’s funny but his first thought was to question where his armor went.

“Easy there, vod. You’re okay.”

Kix squints at the man, one of his brothers, “-where?”

“You’re on the Resolute. We found you and the civvie passed out near a bombed out building. Seems like you threw yourself over her to save her.” Kix blinks a couple more times and finally he recognizes Vacc, one of the men he trained.

“...civvie?”

Vacc helps Kix sit up, and there’s a slightly jarring sensation when he realizes that he doesn’t recognize the medical bay. It’s…whiter and starker and has a lot less magical healing equipment than he’s used to. “Over there.” He motions to runi clad in some kind of medical attire, “She hasn’t said a word since she woke up.”

She’s curled up on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chin and her hands tangled in her hair. She lifts her gaze to meet his, and as soon as their gaze meets, her gaze darts to the portside window.

Kix follows her gaze, and his breath catches in his throat.

The Resolute was a sea-faring vessel.

But, for whatever reason, the Resolute seems to be in space.

No wonder she’s so freaked out. “Where…” Kix pauses to clear his throat, “Where are we going?”

“Coruscant.” Vacc claps his shoulder, “Get some rest, vod. We’ll be back at the barracks before we know it.”

And then his brother is gone, and Kix pins runi with a stare, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” She sounds miserable, “The explosion must have mixed with the magic of the teleportation…I don’t know, Kix.” She winces and clamps her hands over her ears.

“Okay, okay. Runi, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“How can you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

“The screaming.”

“What screaming, there’s no screaming-” She wraps her hands around his wrists as soon as he’s close enough, and then he hears it, high pitched and constant, as though someone, somewhere, is screaming in unending pain.

When she releases him the screaming stops, but she just tightens her hands over her ears.

“It…it’s going to be okay, runi. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

Kix casts his gaze back to the window, just as a slightly mechanical voice echoes through the ship, “Preparing to jump into hyperspace in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…”And the galaxy outside the window fades into streaks of white and blue as Kix folds his hands around runi’s hands, trying to help her block out the screaming.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #magic and knights au #clone medic kix x reader #kix x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic

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