#i am once again pushing my what if Justice is Gray but with a few colors that pop agenda | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebigqueer · 3 years

Note

A while back you mentioned something about the Apollo kids parents meeting up every one in a while and Apollo running into them during one of those times. Do you think you could write a lil fic about that?

ahhh yes that’s one of my favorite headcanons!!

thanks for the prompt, and i hope you like this! and, as always: i do little to no editing on these fic prompts, so don’t be too judgmental as you read through them. they’re definitely not my best work but i just can’t ever be bothered to look back aslkdjslfkd

this will be in first person because idk i really loved apollo’s pov in first person so i hope i do his character justice lmaoo

also as i was writing this i’m not gonna lie i felt really bad for apollo all he wanted was to have some time with his children 😭

also!!! we are!!! so starved!!! for dad!apollo moments!!!! bro can we just!!! see more dad!apollo moments!!!! come ON rick!!!! i didn’t realize how much i wanted them until i wrote this halskjfaslkjf

I will say, I wasn’t quite sure what to be expecting when I came down to the mortal world today. It definitely was not to find out all of my exes regroup annually to mock me.

Since becoming a god again, I’ve made it a personal promise to come down every once in a while. I’ve grown quite attached to these mortals, especially to my demigod children. After all, my own descendants are the best of all living beings; it’s only fair that I come and talk to them every once in a while. And, believe it or not, being around mortals helps me, too. It makes me find comfort in a world where lives may be short but lives are lived; as a god, I only ever exist.

When I was human, though, I truly lived. It was exhilarating. Now that I am a deity again, there’s a hollowness that resides in me.

Sometimes coming down to this mortal world helps me simulate that experience of being human again. It helps me feel less lonely up in my world of immortality and timelessness.

The sun blazes overhead as I traipse along to my cabin after just meeting with Dionysus. The insufferable bastard beat me once again at pinochle and would not stop gloating, so I decided to storm away from the wine god before he could start beating my ass in Uno.

However, as I approach my cabin, my rage ebbs away. My demigod children stand around the entrance, talking in hushed voices, and my heart bursts with warmth. It has only been a few weeks since I’ve last seen them, but each time I do, I feel only a flush of pride looking at them.

“My children!” I exclaim. “I’m here once again!”

They all jump as if I’ve scared them. For a moment, no one says anything. Then they break apart and each of them offer me a shaky smile of their own.

“Hey, Dad,” Will says, his voice a bit higher than I remember.

I step forward, happiness flooding over me. It hasn’t been too long since I’ve seen them but it certainly feels like it’s been millennia. “How are you all?”

Kayla pushes a pack over her shoulder. “We’re... good. How are you?”

Her words carry a bit of hesitation as if she’s nervous. Suspicion crawls over me. I cross my arms and respond, “I’m good too. Why do you have that bag over your shoulder?”

Austin, Will, and Kayla all turn to each other, sharing a look of panic. A shiver runs through me as I realize they’re up to something. I smile. “Ohhh, are you planning something? A prank, perhaps?” I rub my hands in anticipation. “Can I get in on it?”

Austin raises a hand and scratches his head. “Um, not quite. We’re actually... going somewhere.”

Panic seizes my heart and I rush forward. “Going somewhere? Where? Like, a quest?” I reach out to my children and hug them, feeling each of their bodies in my arms. “Why did no one tell me? Oh, gods, what if I never see you again?” Tears well up in my throat. I’ve only just come down to the mortal world, and they’re already leaving for doom?

“No, no, no!” Kayla exclaims, pushing against my arms. “Not like that, Dad! Not a quest. We’re just going out to the city. No need to worry.”

Relief washes over me and I laugh, taking my arms away from them. “Oh, that’s great! Are you going somewhere fun? Can I come?”

Before any of them can answer, a familiar demigod steps out of the Apollo cabin. They step towards Will and hand him a pack of ambrosia. It takes me for a moment to remember that it’s Nico di Angelo. He opens his mouth to speak to Will, then stops when they notice me. “Oh no,” they mutter.

“What do you mean, oh no?” I ask, the claws of suspicion creeping over my skin once more. “What are you three up to? Is Nico coming with you?”

Nico whispers to the three, “You haven’t told him?”

“Not a good time,” Kayla hisses.

“Well, I guess now is a better time than never,” Nico says. They turn to me and state blatantly, “They’re going to meet their parents in New York City.”

Kayla and Austin smack their faces and Will sighs. “You could have let us say it,” the blond mutters.

“Better to know from a child that isn’t his,” the child of Hades reasons, shrugging.

I blank. I was not quite expecting that response, and definitely not so casually. I stare at the four demigods quizzically. “Oh? I suppose that’s fair. But all three of you? All your parents know each other?”

“Um, well... they’re kind of friends,” Austin admits. “They... communicate often.”

A wave of humility washes over me. I will admit, it’s a little bit embarrassing knowing that the three people you’ve had children with all know each other and actively communicate. I would have suspected they’d feel a bit awkward with each other, but I didn’t quite expect they would be actual friends.

I tip my head in a sad nod. “I see. Well, I hope all three of you have fun today!” I’m trying not to sound too upset, but it’s a little bit hard when you’ve come down to the mortal world just to find out your children are going to be going into the city far away from you.

“Hey, Dad, we can hang out later!” Will suggests, a kind smile balancing over his lips. But he’s only saying that out of pity. He feels bad for me. This makes me crawl in further into myself.

“Yes, that sound alright,” I promise, feigning a smile. "But, really, don’t feel bad.” My shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “The last time I met your parents their careers were becoming quite busy. I suppose you don’t see them as often as you’d like, is that correct? And at this point, you’ve been seeing me even more often than your own mortal parents. It’s only fair that you have some private time with them.”

A tense silence tightens the air around us. Austin shifts on his feet. After a moment, Kayla says, “Well, we better go. We’ll see you later, though!”

A cold fist seizes my heart.

Will winces. He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “We’re sorry to leave you like this, but we didn’t expect you to come by today. We can definitely do something later, though. The three of us will be back by six. Nico’s going to do ghost stories tonight, too, so maybe you’ll want to hear those.”

I wave my hand dismissively and try on a smile that doesn’t quite fit right. “No, really, don’t feel too bad. I’ll come by later and we can do a movie night together after Nico’s ghost stories. I’ll see you later! And have fun!”

They all glance at each other hesitantly, then seem to come to a collective agreement. “Thanks, Dad,” Austin says, pulling me in for a hug. The other two do the same, then all three demigods wander out into the sun, aiming for the exit out of camp.

Nico stares at me, eyebrows raised. “So, what are you going to do now?” Picking at their jeans, they add, “You’re Apollo, so I’m expecting that you will be doing something stupid.”

I frown. “Those are brave words for a demigod to say to a powerful deity.”

“You’re too mushy at this point to pulverize me. They’ve made you soft.” He means it as an insult but their eyes glimmer. A smile laces his mouth.

I offer them a smile back. “Well, I suppose you are correct. I shall see you for your god-tier ghost stories.”

Nico shakes his head and turns to leave. “Please never reference modern things ever again.”

A little bit later, I’m balancing on a chair at a pizza shop in New York City. I’ve chosen the disguise of a businessman, mostly copying the image of a fairly attractive man I met on the way. Perhaps I will go and look for him after I’m done stalking my children.

The scent of pizzas swirl around me, contaminating my nose. The excited chatter of families and friends surround me. Some afternoon sun pours in through the open windows, offering the entire pizza place a relaxed look.

Somewhere to my left, a large group eats and talks, laughter echoing from their table. All my children are sitting to one side of the booth, while the adults loom over them on the other. Will’s bright blond hair gleams blindingly as the sun washes over his locks.

I wasn’t quite sure of what I was expecting from all three of my exes. Perhaps more gray hair, some wrinkles over their faces. No doubt all three of them have those, but they each look at peace, happy with life. There’s a brightness in their eyes as they gaze at their children.

I understand that look. I feel the same pride when I see all three of them.

Envy roils inside me. I’m not sure why, considering that I see the three demigods more often than they see their own mortal parents. Perhaps I’m just nervous that they adore their mortal parents more than they care for me.

But I wouldn’t blame them if they did either. I’ve spent too long only caring about myself. A coil of embarrassment wraps around me.

But I’m changing that now, aren’t I? I wasn’t the best parent, but I can only hope my children are seeing that I’m here for them. I only want what’s best for them.

Another burst of laughter erupts from the booth, and I turn my head, straining my ears to listen. Naomi’s silky voice echoes over them: “...and just as he got up he tripped over himself and fell on the ground. Honestly, I have no idea how he could have been a god, but he sure was dumb.” Naomi sighs. “Maybe that’s why I thought he was so adorable. People just constantly try to impress me. He did, too, but at least he was failing. He may have been a god, but he seemed almost human the night I met him.”

With a shiver, I realize that she’s discussing the moment she met me. Red hot embarrassment spreads over my face. Gods of Olympus, that was a terrible evening for me. I was just so awestruck by her performance. She literally made me come down just to see her perform. I could barely contain my excitement when the show was over!

Will’s sunny voice stands out, amusement lacing his voice. “Speaking of dating, tell us about your new girlfriend. I don’t remember you telling me about her too much at our last Iris message.”

My eyes widen. Girlfriend? I wasn’t aware Naomi was queer! A pang of guilt stabs me in the heart. What else don’t I know about my loved ones? I know I haven’t quite kept up with her, but shouldn’t I at least know this about her?

Shouldn’t I know anything about the three of my exes?

The chatter continues for a bit longer. The adults discuss some more dating history, especially surrounding their humiliating encounters with me. I cower behind my newspaper, feeling only the heat of embarrassment under my skin. Why must I be such an idiot?

Perhaps this is why my children don’t seem to like to me too much. Because I only ever do things to embarrass them. Maybe I’m just a loser of a father.

As I wallow in my own pity, the conversation turns another direction. My ears strain a little more. This time Latricia is speaking, a whisper of nostalgia brushing through her words: “He sure was something. But I think that we can all agree on something: I’m glad he came into my life. Without him...” Her lips quirk into a smile and she brushes her fingers over Austin’s. “Well, without him, I don’t think we’d have each of you. He really brought light into our lives.” She sighs. “He may not have stuck along too much, but you three make it sound like he’s getting better. I’m just glad that... that you’re getting to talk with him again. It seems like he really is starting to care about his children.” Latricia’s eyes rove over all three children, eyes glimmering with satisfaction. “I’m glad he’s seeing you three in the same light as we do.”

My ears turn hot and a red blush coats my cheeks. She’s right; I do appreciate them. Without my children, I don’t know how I could have managed to get through everything I did. Even now, after all that’s happened, it feels as though I have nothing better to look forward to than knowing how amazing they are. Tears stab my eyes.

And I almost jump out of my seat when someone calls, “You can stop hiding behind that newspaper, Apollo. We know it’s you.”

The voice surprises me so much I pop right back into my typical godly form, chiton and all. I’m already so embarrassed that I barely even realize that I’m half naked in public now. Grimacing, I stand and offer an awkward wave. “Ah, hello.”

Darren Knowles smiles at me, a knowing sparkle in his eyes. “You thought you were being stealthy, didn’t you?”

It’s been a while since I’ve really seen Darren, and the years have certainly aged him. Yet there’s still a flutter in my chest as I look at him. He doesn’t look so bad; he’s probably in his thirties or forties. I smile. “Well, I thought my godly powers would help disguise me.”

“Not as well as you thought,” Latricia remarks, smirking at me.

“How long have you known I was here?”

This time, Kayla speaks up. “Dad, we literally knew you were here the moment you got here.”

I blink. “And you didn’t call me out?”

Will shakes his head. “We wanted to see what you’d do. Gotta say, I’m surprised you didn’t do anything too spontaneous. Good job.”

He’s teasing me, but even then I feel a brush of humility come over me. “Well, I have to say that I didn’t quite know you three only come together to make fun of me.”

Naomi waves her hand in a dismissive manner. “Only to make sure our children know how lucky we are to have them.” Her eyes rove over me, almost as if judging how much I’ve changed. “I haven’t seen you in a while," she notes.

The three adults share a look, carrying a silent conversation with each other. Will, Austin, and Kayla watch me as if they expected me to do exactly this. Austin laughs. “You really don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

I shrug. “I just... I don’t know. I know I already see you three often enough, but I suppose I just wanted to see how things were going. Especially with your parents.” I glance at them, my cheeks blooming red. “I haven’t exactly been the best parent in the past. I just want to apologize. And let you know that your children... Well, they’re some of the most extraordinary people I’ve ever met. You’ve raised them better than I could ever have.”

Silence lingers in the air, waiting for someone to make the next move. Then Darren gestures to the food before them. “Why don’t you sit? I suppose we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

#anon tag #asks #apollo/lester #lester/apollo #lester papdopoulos #rick riordan #riordanverse #will solace #kayla knowles #austin lake #latricia lake #darren knowles #naomi solace #my writing #riordanverse fic #riordanverse fanfic #fic prompts #fic prompt #dad!apollo

87 notes · View notes

rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her?

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly.

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too.

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor.

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal.

Or at least I used to be.

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore.

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct.

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay.

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment.

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did.

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous.

What if I just make the same mistake as last time?

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley.

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now.

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense.

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless.

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control.

A hooker.

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles.

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening.

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them.

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one?

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever.

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five.

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet.

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad.

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men.

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated.

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected.

But then I see him.

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile.

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written.

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered.

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page.

For tonight at midnight.

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment.

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me.

Wonderful.

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that.

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you.

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest.

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place.

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop.

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life.

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early.

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me.

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile.

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell.

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful.

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy.

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma.

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this?

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute.

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile.

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement.

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me.

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird.

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight.

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him.

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious.

Must be nice.

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it.

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him.

“Why don’t we just take things slow?”

Thank the gods. I nod.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate.

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking.

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me.

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back.

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced.

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run.

Oh gods oh gods oh gods.

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out.

I’m fine.

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong.

Everything’s wrong.

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted.

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back.

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space.

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees.

Breathe, Feyre, breathe.

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out.

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out.

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room.

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes.

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time.

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try.

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly.

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm.

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders.

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control.

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it.

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows.

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely.

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least.

And I think... I think this could work.

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship.

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his.

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly.

He really is a beautiful man.

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore.

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more.

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him.

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes.

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me?

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes.

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart.

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound.

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now.

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck.

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard.

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice.

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit.

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little.

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it.

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised?

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock.

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger.

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect.

If I can fix myself in six appointments.

That’s a pretty big if.

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker.

____________________________________________________

Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

@trinitybailey2003 @zukos-simp @cursebreaker29 @sjmships @starrynightsbooks @lovemollywho @januarystears @perseusannabeth @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#feysand #feyre archeron #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhys #rhys #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

189 notes · View notes

oveliagirlhaditright · 3 years

Text

Lie to Me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33943738

Summary: In an AU where L wins the Kira case and Light goes to prison instead of being executed, L gets it into his head that Light should become an executor: because that would see his need for justice and killing done.

Author’s Note: This is actually the first idea I had and first thing I started writing after I finished watching Death Note.I wasn’t sure I was comfortable sharing it with you guys. But I guess I am:)

L’s PoV

L was heading towards… a certain place after the Kira case had been closed for quite some time.

And why he was heading there, he wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t as if he owed Yagami Light anything…

Perhaps, L thought, as he now walked into the prison that housed the mass murderer, he was doing this because he wanted to believe if he ever got locked up, someone with his mind would be given a chance like this… or something much better than this idea.

But whatever the reason was, L was walking towards Light’s cell now, to offer him a deal: a deal that had been playing in the back of L’s mind for a long time, even while he’d also been trying to come up with any and all evidence to incarcerate Light.

Finally—after all sunlight faded away and the last seagull silenced itself—L was being led through the massive metal door that would lead him to Light. And L would be facing him by himself. Something that Watari and everyone at Wammy’s House had loudly protested, but L knew that to even get a twenty-seven percent chance that Light would listen to any of this, he would have to go it alone.

L had reassured everyone, of course, that Yagami Light wasn’t one for killing people without his favorite magical notebook. And he knew that he’d be watched on any and all available monitors like a hawk, which was fine.

The Wammy’s boys (Near, Mello, and Matt—perhaps Matt and Mello in particular) had tried to convince L to bring a bomb in with him—one that Light wouldn’t be able to activate on L quickly enough, if he got it away from him, because it was made out of new technologies that Light hadn’t had the benefit of seeing—that he could throw at Light if the man pulled a fast one on him, and then make a run for the door.

But as L thought that there was a thirty-seven percent chance that that would actually cause more harm for him than good, he’d decided to use his intellect here as he always did… and pray to any god that might exist that Light was off his game after these few years (even though that would make this incredibly boring).

L pushed the door open, and was met with the sight of a lot of orange, brown, and grays: dull, fall colors, that had lost any and all shine. Honestly, what had he even been expecting? Perhaps this had been a mistake…

“Well, if I haven’t earned a visit from the one and only Ryuzaki,” Light sang, looking up from the Bible he’d been reading, the moment L crossed over the threshold. And it didn’t escape L’s notice that Light didn’t call him “L”, which clearly meant that he wasn’t seeing this as a victory against him—as it clearly wasn’t that—but it also meant that Light was beyond bitter here. L wondered how that would make the rest of their interaction play out, as he crossed the room and sat in the table across from Light. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here to finally tell me how good orange looks on me?” In some ways, he was perceptive as always, L supposed.

“While I would, perhaps, love to rub it in your face again, that I beat you—because yours surely was the best case that I have yet won,” and here L locked eyes with Light to remind him that he had won, and it would be foolish to think that he could try and turn the tables right now, “once of doing that was more than enough. Not everyone is as narcissistic as you are, Light. No… I’m here for… sympathetic reasons, oddly enough. And you don’t have to believe me about that, but it is the truth.” And it was clear Light must not have believed it for a second, because he’d scooched his chair back from L’s furiously, the moment the words had left his lips.

He’d moved the seat back, but hadn’t gone to stand up. And that was smart on his part—Light had always been so smart—because if he had, L had no doubt that, quite ironically, all sorts of police and guardsmen would be spilling in this very moment to be giving Light a lethal injection.

So, it seemed that even in prison—where so much was ripped away from one—of course, Yagami Light had found a way to hold onto his careful reactions. This was very good.

L could respect that.

“I don’t believe you!” Light hissed, as some of the old fire returned to the young man. And his pupils dilated, and there was certainly a maniac look to them, but no red.

And L was taken aback to find that he somehow missed the red.

“All you ever wanted was to solve the Kira case more than anything else! It was just another trophy to add to your case! The most impressive one of all, in fact! And you didn’t care who you had to throw under the bus to get there, or if you had to act like Kira himself to achieve your goals. So, why would you start caring now? Odds say that you don’t.”

L could have said something to that, like, “How funny it is, that you now start talking about odds, when I always thought that that was my forte,” he knew. But the truth was… he didn’t have the time for their game, even though it had once been his favorite one of all.

A new technology had just been unveiled that could recognize faces with seventy-five percent accuracy one-hundred thousand miles away. And L just knew that it was at once going to be nuclear warfare, if he didn’t get out there and explain why seventy-five percent still wasn’t accurate enough and would leave too many innocent civilians murdered in cold blood and destitute. So, if Light wasn’t going to be interested in the deal L had to offer him here, he really couldn’t care less.

As it was, he was missing tea time right now, anyway, and he quite liked tea time.

Examining his nails in a very bored manner, L continued on with, “Like I said, Yagami Light, you don’t have to believe me. But I have an idea… since we both once loved our game with each other so much, how about we play another one together right now? Give me one good reason as to why I should give you an opportunity, and shouldn’t leave you to rot her for eternity, like you so rightly deserve?”

Light seemed to withdraw into himself at that… and he looked so very small. And as he did, L found that maybe he was finally truly feeling the sympathy he’d told Light that he had from the onset here.

It must not have been easy, L imagined, dealing with the world’s greatest ice queen in the world, who lived behind such an impenetrable fortress.

Nor must it have been easy to try and look like you had something to gamble with, when everything had been taken away from you.

The gears were clearly turning in Yagami Light’s head now. And L wondered if when they were done spinning, if he would actually hear some sort of fantastical truth from the man, or another lie. Surely the latter, since if there was one thing Yagami Light didn’t do, it was tell the truth.

Finally, Light looked up at L with sorrowful eyes. And L imagined that everyone who was watching this scene unfold with him right now, was also waiting with bated breath to see what the serial killer would have to say.

“Did you know my father once tried to kill my cat, L?” Light asked.

And there was his name, “L”, again. So, Light clearly must have thought he could win this one. And L thought he must have been lying, since he was speaking of something so traumatic far too matter-of-factly right now.

But, then again… Light was calling Soichiro “father” as opposed to “dad” for once. And sometimes trauma victims did speak matter-of-factly to try and keep their emotions at bay.

Hmm… L tried not to give anything away here, but Light definitely have L wondering if he’d missed something important in the Kira investigation. And L didn’t know if that was good or not. He had asked for this—and perhaps had even wanted a battle he had chosen, as opposed to the one he now had to partake in for necessity—but was it really a good idea to have a battle of wills with Yagami Light again?

No matter what he thought, L knew the best thing was to try and play it all off, of course. “No, I was not aware of that, Kira. It didn’t come up in anything I researched about you in our time together. If this is true, I assume your family kept it under wraps to protect your father’s reputation? Do tell me about it.”

“Yep. That’s exactly it,” Light allowed, and he was looking at his forearms that rested on the table now, as if he was lost in thought. Lost in his memories, maybe more accurately. So, perhaps, there was some truth to all of this, after all.

L truly hadn’t come here expecting to feel anything for Yagami Light today, but he found he was doing exactly that, and he hated himself for it.

He would not again be the man on a rooftop, looking at who he believed to be his future killer with regret, as he heard bells ring in the distance. He would not.

“It was late one night… Dad was tired. And maybe a little drunk… This was the only cat we ever had, by the way. An orange furball that Sayu had begged that Mom and Father let us have. Eventually, they relented. Anything, for cute Sayu, of course. And I felt the same way. But… it had stomach problems, and hairballs all the time. Mom cleaned it up as best she could. I helped, too. But Father hated this about the thing.

“One night… I guess the stress of everything became too much for him, and he was chasing Aki, the cat, through the house, saying he was going to kill her, and was throwing coat-hangers at her… until Sayu and I intervened. But mainly it was me. I don’t know if it would have gone further than the coat-hangers, if Father’s two little kids hadn’t tried to stop him then, but…

“Anyway, Dad never had a psychotic break like that ever again, so we all just dropped it...”

The way Light had told the story… it mostly seemed true to L. And he hated that after once having said that there was never a time that Light told the truth, that he would now ven entertain that notion.

He also despised that he now thought it made some sense, then, that Yagami Light would go serial killer, since he’d had the trauma of seeing his father attack an animal… and seeing as how he couldn’t really get any help, as mental illness was so stigmatized in Japan.

But Light did not need to know any of these things from L, of course. All he needed to know was that he had passed the test.

And for Yagami Light, who had only ever wanted to get the best grades and be society’s greatest being—and to be a “god”—surely that would be enough.

“Light… what if we put your desire for justice—and death, to an extent—to practical use? What if you became an executor, instead of wasting away here?”

And the moment the words had left his mouth, L wished he could take them back. Because certainly Kira would object that he wasn’t a killer and never had been.

But instead, Light just dabbed at his eyes some—had he started crying?—and shook his head as if he were truly lost, “…If you think that’s the best thing for me to do… I guess I’ll do it. Clearly, I don’t know what’s right, and you’re wiser than I could ever be. So, when do I start?”

L meant to fill Light in then, that it wouldn’t be right away.

No. Some trust would have to be built first, before they let Kira anywhere near lethal ingredients or people he would put in the electric chair, of course.

But L couldn’t find the words.

He was, one, feeling too much guilt, somehow, by what had just transpired….

And two, finding himself almost aroused at the idea of Light wielding such power, but using it rightly this time.

“Watari will get you the information. He’ll be in touch.”

And L headed back through the large metal door, without another look towards Yagami Light.

He had once thought it held Light’s fate… but he was starting to realize that perhaps it held his own, too.

And if he was intelligent, he would never see the man again.

But had he ever truly been intelligent?

L had to ponder that now, when he knew without a shadow of a doubt… he would be seeing Kira again.

#death note #lawlight #fanfiction #au #alternate universe #mine #my work #my writing #shanna writes

9 notes · View notes

theawkwardterrier · 3 years

Note

How about 14 + 21, dealer's choice pairing?

On This Thanksgiving Day

Prompt: Stuck together for a long period of time/“They’re wrong about you.”

Summary: Sloan’s first time meeting Don’s family doesn’t go particularly well. (The dialogue came to me in Thomas Sadoski’s voice, so I guess the dealer wanted Don/Sloan for you, Sarah.)

“Apparently we don’t have very good luck on trips together,” Sloan says, although not precisely to him. She’s facing out the window, as if she can see anything other than pitch blackness - as if there would be anything to see, even in the daylight. They hadn’t made it much past Derby-Shelton when the train had broken down; he’d guess that if they could see more than darkness and their own reflections, they’d mostly be staring out at Naugatuck State Forest.

Which might offer a distraction to make things a bit less awkward, but not by much.

“I’m not exactly in a hurry to get anywhere this time,” he says, trying for humor. “Luckily there isn’t much urgent news to report on Thanksgiving.”

“There isn’t always much urgent news to report on May 1 of any given year.”

“Well, sometimes we just get lucky.”

She turns toward him then. Her hair, which she had taken down from whatever fancy style it had been pinned up in earlier, swings forward, briefly obscuring her face. “Is that how you feel? Lucky?”

“I feel lucky with you every day,” he says truthfully. He can’t tell if she believes him. Either way, she does not smile, although after the day they’ve had, he wouldn’t really expect her to.

It had been an easy decision to ask Sloan to come home with him. Her parents retired to Arizona the previous January, and if it already didn’t make much sense for her to fly across the country for barely a weekend, they had told her months ago that her brothers would be at their in-laws, they had no plans on cooking, and they were booked for mixed doubles with the Drummers on Friday.

Don’s family, by contrast, would all be gathering back at his childhood home, a quick couple of hours on the Metro-North. He and Sloan had been dating for over a year now. It would have made sense to ask her even if she wasn’t facing down a holiday weekend of takeout and economics journals alone in her apartment (regardless of the fact that she had set aside a few of the “best issues” to enjoy).

He knew it was a mistake from the moment they walked in the door.

Despite his mother’s thanks, it was clear that she thought the bottle of wine Sloan had picked out was pretentious, and she eyed the sheath dress Sloan wore, with its gray, black, and white geometric design, as if deciding precisely how excessively formal it was for a small family gathering. Don, having seen Sloan’s closet, could have told her that this was one of the more informal options, at least not counting workout clothes or lingerie, but started in on small talk instead before offering Sloan a tour of the house.

Those few moments of watching her smile at the pictures of him hanging along the hallway - round in a Christmas sweater at age three, a gawky, grinning advertisement for the necessity of orthodontia at twelve, only slightly less gawky and slightly more grinning in his high school graduation photo - and hearing her tease about what embarrassing poster had once been taped in the large, discolored place above his bed...it still wasn’t quite enough to get him through the rest of the day.

Sloan didn’t watch whatever show his mom and sister and sister-in-law were going back and forth about, and she had little interest in entertaining the brigade of Keefer kids roaming around. She furrowed her brow as she sat next to Don in the family room and tried to get him to explain all the minutiae of football even as the others were trying to watch the Eagles. She was perfectly polite, asking questions of everyone and telling them about her family, her work, her interests when asked, but it was obvious from the glances traded around the table that the others noticed the slight hitch to her cadence and the way she didn’t always laugh at the jokes being told, and that it mattered to them.

As they dug into turkey and Mom’s excellent stuffing and terrible sweet potato pie, his dad (who clearly didn’t think the wine pretentious, or at least not enough to be a problem) started talking about how all he saw on the news these days was these protests, and of course it was a shame when things went wrong, but cops were just trying to protect themselves and didn’t need to be lectured by those who didn’t know what it was like on the ground day to day - he had friends who were cops, and they were just trying to do right and get home to their families, and was it any wonder they had to react like they did, considering the damage being done out in the streets? Don, who had tried and eventually learned to bite his tongue when it came to this conversation, placed a hand on Sloan’s knee, but she went ahead anyway, citing statistics and studies and historical precedent, all while the others looked at her as if she was exactly the kind of person by whom they didn’t want to be lectured.

Still, they might have been able to push through, except that Don’s brother cornered him on the way back from the bathroom and asked...well, Don’s blocked out the exact wording, but the implication was that he wondered if the pictures he’d seen of Sloan online did her justice.

After Don had punched Rich, sticking around for Black Friday brunch and leftovers didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“I can be a little bit of an acquired taste,” Sloan says, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her thighs. “I know that might be shocking, considering how charming I am—”

“Exactly the word I’d use.”

She throws him a glare for the dry tone, but he’s glad for it; it makes her look a bit more like herself. “So, I’m used to not always being liked. But they...I was really not liked back there.”

“They’re wrong about you.” The carriage is empty except for them - luckily for those who don’t want to be trapped on a broken down train, the middle of the evening on Thanksgiving doesn’t seem an especially popular time to travel into the city - and they had been able to take seats facing each other. He leans toward her, but does not take her hand. “Hey. They’re wrong about you. You know that, right? Sure, you’re single-minded, a little bit weird, a frequent pain in my ass—”

“I have yet to hear the part about them being wrong.”

“—but you’re also kind and loyal and wildly ethical and the smartest person I know and pretty solidly better than I deserve. And I just happen to be related to a bunch of assholes who can’t recognize that.”

Her knee bumps against his. “I imagine Christmas is going to be a pain when you have to spend time with a bunch of assholes.”

“Christmas was already a pain for that and many other reasons,” he says. “And honestly, maybe I won’t go back for it. Maybe I won’t go back next Thanksgiving either.”

She doesn’t look at him like he’s crazy. Instead, her face folds into concentration, as if she is trying to figure out a puzzle. Slowly she says, “I don’t know that you can just give up on your family because of the one time that they weren’t nice to your girlfriend.”

“They’ve never been nice to my girlfriends because, again, they’re assholes.” He settles against his seatback and makes sure she is looking at him before he says, “I’ll probably end up seeing them again because I’m not quite lucky enough in life to avoid it. But when I have the choice, I want to spend as much time as I can with the family that taught me to be better than them. So maybe next year we’ll rope Mac and Will into eating dry turkey with us - or hey, he can probably swing for some that actually tastes good.”

“You know that Mac will make us say things that we’re thankful for, and she and Will are going to get into an argument about the legacy of Thanksgiving even though they essentially agree with each other.”

“Well, maybe we’ll cook—” Her eyebrow raise is sharp and perfect as always. “Okay, we’ll get takeout together. Because I swear to God, Sloan, sitting around having popcorn shrimp with you sounds like a much better time than anything involving my mother’s pecan pie.”

“I was actually looking forward to the pie,” she says a little longingly, but she moves to sit in the seat beside him and lean her head on his shoulder, not even startling as the PA system crackles to overly loud life.

“Sorry, folks, we’re going to have to go dark here for a sec as we try to get things back online, but we hope to have you on your way shortly.”

“Hey,” Don says in the moment before the lights go out. “You know that I’m thankful for this, don’t you? Just getting to be here with you.”

“No one’s thankful for a train breakdown, Don,” she says, voice sounding as if she’s shaking her head at him. And he can feel the stupid smile coming over his face anyway as the overheads power off, leaving them with only the eerie emergency lighting. Who knows how long they’ll have to sit here like this considering the amount of faith he has in the MTA? He rests his head on top of Sloan’s. He can wait. They’ll get home together eventually.

#The Newsroom #Newsroom fic #Sloan Sabbith #Don Keefer #Don/Sloan #eh #lavellenchanted

22 notes · View notes

baepop · 4 years

Text

J’aime III [final]

After meeting Jungkook again years after your heartbreak, letting him in proved to be harder than you both expected.

Word Count: 13k

Pairing: You x Jungkook

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this series as much as I enjoyed writing it ;___;

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You could not help the feeling of relief and overwhelming emotion that overtook you as you searched amongst the ocean of attendees for your family. Tears sprang to the corners of your eyes while shimmying past a couple of graduates embracing. You recognized your mother’s graying hair peeking through the crack of limbs before you. With a final push, you cleared into the field to greet your cheering family members. The first thing you noticed was the beautiful bouquet of flowers in your father’s arms. The next thing was the presence of your grandmother, which ushered in a fresh wave of tears. You hugged as many family members at once as you could, your shiny gown billowing behind you in the warm spring wind. You finally made it. These had been the most taxing 4 years of your life, but you finally graduated college with your criminal justice degree.

“Ahh, stop crying! You’re going to look ugly in the photos!” Your mother wiped the dripping mascara from your under eyes carefully. Normally, a comment like that from her would have you sneering, but you couldn’t be bothered as the overwhelming happiness painted everything in rosy hues.

After taking turns posing with every single one of your supporters, you all piled into cars and drove off towards your house where a family barbecue was already underway. You smiled giddily at the cheesy hand painted sign that read “Class of 2020” hanging on your porch, no doubt the messy scrawl of your uncles. In true family fashion, it seemed they had started partying long before the guest of honor should arrive. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you made your way to your backyard where children chased each other around and adults lounged around the grill, sipping from their cold beer bottles and talking loudly over the booming music that blared from your dad’s speakers. The sun shone brightly over your neighborhood in the vast and cloudless blue sky, so much so, that you had to squint and use your hand as a visor as you took everything in.

Your ample state of serenity would have been enough to carry you for the rest of the summer, if you hadn’t been startlingly cognizant of the unexpected presence standing awkwardly by your fence. Your body stiffened, your wary eyes squinting at his equally uncomfortable figure. Your mother patted your back as you turned to her, your eyes urging her to explain.

The expanse of time in between you having quit your job at the café and your graduation had been a blur. You had already known heartbreak prior to the crushing blow of those vile text messages, so your body was equipped with the sort of numbness you needed to survive that pain again. You threw yourself into your studies, even retaking classes you had gotten low grades on before. You were determined not to worry your parents like you had when Jungkook left. You were also determined not to repeat your mistakes in a moment of weakness, so you spent most of your time out of the house. And you had done a damn good job at it too since being on a first name basis with your school’s librarians served as tangible proof.

It was by no means an easy feat, however. Anytime you’d see Hobi’s or Jungkook’s name flashing on your phone screen, it’d take you back to the night you couldn’t sleep, and then to various other nights when you didn’t even realize the sun was rising because you had been having so much fun hanging out. You missed the days where the only pain you knew was the one at your sides from laughing so hard and not the one in your heart.

Mr. Kim had been flustered when you resigned over the phone, urging you to reconsider and wondering if everything was okay at the sound of your sullen tone of voice. You refused to elaborate, simply telling him that you needed to focus on your studies. It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all. But you knew the boys wouldn’t accept such an explanation, and you weren’t inclined to inquire about their little bet for fear of being manipulated again. You simply wanted a clean break, and that meant acting as if you all had never even met.

It was hard at first. Whenever your phone would ring nonstop, you knew it was because one of them was parked outside of your house waiting for you to come down. You allowed yourself to peak out of your window whenever that was the case, believing yourself to be a masochist above all else. The sight of Jungkook twirling his keys in his hand and holding his phone up to his ear, waiting for you to answer him, never quite left you.

Eventually, the calls and text messages stopped coming. Eventually, there was no need to look out of the window anymore, much to your relief but also disappointment. They had both given you exactly what you wanted in the end, a clean break. It had since been so long that you had seen any of them, that seeing Hobi regard you warily from the limit of your backyard was enough to stop you in your tracks.

“I invited him, dear. You two used to be so close! Go say hello, don’t be rude!” Your mom offered you a tentative smile as she pushed you in his direction before heading over to the grill. Ruby crescents formed on your sweaty palms. You cursed yourself for not being transparent with her about what really happened, but how were you to know she would ambush you like this? You pursed your lips while holding prolonged eye contact with your unwanted guest. Eventually, he offered you a small wave before shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulders. You took a deep breath and removed your heels, knowing they wouldn’t fare well against the soft terrain that spanned past the concrete walkway.

You approached the boy with your hands on your hips. He offered you a coy smile but waited for you to speak first as you eyed him incredulously.

“What…are you doing here?” You tried to keep the venom out of your tone, since you truly wanted to know his logic behind his sudden appearance.

“Couldn’t say no to your mom. She insisted and, I’ve been wanting to see you, so… here I am.” He peered at you through his lashes, but it still wasn’t enough to demolish the emotional wall you had built and reinforced these past few years.

You sighed, not feeling satisfied in the slightest. “Well, you really shouldn’t have come.”

Hobi nodded in a morose fashion, looking down at his feet while kicking small rocks into the dirt.

“Hoseok! Honey, come eat!” Your mother waved him over with a huge plate of food in her hands. Your head snapped in her direction as internally screamed at her audacity.

Hobi rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment but conceded to her request as he approached the food table with you closely in tow. Your mother handed you a plate as well, and you both took seats near the playing children.

Neither of you ate for a while, letting the upbeat music fill the heavy silence in between you two.

Eventually, Hobi cleared his throat to congratulate you on your big day. “Criminal justice, right? So, are you going to be, like, a cop or something?” Hobi took a bite of his hot dog.

“Not exactly. I have a job in the city waiting for me once summer is over with a small PI’s office.” Hobi nodded, clearly impressed by how together your life was.

“That’s awesome. I fucked my credits up, so I still have a semester left until I graduate.” Hobi chewed on his food thoughtfully.

You nodded along, finally paying attention to the plated food on your lap. You could only spare a few curt responses in between bites. “Music studies?”

The excruciating small talk continued until your plates were empty. As you sat and watched your two baby nephews wrestling on the grass, you heard Hobi finally speak up softly next to you.

“Can I at least know…what I did?” You turned to him, his eyes melting into yours in a moment of true affliction. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you like hell. If there’s anything I can do to get you back, consider it done.”

Your eyes glossed over as a sudden wave of emotions raged beneath the surface of your cold demeanor. You broke away from his gaze to watch something, anything that would cut the intensity of the moment.

You shook your head, not wanting him to say anything further. When you spoke, your words came out small and strained. “I…know I shouldn’t have…but I read your text messages that night we fought, the ones between you and Jungkook. I know everything so…before you try and backtrack, please just don’t.” Your face hardened before you turned back to him, though your glistening eyes betrayed you.

His face was grave, nodding after you spoke and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees in contemplation. A resigned sigh was his only response for the next few minutes.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry we were such douchebags to you. We just got so caught up and competitive and put you in the middle of it. That was wrong and…I…we never meant for you to get hurt,” He turned back to you to convey his adamancy further, “but I really am sorry, Y/N. You don’t have to forgive me, I just need you to know that I am.”

You sighed too, already feeling drained from the day’s events. This was the last thing you were expecting today of all days. Hobi’s admittance would have wreaked much more havoc in your life when everything was still fresh, but now, it was easier to bear. You weren’t in the business of turning back the clock on your friendship with him, but you were no longer mad enough to kick him out of your party. When he got up to leave after you didn’t offer any more, you watched his receding figure approach the entrance of your backyard before you called out to him. He turned around and found you coming after him much to his surprise.

“You don’t… have to leave,” You sighed heavily, releasing the tension you had been holding in your heart after all this time, “I accept your apology. I’m not sure we can go back to how we were, but I could never hate you. You were my best friend after all. Just…stay for a while. And eat some more before my mom complains about how skinny you’ve gotten.” You smiled at him weakly, wondering if he might start crying with the look of surprise on his face.

Hobi’s eyes turned into crescent moons as his brilliant answering smile bunched up his cheeks. He agreed and followed you back to the food table. You made him another plate while he joked around with one of your uncles, unable to fight off Hobi’s infectious laughter for long. The rest of your afternoon spent together was reminiscent of the fun times you used to have, except this time, you were both older and aware of how fleeting wonderful moments could be. The serenity from before found its way back to you tenfold in the end.

What succeeded your graduation barbecue were some of the most carefree days you had had since you were a kid. It felt so good not to have to worry about deadlines or even wearing pants for that matter. You relished in the feeling of not having any responsibilities as long as you could, knowing you’d be entering the working world in only a few months.

You often thought about what your coworkers might be like, and if working in the city was really as cool as everyone made it out to seem. Taking the subway was a daunting idea that you tried not to dwell on too much, knowing it was unreasonable to fret being the only person out of millions of commuters to not be able to figure it out.

Another idea that both excited you and made you nervous was the thought of living on your own for the first time in your life. Your parents had helped you secure a small apartment near your job since commuting from your house was out of the question. You had taken the time to purchase cheap furniture and appliances from the little savings you had as well as something professional to wear for your first day. You had spent much time wondering what working at an office might be like and stupidly hoping it’d be more exciting than just fetching coffee for higher ups all day. Sadly, that’s exactly what awaited you, but you wouldn’t find that out until the Monday after your family helped you move into your new place. After hauling the little furniture you had up six flights of stairs, they stayed for a while to help you get your things put in place and order pizza.

You assumed you were so tired from the days’ events that you fell asleep on the couch, since you awoke the next morning to an empty apartment and your internet fully hooked up. As you finished arranging your clothes into your drawers, you couldn’t help feeling pathetic at the wave of homesickness that cast a dark shadow over your exciting new endeavor. Figuring it was doing you harm to stay in on a beautiful Sunday afternoon and dwelling on the many miles that now separated you from your family, you decided to take a walk and get to know your new neighborhood.

You quickly found the city to be a much hotter and more humid place than you were expecting it to be as you sauntered down the block in flip flops, shorts and your favorite pair of sunglasses. There was no alleviating breeze to be had around any corner you passed, and as perspiration began trickling down your back, you kicked yourself for having the bright idea to leave your air conditioner’s side willingly. Still, you had to admit, the constant traffic of people in a rush and the endless line of businesses that caught your attention for miles on end was exciting enough to get your mind off of the fact that you were utterly alone now.

When you got tired of fanning your sweating face with your equally sweaty hand to no avail, you decided to stop into a café only a few blocks from your apartment for an ice cold drink and, at the very least, to get out of the sun for a while. As you stepped into the quaint shop squeezed in the middle of an entertainment store and a pet shop, you were grieved to find a distinct lack of cool air welcoming you, no doubt a result of the packed crowd awaiting you indoors. I guess everyone had the same idea, huh? Still, the small florescent bulbs that hung over small wooden tables without chairs was much more favorable to the beating sun shining on everything just outside of the shop windows.

Finding the idea of waiting in line with the rest of the hot and sticky people in there unappealing, you settled for taking stand at one of the tables and waiting for the shop to clear out a little. You didn’t mind in the slightest, since you didn’t have anywhere you needed to be per se. Besides, you loved people watching. Looking around the tiny room, you realized just how true the stories were about people creating businesses under a desk in the city of you’d let them. This café was a fraction of the size that J’aime was, but you could already tell it saw an exponentially larger number of customers. It had a charming minimalist vibe full of potted plants that hung along exposed ceiling pipes, abstract pictures on the walls, and a ton of wood accents to compliment.

You caught the looks of other wondering eyes and out of politeness if nothing more, shot a smile back before continuing to let your eyes wander. You idly thought about what the workload must be like for the employees there, reminiscing about your own time working at a café which was filled with tons of downtime. Looking behind the counter, you observed two girls who reminded you of the boys. While one wrung up orders diligently, the other sped around the bar making orders, though they lacked the charm and people skills your ex coworkers had to ease peeved customers in this irritating climate. Deciding it’d probably be best to just head home and take a cold shower, you slipped past the crowd and ventured into the unrelenting sun once more, vowing to visit the shop at a less busier time and get that iced chai you craved.

“Come in!” A grumpy voice beckoned you in from the other side of the door. You looked around the small studio before opening the door to your manager’s office. Your company was small given the nature of its work, renting out a room on the ninth floor of a much larger building full of other small businesses of the same size. Apart from yourself, there was an older woman who sat at her desk and didn’t pay your arrival any mind, and a slightly older woman that chewed on an apple and eyed you enough to make you uncomfortable.

With a resigned sigh, you turned the doorknob and entered, closing the door behind you. “Good morning.” You stood at the door regarding the blonde at his desk while fidgeting with the zipper on your purse. You were expecting to find a much older gentleman with a five o’clock shadow and a lit cigar in his hand waiting for you. Looking at his pale and slight figure and shiny platinum locks that hung over bored eyes caught you off guard to say the least.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there?” He couldn’t be bothered to give you his full attention. Realizing you probably looked like a scared calf in his office, you rushed to take a seat and tried to seem less nervous. This definitely wasn’t the welcome party you were hoping for.

“Y/N, right?” He spoke as he shuffled through some loose papers on his disheveled desk, a gold plaque at the edge that read “Min Yoongi”.

“Uh, yeah.” You watched everything he did like a hawk, wanting to be ready for whatever he’d throw at you.

“You had to think about your own name?” You gulped and blushed, feeling flustered already.

“N-No. I—" His hands stilled while organizing the papers, his eyes meeting yours sharply. After a moment, good humor seemed to find him.

“How are you liking the city so far?” You had to take a second to process his attempt at small talk.

“It’s um…well, it kind of sucks.” You swallowed thickly, praying he wasn’t an avid city boy.

He paused again, maintaining eye contact for a couple seconds before his eyes squinted into a disarming gummy smile. He chuckled as he finished clearing his desk. “Yeah, not many people like the city at first but,” he reached into a desk and gathered a clip board and pen, “it’ll grow on you, I promise.” You sighed with relief, taking the documents from his hand and eyeing them carefully. You recognized the non-disclosure forms immediately. “Welcome to the office. This is your first job out of college, I’m assuming?” You looked up and nodded. “I won’t give you a ton of stuff to do, I mainly just want you to get a feel for how we do things around here. Sound good?” You nodded eagerly. “You do speak, don’t you?”

“Y-yes! Yes, I do, that sounds great.” You both chuckled lightly, you with a twinge of embarrassment and him getting a kick out of messing with the new hire.

“Byulyi, get in here!” He called out to one of the women just outside the door, though you weren’t sure whom. In a split second, the door burst open and in sauntered the brunette with the apple. “That was way too fast, were you listening outside of the door again?”

“I sure was, boss.” She smiled cheekily and took turns looking in between you and him. You couldn’t help but smile at her antics, wondering if she had been working here for long. She seemed to have an immunity to Mr. Min’s intimidating persona.

“Mhm. Well, take her and show her around. And for the love of god, don’t scare her off like you did the last one. Now get the fuck out of my office, both of you.” You got up quickly and exited the room, waiting nearby for the girl who lingered behind.

“It’s not my fault! You’re just not hiring the right people!” She yelled as she closed the door quickly before an incoming projectile in the shape of a paperweight could strike her. A thud was heard from behind the door making you flinch. She turned to you and smiled, “Uhh, not you, though! I’m sure you’ll be great.” She gave you a thumbs up before leading you over to her desk. “This is where I do important bad guy business,” She pointed to her computer and keyboard, “This is the immense documentation that needs to be processed, necessary for me to do my job legally, “She pointed at the overflowing stack of papers shoved off to the side, “Oh and, that’s Gladys over there. She’s the real sunshine of the office, the absolute light of my life. Gladys, I love you.” You both looked over at the older woman who sat typing away on her keyboard too busy to acknowledge your inquisitive stare.

“Fuck off Moon.” Glady’s grumbled with her eyebrows furrowed towards the screen. The brunette turned to you while holding back a laugh.

“See? Isn’t she the sweetest?” You grinned and wondered if she was this hyper all of the time. She continued, “Now that you’re acquainted with everything, take this,” She handed you a debit card, “and get us some coffees. Run along now!” She watched you with amusement as you struggled to form words. You felt whiplash at trying to keep up with everything and everyone.

You looked down at the card in your hand, realizing your fears were coming true. “Um…how do you all take your coffees?”

“Surprise me.” She responded absentmindedly, already absorbed in the contents of her computer screen. You hurried out and took one last look back, hoping you didn’t get lost on your way back. Once you descended to the first floor via the elevator and stepped out into the late morning atmosphere, you shrank against the bricks that lined the building’s walls. You had been so nervous before you got there, and somehow you were even more so now. Part of you expected to have your nerves quelled once you got settled in, but that was definitely not going to be the case. Finding your footing would prove to be difficult when every single one of your coworkers was intimidating in their own way. It made you think about your first day at J’aime and how intimidating Jungkook seemed. The memory made you smile, lifting your spirits enough to get your small task done. You sighed and sprang up to your feet in the direction of that café you had visited the day before, not wanting to take too long and risk seeing anyone’s bad side just yet.

You played with the debit card in the pocket of your blazer as you crossed the busy intersection. The shop was now in plain view, so you decided to think about what order. Upon arriving, you noticed how the shop was way less busy than it was before, thankfully. There were a few people dressed in professional attire, similar to yours, standing in line as you took your place behind them. By the time you reached the cash register, you had settled on getting one black coffee, one with cream and sugar, one with dairy-free milk and a dirty chai for yourself.

“Will that be all for today?” The cutesy cashier chirped as she plucked the card from your extended hand.

“Yes, thank you!” You headed towards the bar area to wait for your order, pulling your phone out to keep track of the time as you waited. You weren’t sure how long they expected you to be gone, so you didn’t want to lag behind in the slightest.

“Jungkook! We’re out of chai…yeah…and matcha too! And bring more cup sleeves if you can, we’re running low…yeah…” You were startled out of your reverie at the sound of your ex-lover’s name. Your head snapped up to see the barista chatting away on her cell phone, balancing the device between her shoulder and her ear and a coffee in each hand. She turned around and handed you half of your order, startled to see you had already been watching her. She hung up and put her phone away, looking at you with evident frustration on her face. “I’m sorry but we’re out of chai. Can I get you anything else?”

“Um, I’ll just take regular black tea if you have it.” She nodded enthusiastically before busying herself with the rest of your order. How many people have the name Jungkook? You refused to believe she could’ve been talking to the same Jungkook from your hometown. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel.

When you arrived back at the office, you found the brunette perched on top of her desk as she had been before, scrutinizing her watch. You shut the door behind you with your leg since your hands were full of drinks. “Seventeen minutes. What the hell were you doing, new girl? Getting coffee from downstairs definitely does not take seventeen minutes.” She crossed her arms and waited for you to speak, quirking her brow when you didn’t respond right away. As you looked around the room speechless, you saw that your boss and the older woman had stepped out, leaving just you two present. “Well?”

You sighed and put the drinks down on her desk, turning to her and holding out the debit card for her to take. When she reached for it, you drew your hand back. She scoffed at your audacity, but you were determined not to let your coworkers intimidate you anymore. “I have a name, I’m pretty sure you know it too, yet you insist on treating me like a pet. Please stop. Also, I didn’t know there was a place to get coffee that’s closer, I just moved here and you didn’t specify. I’ll be quicker next time though.” You placed her debit card on her extended palm with a huff.

Her eyebrows shot up and a slow smile crept across her face. “Ah, so you do have a backbone! Good to know, you’ll need it to be able to handle the kind of work we do here.” She gave you an encouraging smile, “Trust me, I’m a fluffy puppy compared to our clients. And the fact that you’re a woman means you’ll have an even harder time in this field, take it from me.” You blushed and nodded thoughtfully, your irritation dissipating into momentary embarrassment for losing your temper so quickly. She motioned towards the empty chair next to hers, “Sit down, I’ll show you some basics today in terms of paperwork. You’ll be doing a lot of the tedious work since you’re new, but it really helps us out when we get new cases.” Her mood seemed to be instantly lifted despite your slight overstep. Regardless of the oddness of it all, you were relieved she hadn’t fired you on the spot and hurried over to learn as much as you could.

From that day forward, you had an easier time at work. Moonbyul had taken you under her wing and taught you a lot on your first week, even showing you her more patient side anytime you had a question which was few and far between. It wasn’t long before you two were joking the same way she would with Yoongi and Gladys. You rarely got to work with the former since he did most of his work out on the field and would sometimes have to travel for days on end. Gladys was grumpy and anti-social but really good at her job, so you tried to help as much as you could but mainly kept out of her way. They had set you up with your own workspace two weeks after getting hired, and by the third week, you had already established a routine during the weekday. You’d arrive bright and early, fetch coffee, start on any paperwork left on your desk the day before and get distracted multiple times a day whenever Moon decided to saunter over to your area and annoy you for fun. Whenever it was time for lunch, you’d pull out a homemade pb and j from a brown paper bag and a banana like clockwork. You were still waiting on your first check to arrive in the mail, so you didn’t have the luxury of eating out just yet.

However, on one hectic morning when you forgot to set your morning alarm the night before, you found yourself without a packed meal come lunch time, the fear of arriving to work late making you forgetful. When your empty stomach became too hard to ignore, you begrudgingly headed out in search of a place you might find something to eat that wouldn’t cost you all of the money in your bank account. You took a stroll in the direction of your apartment and observed all the shops along the way, even stopping to look inside the quaint café you had been inside a few times but decided against stopping there since it didn’t look like they had much food options. You continued down the block, deciding to stop in at a pizza place with only a few customers in line.

As your eyes scanned the menu above the register, booming laughter kept distracting you from your inner monologue.

“You’ll get your slice when you bring me my coffee!” The older gentleman in an apron spoke aloud while shoving a fresh pie into the brick oven with ease.

“I’ll bring you your coffee when I get my pizza!” Your eyes landed on the boy he was talking to. His back was turned to you, but you’d recognize him anywhere. They both laughed in unison. You were next in line, but you hesitated to step forward, knowing he’d see you if you did. Yet somehow, you couldn’t find the resolve to bolt out of there, despite your subconscious screaming for you to do so.

“Hellooo,” The older man waved a palm in front of your face to get your attention, “Miss, are you ready to order?” You couldn’t rip your eyes away from the back of Jungkook��s head to address the pizzaiolo, and subsequently, you watched the boy turn towards you in slow motion, the curious look on his face morphing into one of clear shock.

The older man grew impatient, so he called for the next person in line to step forward. You sobered up at the feeling of someone pushing past you, so you quickly hopped out of the way then turned back to Jungkook. He, too, stepped away from the counter and towards you, not knowing what to say. You both stared at each other awkwardly, laughing halfheartedly when neither of you could manage to break the ice. You clutched your bag to your shoulder with both hands, feeling both butterflies and a pit at the bottom of your stomach.

He seemed impossibly older, despite it only being a few years since you’d last laid eyes on each other. His hair was straightened now and had highlights, and his tattoos had grown in number. You ogled at his sleeve of artwork that trailed up and under his short sleeve shirt that clung to every muscle in his torso. It seemed he had gotten stockier over time, though he still wore the same dangly earrings and ripped jeans that you remembered he loved so much.

“Y/N…what are…you doing here?” He smiled and crossed his arms observing you in the same way you were him.

“Oh, I…work not too far from here. I’m on my lunch break so…” You avoided eye contact, finding it strange how you two felt like strangers, despite all the history you both shared. “What are you doing here?”

“I actually work here too, in the city now, I mean.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a shy smile blooming on his facial features. “I manage the coffee shop a few stores down. It’s the small one by the pet shop, you can’t miss it.”

You giggled, “I think I’ve been inside once or twice, actually.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you think? Not bad huh?” He leaned against the soda machine cheekily, which had you giggling even more so.

“Well, considering you don’t keep it stocked with chai, I’ll have to deem it subpar at best.” You childishly stuck your tongue out at his crestfallen expression.

“You just happened to catch us at a bad time!” You both laughed heartily at his attempt to defend his store. “Seriously though, you should come by soon. I’ll give you anything you want, on the house.” You blushed and smiled down at your shoes, not knowing what to say. Is he flirting with me? Your heart skipped a beat at the idea, but the high didn’t last long once the memory of who he actually was came knocking.

You looked back up at his hopeful doe eyes and smiled weakly, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. But um…I should get going now, don’t want to be late and all.” His expression fell as you quickly waved and jetted out of the shop. You didn’t make it halfway down the block before you heard heavy footsteps running to catch up to you. When you turned around, Jungkook was behind you, keeled over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath momentarily.

“Wait! You can’t just leave without letting me know when I’ll see you again.” When he stood up, you noticed the sad look in his eyes. “Do you still have the same number? Maybe we can meet up some time, I can show you around?” You bit your lip, contemplating the idea.

“That sounds nice and all but…I don’t know, Jungkook…” You scratched your head, kicking yourself for not having a better excuse on hand. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t missed him all this time, but still, you had to be careful with your heart from now on. Hanging out with him as friends might feel good platonically for old times sake but, you didn’t want to risk getting caught up again.

“Well, I’m not taking no for an answer. Say you’ll come see me at the shop some time! C’mon, you know you want too…” You smiled, remembering how cute he is when he begs. Finally, you sighed and agreed, making plans to have lunch together the following day around the same time. He was overjoyed to say the least, finally releasing you so you could hurry back to the office before being late. You hadn’t even noticed your lack of food, your stomach being full of butterflies instead.

The next day at work was oddly hectic. You barely had a moment to breathe, let alone check your phone for the time. You had even forgone the retrieval of morning coffee in favor of making headway on the mess of paperwork that had awaited you at your desk upon arrival. After sending out a retainer agreement and getting started on a surveillance report, you noticed your phone buzzing in your bag. By the time you had rummaged for it, you saw five missed phone calls from an unsaved number. Finding it strange since you never give your phone number out, you realized it might’ve been Jungkook, your lunch date having been long forgotten. You quickly checked the time to see it had been 20 minutes past when you agreed to meet up. You jumped up from your desk and announced you were taking your lunch on your way out of the door. You could hear Moon protesting from down the hall, but you resolved to deal with it later, needing to focus on putting out one fire at a time.

As you jogged down a few city blocks and turned the corner, you noticed Jungkook staring down at his phone while standing in front of his coffee shop. You were littered with guilt at the site of him thinking he had been stood up. Realizing he was calling you again, you answered your phone while walking towards him.

“Y/N!” You observed him begin pacing back and forth nervously, “I was worried I had the wrong number or something…did you forget about today? It’s cool if you did…” You bit back a giggle at his attempt to play it off. By the time he had finished talking you had already reached him, so you hung up and tapped on his shoulder. He lowered the receiver and turned around only to find you staring up at him apologetically.

“So sorry. I lost track of time at the office. Are you still able to hang out?” Jungkook laughed and slipped his phone into his back pocket. Is he blushing?

“Yeah, of course! Would you care if we had pizza?”

“I’d love some, actually.” You two walked down the rest of the block in silence. It was clear there was an elephant in the room that needed to be addressed before you could both chat like old friends. As soon as you both sat down with your food, he began poking fun at you for gingerly dabbing the grease off your pizza with a napkin.

“What are you, too good for us now?”

You rolled your eyes yet your persistent grin only grew in size, realizing it was a habit you had picked up after you two had stopped seeing each other. “Shut up! It’s a good habit to have. You should do it to actually.” You picked up the sliced and took a bite of the tip, eyeing him sternly. He held the eye contact as he shoved half of the slice into his mouth, grease and all, to spite you. You almost spit out your food while struggling to hold back your laughter. His distinct high-pitched giggle was music to your ears, fond memories of hanging out together pre-drama rushing back to you.

Once he finished chewing, he sat back and eyed you carefully. “So, I take it you graduated then? What made you move to the big city?”

You chewed thoughtfully before responding. “I don’t know…I wanted the experience, I guess. What about you though? I didn’t know you had plans to stay in the coffee business.” He flashed you his crooked smile and you could swear your heart stopped in that moment.

“I didn’t, actually. It just kind of happened. The opportunity presented itself when my lease was up, so I took the plunge. Wanted a change of scenery too I guess, lots of memories I couldn’t get away from back home.” He looked at you meaningfully before taking another bite of his pizza. You looked away, unsure of what he really meant to say.

“I’m surprised you had the heart to move away from Hobi to be honest. You two were thick as thieves.” His eyebrows shot up at the mention of your ex bestfriend’s name, a sour pucker lingering on his lips.

“Were. He quit the café shortly after you did. I ended up helping Jin run it for a while and hired a whole new staff. That’s where I was really able to get the management experience I needed…anyway…I haven’t really talked to him since. You two just kind of disappeared, it was really lonely for a while to be honest.”

You didn’t know what to say as he spoke so nonchalantly about the matter. On your loneliest nights you had always assumed they were off finding some other girl to play with, even going as far as to hurt your own feelings by imagining Jungkook playing pool with someone else. Never had you once imagined they might be as lonely as you were.

“I actually hadn’t seen Hobi after that either, at least not until a couple months ago. He crashed my graduation party. I was really mad at first but, I’m glad he did. I really missed him, and you, even though you both didn’t even deserve that much from me.”

Your jab made Jungkook smile. “Man, things got really fucked up between us, didn’t they?” He sighed, looking out of the window in thought.

“Yeah, they did…” Neither of you spoke for a while. You picked at your pizza, your appetite long gone.

“You found out about the bet, didn’t you?” His question caught you off guard.

“Yeah, I did. But we don’t have to talk about that, really. It’s in the past, right?’ You smiled at him then checked your watch, realizing you only had a few minutes to get back to work.

Jungkook watched you collect your belongings dejectedly. “It is, but at least let me show you I’m not as stupid was I was before? We used to have fun together, you have to admit.” You didn’t respond to him as you were in a hurry to dash out of the pizza shop as you had the day before. Jungkook hurried to your side and grabbed your arm before you could yank the glass door open. You turned around to find him inches away, his tormented eyes searching yours.

“Jungkook—”

He cut you off before you could protest fully. “Y/N, I’m truly sorry that I hurt you. You didn’t deserve it.” You tried to wrench your arm out of his grasp but failed. He was determined for you to hear him out. “Look, we were colossal assholes, I know this. And you don’t have to agree to be my friend again or even forgive me, but just… let me see you again. I really fucked up with you and I want to make it right.”

You sighed as he finally let you go, slinging your bag over your shoulder and blinking tears away. “Jeon Jungkook, are you ever going to stop reappearing into my life and having to apologize every time?” You watched him rub his neck before looking down at you with those big doe eyes again. You smiled, feeling like the worst was over.

“This’ll be the last time, I promise.” The resolve in his voice and stare shook you, the notion striking you as both genuine and romantic as hell. Still, you had to admit you might’ve been inclined to think any grand declarations on his part were less than innocent.

You sighed and pulled the door open to the pizzeria, but before you left, you told him to give you a call sometime.

Jungkook didn’t waste any time in giving you a call. In fact, your phone began vibrating on your way home that same day. You thought it odd that he’d know exactly when to call you, but a second of clarity had you looking across the street and meeting his eyes. He waved at you from the coffee shop windows and you couldn’t help the goofy smile on your face as you crossed the street.

“Hey!” You greeted him breathlessly upon entering the small establishment.

“Heading home?” he busied himself with checking off items on a keyboard.

“Yeah. I just got done work so…”

“I’m actually wrapping up here now so, I’ll walk you. Give me a few minutes.” His proposition made you nervous but you agreed nonetheless, waiting for him outside of the shop to avoid the curious stares of his employees. Within minutes, you were both walking in the direction of your apartment in the most painstakingly slow pace. The sun was casting a fiery golden glow on everything it touched upon its descent, including Jungkook’s stunning features. You tried not to look at him too much, afraid you might give away what was lying beneath the surface of your hesitation to let him in again. It eluded you how you could still be so into him after all this time and after so much history. You remembered something your mom had told you long ago, about long-time crushes being signs of love. You scoffed at the idea of being in love with Jungkook.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook turned to you, mirroring the humor on your face. The thought of telling him what you were truly thinking had you chuckling aloud.

“It’s nothing. Just something funny that happened at work. Anyway,” You looked up and saw your apartment building come into view, “Do you want to come up really quick and see my new place? Normally I don’t invite people up but, it’s only fair given that you invited me to your housewarming.”

“Wow, I am honored. Truly.” Jungkook’s sarcasm had you shoving him playfully, earning a fit of laughter from the boy. As you two paused in front of the steps to your place, you both turned to each other. You were taken aback at the look of indecision on his face. He pressed his mouth into a hard line as he took turns looking at you, then at the entrance to your building, then down the block. “I uh, can’t. I’m sorry…lunch tomorrow though? We’ll go someplace new.”

“Oh, um, sure.” You weren’t sure what to make of his refusal to come up with you, but you decided not to pry, although you were feeling a little rejected deep down.

“You won’t forget me this time?” He smiled at you cheekily and bit his lip, looking at yours for a brief moment then focusing on your eyes with a gulp.

You giggled and tucked some hair behind your ear. “I won’t! I promise.” He watched the door close behind you before setting off down the block and away from view.

As you threw your bag and blazer onto the couch and flung your shoes off, you immediately skipped gleefully towards the bathroom to run a bath.

You and Jungkook had made it a habit to have lunch together every day at the same time after your pizza date, much to Moon’s amusement.

“Heading out?” She spoke up as you passed her desk on your way out. You turned on your heel to look at her curiously.

“Uh, yeah. On my lunch break. Did you need anything?” She got up from her chair to sit on the edge of her desk, eyeing you with a mischievous glint in her stare.

“So, you��ve started wearing perfume every day to eat pb and j sandwiches on the bench outside, alone?” She lowered her glasses and tipped her head towards you, knowing exactly what to do by now to push your buttons.

You rolled your eyes then perked up. “Wait, how do you know that’s what I used to do for lunch?” The girl laughed at your innocent question.

“We have windows, you do know that, don’t you? And I’m assuming this is the same person you’ve been texting nonstop with a big smile on your face?” She turned to Gladys who was surprisingly paying attention to you two bicker, for once. “I think someone’s got a boyfriend, don’t you?”

“I reckon she does!” Both of them started hollering in laughter. You blushed, checking the time and avoiding their patronizing stares. You began opening the door before Moon piped up again, causing you to pause at the door one last time.

“Go get ‘em tiger! Don’t let him get away!”

Just as any other day as of late, you exited through the downstairs doors and began merrily walking towards Jungkook’s café. You two certainly weren’t completely back to the way things were before, but you felt a great deal of joy in his company as you had before and even looked forward to your time with him every day. It was nice to have someone to explore the city with, even if it was at short intervals. But it was also nice to have a friend in such a big lonely place. Having Jungkook nearby was great. For instance, just last week the weather began to drop dramatically since it neared October. Your air conditioning was still installed and making your apartment cold at night, so you convinced him to come over after work and remove it. It didn’t take much coaxing on your part, but as soon as it was done, he all but flew out of your apartment, much to your confusion and disappointment yet again. You were starting to think something was up, but you didn’t want to come off as whiny or anything, so you never brought it up. Besides, you two weren’t exactly dating or even officially friends, simply old acquaintances catching up. It felt out of place to bring up something like that. Still, you couldn’t deny how things had started to feel as of late. It was odd at first, interacting with Jungkook regularly completely devoid of sexual tension, given how you two started all those years ago. But lately you’d catch him looking at you in a way that was anything but friendly, to which he’d get flustered and pretend it never even happened. You weren’t used to this version of Jungkook, being well acquainted with his overly cocky and flirtatious mannerisms. You wondered if he assumed you were still mad at him, and if that’s why he was going out of his way to be respectful and not hit on you in the slightest. You couldn’t lie and say the idea of him flirting with you again like he used to didn’t excite you, but you also wanted to keep a level head about the situation. You hadn’t been with anyone since that fateful night, and you were homesick above all else, so you didn’t want to jump into Jungkook’s arms and regret it afterwards.

But what if Moonbyul was right? What if you didn’t take the risk of talking to him about your feelings and end up losing out on an amazing guy?

As you turned the corner, you saw Jungkook waiting outside of the shop as per usual. He was already facing your direction, so he instantly saw you from afar and waved shyly at you. You smiled, feeling how warm he made your heart feel, and resolved on making a move, somehow someway.

“Hey, you.” Jungkook beamed as he looked down at you, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” You smiled back, looking down to hide the blush forming on your cheeks, “What’s on the menu for today?” He was wearing the same leather jacket you often saw folded up in his work cubby and it made your heart palpitate.

“How’s Korean barbecue sound? I know a good spot not too far from here.” You perked up at the proposition and began walking together towards the restaurant while making light conversation. By now, you had both gotten into the rhythm of taking turns talking about work or what new Netflix anime you had discovered that week. Since it had been so long since you’d seen your family or friends from school, hanging out with Jungkook like this was especially nice.

As you sat at the restaurant and listened to Jungkook talk animatedly about some new coffee beans he had ordered for the shop, you decided to cut him off, Moon’s words of encouragement echoing in your mind.

“Jungkook…” The boy looked up at you with wide eyes and a mouth full of food. You smirked at the sight, feeling calmer somehow. “Why…don’t you ever want to hang out at my house? Or invite me to your place for that matter?” Jungkook finished swallowing his food and put his chopsticks down, realizing what you were getting at. “N-Not that it’s a problem or anything! I just, wanted to know…” You tried to backtrack after watching his expression turn grave.

“I’m actually seeing someone and I’m…I don’t want to—”

“Oh... Okay,” You began stabbing at your noodles with your chopsticks to dissimulate from the sheer shock. You hadn’t considered he was taken in the slightest. I’m so stupid.

Jungkook watched you warily, his own eyes wide as he hurried to do damage control. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s just casual sex, but still I---”

“You don’t have to explain, really! I understand. It was just a question, Jungkook.”

“Y/N…” You finally looked up at Jungkook to see the pity evident in his gaze which somehow cut deeper than the realization that you had already lost him. You felt your eyes begin to water, so you started grabbing your purse and jacket to leave. As you sprinted towards the door, you heard Jungkook calling out to you and garnering the attention of the entire restaurant. You couldn’t stay behind to listen to what he had to say. You know he wasn’t the bad guy, but it made you feel better thinking that he was instead of admitting that you had started to foolishly get your hopes up again. You sped walk back to work, tilting your head up to deter tears from falling and ruining your eyeliner. As a result, you bumped into someone at the corner in front of your office building and dropped your purse, spilling all of its contents onto the pavement. Squatting down and apologizing profusely, you began to cry. A pale hand began helping you pick up your things amongst the crowd of pedestrians.

“Jesus new girl, I take it your date didn’t go so well?” You paused to look up, realizing it was Moonbyul you had bumped into. You began full on sobbing as she patted your head and helped you up. She held you close to her as you two entered the building, not saying anything more on the matter but handing you a tissue once you got back to the office and leaving you alone for the rest of the day to sniffle at your paperwork in privacy.

You hadn’t met up with Jungkook again after your embarrassing display of emotions that afternoon. It had now been weeks without so much as a text from him and just as before, you were both grateful and dejected about the current state of affairs. As a result, you found yourself on the couch with a pint of ice cream in your hands on a Friday night, watching the same romantic comedy you always did when you were feeling bad for yourself. It was a bit of a ritual at this point. You weren’t proud of it, but it brought you too much comfort to quit it, especially when you never had any plans on the weekends anyway.

As you shoved a spoonful of rocky road into your mouth and lip synched to the script of the movie verbatim, the buzzing of your phone caught you off guard. When you flipped it over and saw Jungkook’s name on the screen, you nearly choked on your desert. What the hell!? Feeling oddly suspicious, you grabbed your phone and headed over to your window only to find that Jungkook was, indeed, outside. Your heart sank, feeling déjà vu mixed with panic. You weren’t ready to see him again after your last catastrophic encounter, and certainly not while wearing a ratty old hoody and a sad topknot. As you let the phone ring in your hand and watched him from above, he looked up and made eye contact with you. You cursed yourself for not drawing the curtains as he mimed towards his cell phone. You picked up the call and held it to your ear but didn’t say a word.

“Buzz me in.”

“No, go away Jungkook.

“I want to see you. Buzz me in right now.”

“NO!”

“Yes! Or else I’ll stand out here all night, I swear I will Y/N.” You groaned and hung up, trudging over to the intercom box on your wall. With the push of a button, Jungkook was ascending the stairs three steps at a time, giving you no chance to change or even tidy up your apartment. Three loud knocks disturbed the solitary peace in your small studio apartment. You groaned again, hesitating on opening the door. When you finally decided to do so, you put the chain on the door so that it could only open a few inches.

He held back a grin when he saw what you did. You peaked through the gap in the door with a quirked eyebrow. “Why are you here Jungkook?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, this conversation not getting any less painful than it would’ve been weeks ago when the embarrassment was still fresh. ”I’m not! I’m mad at myself. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? So, you can go now.” Jungkook stopped you from attempting to close the door, keeping his hand above the bolt and leaning in so his head was close to yours.

“Then why does it feel like I fucked up somehow? Please just let me in so we can talk properly?”

“What part of no don’t you understand?! You should go now, she’s probably waiting for you.” Jungkook sighed and bumped his head against the side of the door, already exhausted with the conversation.

“I told you, it’s not like that! It’s not like…” Jungkook stopped himself, looking down at the floor but you weren’t going to let him get off that easily.

“Like what? Like us? Is that what you were going to say?” Jungkook looked back up at you, torment evident in his eyes.

“Yes! Okay? Like us! We were the real deal, whether you want to admit it or not. You may not have thought it, but I sure as hell did.”

Your lips quivered as you stared at him, your eye contact hard and emotional. “Are you implying that I didn’t care about us?! Are you serious!? Jungkook I was so broken up about everything! Hell, I still am! But I’m a real idiot, falling for the same person over and over again despite it ending the same way each time.”

“Oh please,” Jungkook scoffed bitterly, fighting with himself for finally saying everything he had always wanted to but couldn’t, “Y/N you broke my fucking heart into a million pieces when you just dropped me from your life like nothing. Without giving me a reason, you just moved on and left me behind. I was so fucking in love with you, since before I had to move away. And the crazy part is that I still am!” Jungkook’s voice began breaking as tears silently spilled down your cheeks. You pressed your hand against your mouth to stifle your sobs. “But just when I finally start to move on, you show up again and make it impossible! Even though I tried hard to keep things platonic, I can’t help myself. I’m the real fucking idiot here.”

Your fingers shook as you undid the chain from the door. You opened it and took a second to speak so your voice wouldn’t waver. “Don’t say you’re in love with me if you’re not. I can’t take it if—” Jungkook pushed the door open and crashed his lips onto yours in one motion, effectively cutting off your sentence and taking your breath away all that once. He held your face with both hands as your tears continued to spill, your knees giving out from the intensity of the kiss. Thankfully, Jungkook reacted by taking hold of you by the waist and carrying you over to the couch. He sat down and placed you on his lap. You refused to break the kiss, relishing in its sweetness as your fingers knotted themselves in his soft hair.

“Stop crying.” Jungkook spoke in between kisses, wiping your cheeks only to find fresh tears spilling anew.

“I can’t help it!” You sobbed which made Jungkook chuckle softly. He kissed your forehead and laid your head on his shoulder, rubbing your back and your head to soothe you until you were only hiccupping.

After a while of laying on him and listening to his heartbeat, you sat back on his lap to face him, knowing you probably looked like the hottest mess to ever walk the earth, but decided nonetheless to throw caution to the wind. “Is it really okay that we’re doing this? I mean, you’re seeing someone…”

“I was. I broke things off weeks ago after you ran out on me. I figured that wasn’t the reaction of someone who didn’t care, and if I had any chance of getting you back then I didn’t want anything to ruin it.”

You nodded thoughtfully and continued on. “Why did you make that stupid bet?”

“Because I didn’t want to lose you. I was stupid enough to think you might wait for me when I left, and when I found out you were with Hobi…I don’t know… It made me absolutely crazy. I didn’t want to risk driving you away by confessing how I felt, especially since I was under the impression you weren’t that into me, so I tried to act cool about the whole thing. I should’ve never accepted that bet.” Jungkook let his head fall onto the back of the couch with a thud.

You took both of his hands in yours and squeezed them. “I think I get it now…but from now on, let’s just be open and honest about how we feel, yeah?” Jungkook smiled and nodded, looking back up at you with that dreamy gaze you loved so much. You couldn’t help kissing him again, but this time, you didn’t cry. You two continued making out on your couch, feeling no need to talk or interrupt for any reason. It was as if you two were making up for all the lost time, sharing sweet and tender kisses that mended your broken hearts. When you grew sleepy, he carried you to your bed and let you lay down on his chest until he heard your breathing even out. After checking to make sure you were actually asleep, he slipped out of your apartment quietly, leaving you to awaken the following morning to an empty bed. You almost started to believe it was all a very cruel dream since there were no signs of him being in your apartment last night, that is until you received a good morning text from him explaining he had to be at the coffee shop for shipment early the next day. Your heart was instantly full, realizing that Jungkook loved you after all. You finally felt ready to admit to yourself that you were in love with him too, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe again. You buried your face in your pillow and screamed. You just couldn’t believe it.

You spent the rest of the day humming and prancing around your apartment while doing chores. Never in your life had you ever been in such a good mood while scrubbing floors on your hands and knees. You knew it was lame to be this excited about Jungkook coming over after the shop closes, but you couldn’t help yourself.

However, by the time you buzzed him in, you had deep cleaned your entire apartment, washed your sheets, placed lit candles on every surface in your apartment, painted your nails and watched them dry, watched a movie, and took a nap on your couch. He was 3 hours late and it was enough to put a damper on your wonderful mood.

As you heard him running up the stairs, you yanked the door open and instantly began berating him, but it didn’t last long since he didn’t waste any time on kissing you as soon as you began.

“Jungkook, wtf! Mm… It’s 1:00 in the morning! Mmm…Where—” He took you by the waist and pressed his lips against yours, walking you back into your apartment and kicking the door shut behind him. You tried to protest in between kisses, but each one was sweeter than the last, ultimately resulting in you melting in his arms and letting him have his way with you.

Eventually, he broke away and looked around at the dimly lit setting. “Wow, it smells really good in here!”

“Jungkook!” He laughed childishly as he watched you struggle to maintain a pout. He knew you were no match for his charms.

“Don’t be too mad! I’m really sorry. I had a ton of coffee spill on me right before close, so I had to go home and shower then come back. I ran as fast as I could.” He brushed his nose up against yours, coaxing a smile out of your stern face in the cutest way possible.

“Don’t you live around here?” You stared up at him in confusion as you ran your fingers through his damp hair.

“No, I live in another borough. Nothing was available within price range in this neighborhood when I first got to the city. Now can I continue kissing you?” He flashed you his crooked smile as his arms tightened around your waist. You pretended to be in deep thought about the proposition, so he tickled your sides as punishment for keeping him waiting. You squealed and laughed, struggling against his immovable hold on you.

“Okay, Okay! But, kiss me where though?” You giggled at the boy’s theatrics. He paused dramatically mid assault on your squishy sides, then looked up at you questioningly. When you quirked a brow at him, he reached down and picked you up from your thighs, hooking your legs around his waist as he carried you both to your bed. You laughed as he threw you down onto the bed, making haste to remove his shoes and shirt. It was genuinely entertaining to watch him so excited to have sex with you, but when you observed the way his body had changed under his clothing since the last time you saw him naked, your laughter died in your throat. He shot you the cockiest smile as he undid his pants and let them pool around his ankles. You watched him climb onto the bed in between your legs in nothing but his Calvin Klein underwear.

“Do you need help with this?” He bunched the bottom of your oversized shirt in his hands. Your mouth went dry at the feeling of your arousal pooling in your underwear, so you bit your lip and nodded. He carefully pulled your shirt over your head and removed your shorts. Once you were both in your underwear, he placed both hands on either side of you and leaned down, attaching his lips to yours once more.

Your heart was beating furiously in your chest, your fight or flight instincts trying to kick in. You closed your eyes, trying to stay in the moment with him. Jungkook could feel you stiffening at every touch, so he took a moment to look at your face and ask if something was wrong.

“Nothing, I’m just nervous. I know it’s dumb, since this won’t be our first time…but it kind of feels like it is, you know?” Jungkook sat back on his heels and thought for a moment.

“If you’re nervous I’ll leave again, I won’t. I’m here to stay, if you’ll let me.” He took your hands in his and kissed the back of your palm softly. Your heart squeezed at the display of affection. “I want to be with you, for real this time. And if you’re not sure how you feel about us yet then we can take our time. We don’t have to—”

“If there’s anything I’m sure about right now, it’s that I love you, too. And I want this just as much as you.” Jungkook froze again for the second time. He seemed to need help on maneuvering the situation going forward, so you got on your knees and placed a tentative kiss on his lips. He responded immediately, dwarfing your cheeks with his large hands as he kissed you back hungrily. You pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, having found the confidence you needed to finally open your heart to him. He glowed in the aftermath of your confession, unable to hold back his bunny smile no matter how much you kissed him. His joy was contagious, causing you to plant cheerful and impatient kisses down his chest. Before you could reach his navel, he flipped you over and took hold of both of your hands.

“Mm, no. You first, I want to make you feel so good for making me the happiest man on earth just now.” You blushed as he spread your legs apart, feeling how sticky your underwear already was. He looked at you as he took hold of your panties, waiting for you to nod before he slid them down your legs. When he opened your legs again, Jungkook whistled at the sight of you dripping for him which made you want to close them but his overpowering strength didn’t allow it.

He palmed your sex, watching you lustfully as he did and with a tentative finger, began massaging your folds to feel just how wet you were for himself. He hissed as his fingers glided effortlessly up and down, spreading your juices around. You blushed even further, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

He pulled your worn-out lip from your teeth with his thumb. “Don’t hold back, I want to hear you.” You nodded silently, bucking your hips towards his hand for more. He smiled, sliding a finger into you. He circled around inside of you as you moaned, stretching your walls out a bit. He slid his finger in and out of you a few times before adding a second, earning a louder moan on your part. You loved his ministrations, losing yourself in the assembly of pleasure building up as you threw your head back and closed your eyes. When he curled his fingers inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion, he leaned in, focusing on the way your facial expression contorted with pleasure. You grabbed onto his shoulder for dear life as your orgasm snuck up on you with just a few flicks of his wrist, causing your legs to shake under the steady hold of his hand. His fingers were drenched as he pulled him out of your sensitive core. You lay panting in a sheen of sweat as you watched him sink down in between your legs and plant a few kitten licks on your clit.

“Ah, fuck Jungkook!” You twitched with each lick, but overstimulation and all, it felt too good to ask him to stop. You muscled through the discomfort since his sloppy wet kisses to your core fueled your desire for more. Your walls eventually began clenching as fresh arousal began pouring out from you. You would have stained the bed sheets if Jungkook wasn’t lapping every bit of you up with his tongue. “I want you to fuck me.” You looked down at him expectantly, but he simply shook his head and eased his tongue into you. You fell back onto the bed with a plop, deciding that he was getting off on making you exceedingly needy for his dick. You pleaded in between moans, their succession increasing with every flick of his tongue. You no longer felt sore but rather ready for more, longing to be filled up. Your pelvis twitched, a telltale sign that you’d be cumming in a matter of seconds. Jungkook’s lips sealed themselves to your clit as she sucked on you eagerly. You grabbed handfuls of his hair and squeezed his head with your thighs as you came impossibly harder than you did before. He licked at your folds throughout your convulsions, lapping every last drop until your legs sank onto the bed. You rested your hands on your heaving chest, smiling sleepily and thanking him. The last thing you saw and felt before you drifted into unconsciousness was Jungkook coming to lay beside you and softly sifting strands out of your face.

When you awoke, it was three in the morning and you were sprawled out in the middle of the bed, leaving Jungkook to curl into a ball at the corner and fall asleep. Your chest tightened at the sight of him, feeling bad for not having made room before dosing off. You gingerly nudged him until you heard him breath extra deeply and stretch out. He looked up at you and smiled. How he looked so sexy with bed head and sleepy eyes, you’d never know. You brought him to the center of the bed with you, planting a kiss on his lips though it evolved into something more, his raging boner from before pushing up against the fabric of his briefs and into your thigh. You broke away from the kiss and looked down, bringing your hand down to his clothed erection and palming it sensually. He bit his lip and pushed his boxers down his muscular thighs, not wanting to waste any more time not being inside you.

You massaged his leaking cock as he positioned himself above you, rubbing the head of his member along your folds for lubrication. When you began leaking again while squirming underneath him. He pushed against your entrance, meeting a bit of resistance but not stopping until he reached the hilt. You both sighed in contentment as your walls hugged him tightly. He looked down at where you two were connected, then up at your face, smiling groggily.

“What?” You couldn’t help but smile too, reveling in the intimate moment in the early morning between the sheets with your dream guy.

“Say it again.” He looked down at your lips then at your eyes, holding his position without moving an inch out of you.

You furrowed your brows, unsure of what he was talking about at first. After looking at that bunny smile forming on his face, you realized exactly what he was asking for. “Ohhh, you mean the L word.” You giggled teasingly. “Hmmm…nah, I don’t think I will.”

Jungkook’s mouth set into a hard line before resolve set his eyes ablaze. “That’s okay, I can always make you.” Your eyes widened as he threw your legs over his shoulders and leaned down, bringing your knees to your chest. The new position allowed his cock to pump into your g spot perfectly. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

You held onto his biceps tightly, your mouth in a permanent “o” as you deeply felt every little movement of his hips. After carefully pulling out of you almost all the way, he thrusted back into you roughly. Your answering cry was music to his ears, inspiring him to set a torturous pace in his mission to get you to say the four-letter word. When he noticed tears forming in the corners of your eyes from sheer pleasure, he ceased rocking into you and dropped your legs in favor laying on top of you and kissing your tears away. His arms caged your head as he brushed your hair away from your face again. You smiled and wrapped your legs around his waist, rubbing his cheek with your thumb.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” He spoke softly as he looked at you in earnestness, almost with a sadness that caused his features to sag in the dim lighting of the streetlights shining in through your window. You were speechless, your heart feeling so full in that sweet moment. You looked into each other’s eyes for a while before he leaned down and began kissing you again. His lips were saccharine and addictive as they molded around yours like puzzle pieces. Your tongue slipped into his mouth and he readily accepted it, swirling his own around it in a seductive dance. When the steaminess of the kiss got him sufficiently riled up, his body responded by thrusting into you. You both moaned in unison at how easily he slid from your increased wetness. He looked down again and watched his dick disappearing and reappearing at your core. The fact that Jungkook wasn’t holding back his own moans only served to turn you on more. A symphony of groans filled the room as he picked up the pace, pounding into you without mercy. You watched his muscles contract with each movement before you fell back onto the bed to give into the rising sensation in the pit of your stomach. He turned his attention back to your closed eyes and gaping mouth. His name spilled from your lips repetitively and with conviction as you felt yourself climbing higher and higher.

“Fuck, Jungkook. I love you…I love you… I love you…” You repeated the words he wanted to hear as you came for the third time that night. You encouraged him to cum inside of you since you had long been taking birth control responsibly, and so he did, both of you thoroughly enjoying the feeling of him filling you up inside. When he pulled out and collapsed beside you, you both caught your breaths for a while, eventually turning to your sides to peck each other until you both fell asleep.

Morning came all too quickly, and with it, the departure of the man you were finally able to call yours. However, you didn’t let him go until you had asked him to move in with you. He agreed excitedly to the proposition, marking the start of many milestones you’d eventually reach with the love of your life. Afterall, the considerable loss you both felt in the name of love meant the rewards you’d reap were worth the risk. ♡

#bts fanfiction #bts #bangtan #bangtan smut #bts smut #jungkook smut #coffeehouse au #bangtan boys #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #j'aime #baepop j'aime

273 notes · View notes

vanaera · 4 years

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟐 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 8.2k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries (PG-16 Rating)

prev | next | series masterlist

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

The skies were gray and the streets were damp and yet the air remains humid. The scorching heat on the pavement permeates the soles of his leather combat boots. It’s the familiar stench of Down Hill. Jungkook could already smell it when he’s just reaching the boundary between it and Middle Town.

Jungkook looks down at the scrap of paper that’s been in his pocket since the day started. Namjoon had to write the address of this Y/N L/N, lest DOJ traces his electronic trail and take him in for unnecessary questioning. Jungkook himself had to make up some petty excuse of a “hurting arm” to file a day-off. He just hopes all of this spent effort will worth him something.

Jungkook nears the 7-Eleven sitting in the fork of the streets. Namjoon wrote Y/N’s studio is cramped among the apartments around this area. He said she never really penned down a home to accommodate covert meet-ups like this. All she has is her studio.

In “Mini Palais, 23-B,” Jungkook mutters again, huffing in front of a door with cracking cadet blue paint. He finds the unit after climbing up a series of stairs at the end of the alleyway jammed between the decaying 7-Eleven and a battered motor shop. Jungkook raises his hand to knock when the door bursts open.

In front of him is a girl. Namjoon already said so and although Jungkook thinks it’s accurate enough for the girl who’s looking up at him through chopped raven bangs, it also wasn’t really enough to describe her. Because the girl in front of him was an aberrant mix of a girl and a woman. Jungkook thinks she’s around her early thirties if he were to consider Namjoon’s history of working with her for about ten years in FJO. There are faint lines around her eyes to support that. However, her relatively small height, plump cheeks, and the natural rosy hue of her lips beg to decrease ten years off that supposed age. With her youthful face, messy half-bun, and the white, floral off-shoulder dress flowing past her knees, no one will argue with Jungkook if he were to say she’s just 22.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, um,” Jungkook flashes his badge, “I’m Jungkook Jeon, a captain in the Federal Justice Organization. Precrime, Murder sector. I’m here to um, avail your…services for a case.”

The girl cocks her head to the side and gives him a once over. “I’m sorry, I don’t do services for the FJO anymore.” She moves to close the door but Jungkook was quick to block a foot between it and the wall.

“I’m a contact of Namjoon’s!” Jungkook exclaims, “He’s Lieutenant Seokjin Kim’s close subordinate.” This is a card he didn’t want to use but it looks like he has no other choice left. Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, I’m a very close contact of Namjoon. We’re best friends. I even live with him. He’s the one who told me to, um, consult you for the case I’m handling.”

The girl opens the door an inch. Jungkook hands a folded paper to her. She spreads it open and scans through the letter. Jungkook doesn’t know what it actually says. Namjoon just thrust it into his hands on his way out and told him not to open it. It must be an effective personal request because by the time the girl reaches the end, she’s pushing her door wide open, tilting her head to the side, beckoning him to come inside. However, her face remains grim.

“I’m Y/N L/N. This is my studio. I know you already know I prefer to transact business here even for ones intended to be covert. So first off, I want to say I’m sorry you have to travel to such a place like this.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “Oh no, it’s definitely alright—”

“I kinda think it’s not when you grew up in a comfortable life. You must be quite shaken up.”

Jungkook freezes. Y/N looks at him, “Oh, I didn’t look into you or something. It’s just a hypothetical guess, seeing your,” she motions to his silver watch. “That’s expensive. No one from here will be able to afford it anytime soon.”

Jungkook’s shoulders turn lax. Y/N points to a chair next to a table in the corner. “Just wait there. I’m about to finish this piece in just a sec. Then I’m all yours.”

Jungkook nods and makes himself comfortable on the seat. Unlike its appearance on the outside, Y/N’s unit is not much of a concrete wreck. It still looks a bit rough. The ceiling has cracks all over it. A small white bulb precariously hangs on its center. It looks too weak to illuminate the whole room when the night comes. Jungkook thinks it’s a good thing that the unit has huge gaping rectangular windows to let in the natural light. The floor is cemented in gray but the work on it is unimpressive as there are numerous uneven layers, rough patches, and dents that could only be ascribed to poor mason work. The white wallpaper is torn around, some even wet at the edges—probably due to a leak during rains.

However, the flowers painted on them is vibrant enough to uplift the dreary unit. Paintings are littered around. Many are big, a few are small. Some were seated on easels, several are just laying around on the floor. Newspapers are strewn across the majority of the floor. Buckets and tin cans of paints line up the corners like a prayer circle.

All the colors present in the room can only be attributed to the paint that’s strewn across the newspapers, the paintings, and the 6’ tall canvas of an owl in flight Y/N is currently working on. The girl is standing on a small foldable ladder, painting the feathers of the bird at the top of the canvas. When the wind blows her hair to the side, Jungkook finds a mirage of colors on the scarlet spider lilies inked on her spine.

After about two minutes, Y/N steps down and dumps her brush into a rusted bucket filled with water. She turns to the man on the chair and makes her way to the stool opposite his. She fixes down her dress and finally looks at Jungkook. “So, what case do you have for me?”

“This,” Jungkook slides a couple of pictures toward her. They are the screen captures from the CCTV records that caught the black Jaguar. “There’s an unknown driver who’s doing an illegal time jump patterned to Precrime’s traveling agents. We tried to run in the license plate but it just turned to be ‘invalid.’ All we know is that the suspect is male, slim, and tall. He’s interested in the Winston Assassination, and has probably inside ties in FJO since he easily entered the Special Operations Building just ten days ago.”

“None of the traveling agents has seen this man before? Precrime or Forecrime?”

Jungkook shakes his head.

Y/N licks a finger and flips to the next picture, “What about the car?”

“None of the agents has seen a suspicious sedan sports Jaguar before. It’s the first time we have someone presumably well-to-do threatening the justice system.”

Y/N nods. Jungkook inserts his hand into his pocket and retrieves a black USB. He hands it to the girl. “Here’s more of the screenshots from the CCTVs, taken in each second. I can’t give you the CCTVs because of the protocol. I can only give you these. Just imagine they’re moving,” Jungkook purses his lips as he looks at the girl. “I want you to identify this man for me.”

Y/N tucks the USB into her dress’ pocket. She slides the pictures back to Jungkook. “This seems to be a heavy identification check then. Not that I couldn’t handle, of course. However, Namjoon must have told you that my rates are quite high—”

“Money is not a problem.”

Y/N cocks a brow, “So you did grow up a comfortable life.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw.

Y/N chuckles, “Okay, I’m not gonna dwell on it more. It’s settled then. Send your weekly payment to this account,” Y/N tears a piece from the rolls of paper by her side, scribbles on it, and hands it to him. “Every Friday, 10 AM sharp.” Jungkook looks at the paper before tucking it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

Y/N crosses her arms, “We can start next week after you give me the downpayment.”

Jungkook zips open a duffel bag and places a stack of bills on the table.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Y/N smiles, “I like that.” She flips through the bills before deciding they’re legitimate and dumping it into a box by her feet.

Y/N turns to him. “Now, where are we? Oh—you must already know, but what I really do here is foreseeing the future for whatever cause you have. It’s not just trivial fortune-telling but a purposive one. I can accurately give you whatever you want to know.”

Jungkook nods. Y/N’s leans forward on the table. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really have terms and conditions with my clients. Or any contract to ensure them their protection, as what I do tend to…increase risks. Emotional security and mental stability on your part. Those two and physical toll on mine. It will be absurd to provide any contract as what I am doing is anything but guaranteeing protection. I can’t also be fully transparent about the mechanisms behind the things I will do for you. Otherwise, my gift won’t work. What I can only assure is I’ll never proceed on any memories you have set boundaries on. Should you decide to stop this negotiation anywhere in the future, I will automatically concede and keep the confidentiality of whatever that may happen. As long as on your part, you won’t consider asking for a refund.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” Y/N smiles, “Now first things first. Tell me any hurting point you have.”

Jungkook goes stiff. “Is this actually necessary?”

Y/N nods. “I know this is a tough question, but we’re talking about memories here.”

“I know but I can’t just divulge them to a stranger—"

“I think you don’t get what I’m saying.” Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle. “Look, Jungkook, when I attempt to see the future concerning this elusive driver you’re after, it is inevitable for the past to re-appear. There is no future without any past. Your past memories can clog up with the ones involved in the case because you are in the case. You’re heading it. Good or bad, memories will come up. That’s their thing. They spring up at the most inconvenient times. No matter how old they already are. No matter how long you must have already moved on from them. Memories demand to be remembered and you cannot just disregard them even if you will it to because it never gave anyone a choice to do otherwise. So, if you don’t set the boundaries on the memories you don’t want me to cross, I’ll just see everything in their utter unadulterated form.” Y/N leans forward, “And I can assure you, you don’t want that to happen.”

Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue. “Fine. I’ll give you my hurting point and that’s that. No further questions.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook digs in his back pocket for his wallet and flips it open. There’s a tattered white edge of a picture peeking through the flaps. It’s been years since he pulled it out. Its replica, now tucked in his shelf, has prevented him from doing so for so many years. Jungkook closes his eyes and slides it toward the girl. “This boy. Anything that concerns him, I don’t want you to cross or even bring up. Understand?”

“Okay.” Y/N hands back the photo to him. “We go to the second step then. You must already have your assumed suspects. Tell me their names.”

Jungkook draws back. “I can’t tell you that, that’s highly classified information. FJO’s protocol doesn’t allow it and—”

“Do you seeking my help part of the protocol?”

Jungkook looks down, “No.”

“Right. So, tell me their names. I need to know them to make a memory map.”

Jungkook’s brows meet “A what?”

“A memory map,” Y/N repeats, “It’s something I make to identify points of certain memories in time. It guides me to the memories I need to tread to reach what I’m really looking for. It’s like a demo version of Forecrime’s box trainings but except of a machine, I’m doing it manually by hand. For all we know, the real suspect must be close to these suspects.”

Jungkook’s brow quirks up.

Y/N leans forward, “So, tell me their names?”

Jungkook turns his face away from her, looking at his clasped hands. “Well, I…only have one.”

“And that is?”

“Leigh Anderson. Winston’s assassin. FJO has been after him for 17 years. He also has a number of sponsors who’s been sending him missions with promises of large sums of money. But most of all, he’s rumored to have access to time jumping technologies. Illegal of course. FJO is the only one licensed to be utilizing them.”

“That’s good,” Y/N quips. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

Jungkook turns to his duffel bag and retrieves a picture. It’s Anderson in the scene of Winston’s murder that FJO has pinned to their system. The one in the crime record Jungkook produced. He hands it to Y/N. “Is this enough?”

“More than enough,” Y/N smiles. She stands up and walks to one of her cupboards, reaching for a ceramic bowl. She pours some tap water in it and turns back to the table, a short, white candle in hand. She places the candle on the water, letting it float. She retrieves a lighter from her dress pocket and lights up the wick of the candle.

Y/N puts her palms open on the table. “Let’s start now. Do you have your clicker with you?”

Jungkook’s brows meet. “What?”

“Your time jumper,” Y/N grits.

Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “I don’t see any reason why would you need it—”

“We’re going to the past to have a tangible memory to start on my memory map.” Before Jungkook could tear himself away from the table, Y/N launches forward and snatches the small, black device hanging on the man’s belt loop. Jungkook shoots an arm out and grabs onto it.

But it’s too late. Y/N’s already pushed the button.

The air is knocked out of Jungkook’s windpipe. A numbing pain starts to settle on his chest, a migraine forming on his temple. His limbs also feel stone-heavy. Precrime traveling has always been like this and yet Jungkook can never get used to it. However, he’s not left wondering about it for long because in the next second, Jungkook’s standing in front of a dark road. Tall shrubs and trees shadowing the moon, CCTVs mounted on the lamp posts lining the concrete. It’s Somerset Road.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. Why is he here? He tries to move but his limbs are stuck by his side, unmoving as he grunts. He tries to take a step back but the effort is futile when his feet are seemingly glued onto the dark asphalt. Jungkook sighs and turns to the road in front of him again. And this time around, Jungkook’s mouth falls ajar.

Y/N is standing idly at the other side of the road, opposite of him.

“H-how did you travel here—”

A car zooms past. Jungkook turns his head to the sound. The air is punched out from his esophagus. It’s his car—the silver-gray Ford. And there at the other end of the road emerges a black sedan sports Jaguar. The Jaguar speeds on and drives into the Ford, swerving it around, tires screeching loud on the pavement. It topples down, rolling around, then round, and round. Three times, Jungkook counted. Just like the CCTV Hoseok retrieved. The Ford stops, upside down. The black Jaguar zips past it. Like the CCTVs have shown, the Jaguar reaches the other end of the street and disappears. A second passes. The body of the driver in the car drops onto the cold pavement. It lolls his head to his side, bloodied face turned towards the man standing on the pavement.

Jungkook’s facing right into his past. He isn’t reliving the memory. He is living it. There’s no anger but pain. Fresh, unadulterated pain that cannot be accounted to the lacerations on his injured arm.

The wind howls. Jungkook remains frozen in his position. Then suddenly, everything stops—the distant honking of the cars, the wind, the clatter of the crushed car pieces falling onto the ground. What the fuck is happening? Jungkook turns around, only to come face to face with the girl.

Y/N’s arm shoots forward and fists the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him down to her level. “You didn’t say this business is personal!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook spits, tearing her hand off him.

“It is, Jungkook! You said you were involved. I didn’t think it was this level of involved!”

“It doesn’t change any fact that I’m still going to be involved either way! I’m still going to head this case because it’s tied with Winston. What difference does it make if I am the victim of this fucking man?!”

“A lot!” Y/N screams. Jungkook stops. Y/N sighs, “It does a lot of difference, Jungkook. We’re already risking a lot in this until it turns out you’re a focal point in this case! You’re a fucking victim of this culprit! A conflict of interest is highly possible. You will be unable disassociate yourself from this and objectively investigate this case—”

“I don’t need you telling me what I should do or not, Y/N.” Jungkook steps forward to the girl. “I know what I’m doing. And I know it when I say I can investigate this following all the legal protocols.”

Y/N tilts her head. “How can you say that when you’ve just been face-to-face with your past self?”

Before Jungkook can say anything, Y/N closes her eyes and clicks her finger. In just one second, everything around Jungkook falls beneath his feet—the trees, Somerset Road, his bloodied self. It rips themselves off from his senses until all he could see again is the dilapidated atelier, the barren ceilings, and, Y/N.

Jungkook hunches over, coughing as air fills his lungs again. “H-how could you do that?”

Y/N blows off the candle. “My gift.” She glances at the man. “The accident is taking a serious toll on you. I have to take us out of the time jump.”

Jungkook sits back and glowers at her. “N-no, what I’m asking about is—how could you snatch my clicker and make a jump without any remorse? You do know that’s illegal!”

“I know. ‘FJO’s traveling agents and officials are the only ones allowed by the law to engage in time jumping activities’ yaddah yaddah bullshit.” Y/N leans on the table, face hovering the Captain’s. “But involving a then-law practitioner, much more an outsider like me, into your case is also illegal. I have my gift, yes. But I can only see the future and I won’t be able to see it accurately if I don’t have some sense of the past. Plus, I have no other pragmatic choice to start this case on the right foot. I already saw the future of our negotiation before you sat down on that stool. There’s nothing else I could say other than it didn’t end favorably for any of us.” Y/N turns back to the table she’s clearing, “Not that it’s any different now. Especially when I just learned the case you’ve showed me is more personal than you presented it to be.”

Jungkook purses his lips. He stands up, gathers his things, and wordlessly makes his way out of the atelier. He didn’t bid the girl any farewell.

“Looks like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Jungkook looks up at his friend before looking down at his crossed arms, turning his attention back to his mug of coffee.

Namjoon takes a seat cross Jungkook. “Did something happen?” He twirls the tea bag around his own mug, “Care to tell why you’ve been sporting those dark eye bags since two days ago?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing when the doctor precisely told you to have a healthy lifestyle to help your wound heal faster.”

Jungkook looks at Namjoon.

Namjoon points to his bandaged arm, “It indeed doesn’t look it’s healing fast like it’s supposed to.”

Jungkook sighs. “Fine, you caught me.” He purses his lips then looks at his friend, “I’ve been wondering. You know our clickers are designed to identify the agent it was assigned to before it could work. But, is it…possible for clickers to work on someone that doesn’t belong to FJO as long as someone from FJO is present?”

Namjoon keeps his gaze on him. A look of surprise seems to wash over his face. But it soon gets replaced by a look of recognition. Namjoon places the tea bag onto the saucer on his left. “I see you already met Y/N.”

“Y-you knew that about her?”

“I do,” Namjoon mutters over his cup of tea. “I learned it when the Bureau looked into the Linton Park serial murders. Seokjin’s team, including me, followed the memory map she made for us—a trail of memories that specifically belongs to anything related to the murders. But then, we hit a dead-end for the supposed next victim. Can’t identify her. We only had images of flashing movement—blood splattering in a barn, people running on a green field. There are just cops and a woman.”

Namjoon places down his cup, “And so, Y/N told me she needed me to help her make a time jump in the past. I pressed on the clicker and,” Namjoon shrugs, “Y/N successfully made the jump. And also successfully return with the info of the victim—a girl working on a farm. Y/N tied it to the flashing images of the field and deduced the running was not about us chasing a murderer’s accomplice. But us running after a victim before Linton could. It was hard to tell at first why the victim is running away from us. Until we learned through Y/N she was an illegal immigrant.”

Namjoon pulls his lips into a tight smile. “I think it’s an additional gift. But at the same time, it’s also a setback. A rightful one at that. Y/N’s inability to time jump in the past unless with a clicker a meter radius within her balances the power of her future-seeing gift. She still needs to rely on the system even if her gift for the future is, hypothetically, unbound from any constraints.” Namjoon takes a sip of his tea. “How ‘bout you? How did you learn this…extra ability of hers?”

“She snatched my clicker from me,” Jungkook leans back in his seat. “She said she needed a ‘tangible memory’ to start on her memory map. She ended up thrusting us back into the time of my car accident.”

Namjoon freezes. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘us’?”

Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Yeah. We did the jump together, that’s why I’m asking you about this thing with the clickers.”

“Jungkook, she never did that before.”

Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “What?”

Namjoon scratches his nape, face scrunched up. “When she asked me to let her jump through my clicker, she didn’t take me along with the jump. It’s only her. Like it should always be as one clicker is only for one user. It’s always been like this in all the situations she asked me for a time jump in the past.” Namjoon looks at him, “I don’t know why you got in the same loop as her.”

The night was quiet but devoid of peace. Like an ugly pause in a running film that’s just about to unwind the questions they laid at the start. Even after intaking his blue pills, Jungkook finds it difficult to close his eyes shut.

“Big brother!”

Jungkook turns around. The small boy stands on his tiptoes, small arms reaching for him. Jungkook smiles, “You want to climb on my back again, Daehyun?”

“Yes!” Daehyun giggles.

“Alright then,” Jungkook crouches in front of him and Daehyun’s squeals grow louder as he loops his stubby arms around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook stands up, securing the boy’s short legs around his torso. “Ready for some wind, big boy?” He asks. Daehyun nods frantically and soon, Jungkook is zooming on the green field, turning the heads of the children and volunteers in the park. But all Jungkook could hear was Daehyun’s laughter filling the nice summer afternoon. It brings a huge smile on Jungkook’s face.

Then—flashing blue and red lights. Cold pavement. A lone school bus standing in the middle. Its yellowness highlighted by the police’s yellow tape surrounding the area. Reporters dot every possible space on the crossroad. “Shooter on the loose.” “Poor child.” “Blood splattered on the seats.” But all Jungkook could hear is the white noise of the chattering. And the call of “Big brother!” he’ll never hear anymore.

Jungkook jolts awake. He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s all in the past,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t shake off the horror he’s reeling in. He’s had this dream again and again for eight years straight. He should be already accustomed to it.

Jungkook sits up straight. He turns back to his computer and sees a couple of pictures open on the desktop. It was the screenshots of the CCTVs Yoongi gave them. He looks at the top of his desk. His notes empty of anything new other than Leigh Anderson’s name webbed next to an un-filled space for sponsors. Jungkook covers his face with his palms and yawns. Just then a series of text messages come in.

Unknown: This is Y/N. I know we left on bad terms three days ago. I’m the one to blame for that for overreacting. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done a case for FJO. I’m still kinda hung up separating personal services from investigative ones. (2:13 P.M.)

Unknown: Nevertheless, I hope you’re free this day. Meet me at Somerset Road. 3 P.M. I don’t want you to waste the money you gave me yesterday (2:13 P.M.)

Somerset Road is a thirty-minute drive from the FJO Main Headquarters. However, it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook parks his car on the side road. It seemed like hours have gone by when the sun is about to set in the alcove of trees in the distance. It’s just three in the afternoon. Jungkook steps outside and shuts the door. From his position, he could make out a girl in ripped black denim pants and black tank layered with a pink see-through mesh shirt. From the striking red of the spider lilies on the top of her spine, Jungkook could tell it was Y/N. He almost didn’t recognize her. He wouldn’t know she has an undercut had her high ponytail didn’t highlight it.

The girl turns around and looks at him. “You’re late.”

“I have to bribe the Maintenance Office first to give me this afternoon’s CCTVs when we’re done.” Jungkook strides toward her, “How did you get my number?”

“Namjoon.”

Jungkook cocks a brow.

Y/N shrugs, “he wrote it in the letter you gave me. Should you, quote-unquote, be ‘difficult to deal with.’”

Jungkook keeps his lips in a straight line.

Y/N rocks on her toes, hands in her pocket. “Let’s get straight to it then. Take your clicker out and push it.”

“What are you intending to do—”

“A time jump.”

“Of course, I know that. What other purpose do we use our time jumps for?” Jungkook spits. “What I want to know is what we’re supposed to be doing first before I follow whatever you want me to do because I cannot just blindly trust you with this—”

Y/N turns her head to him, one brow cocked up, “Didn’t I tell you before I don’t fancy How-What-Why-Whatever questions to what I do or else my gift won’t work?”

“Yes, but—”

“Look, will you just push it or do you want me to snatch it from you again?” Y/N takes a step closer to him, leveling his eyes with hers. “I already did a read for today. I know its new hiding place.”

Jungkook remains unmoving in his stance.

Y/N crosses her arms. “If it would assure you, this session won’t end taxingly fruitless like the last time. I’m positive we’ll get something by the end of today.”

“How did you know?”

“I told you, I did a read for today. I saw you with an astounded face and me with a happy and proud smile. Obviously, we must have ended up finding something.”

Jungkook is still unconvinced.

Y/N sighs, “If you don’t want to do anything of what I can offer you, you know you can just terminate our connection anytime you want. Just so you know you can’t refund the 10,000 zials you gave me for the downpayment.”

Jungkook keeps his gaze on her. A couple of seconds pass before he sighs and shakes his head as he takes out his issued clicker tucked in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

Y/N smirks. “See? You know you’re gonna need me in the end and you still try to put up an unnecessary fight.”

Jungkook grunts. He turns the clicker’s indicator to “1-2 weeks” timeframe and pushes the button.

It was just like their previous time jump—like any other Precrime time jump. It felt like nothing yet also everything at the same time. An amalgamation of sensations and perceptions flashing in front of him in the blink of an eye as he is transported back to the night of his accident. Jungkook looks down at his feet. He’s back to where he last stood at—the left side of the road next to the corner where his car will come from. Jungkook turns to his left and he almost jumps in shock. Unlike their last jump, Y/N is no longer on the opposite side of the road, but beside him, shoulders almost bumping his. Jungkook takes a staggering step away from her.

Even if Namjoon laid everything he knows about Y/N’s skills yesterday, Jungkook still finds it hard to accept that a clairvoyant is able to look into the past with such effortless access. Aren’t they only supposed to see the future?

“What are you looking at?”

Jungkook tears his gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

“Thought so, too,” Y/N quips. “We’re here to work after all. Not ogle at each other.”

Jungkook tongues his cheek. He’s not left to his frustration for long as after a second, the burning of tires on the asphalt is heard on their side of the road. A silver-gray Ford appears and it zooms past them in a flash. A black Jaguar subsequently shows up on the other side, its form nearing them each millisecond that passes. It’s only time ‘til the two crashes and sends Jungkook’s car rolling three times on the road.

But, it didn’t happen. The howls of the wind stop. The screeching of the tires halts in awkward silence. And the cars are frozen still. The Jaguar’s bumper and Ford’s right door are separated by a mere inch. It’s the second before the accident happens. Paused in a picture-like frame as if someone hit the pause icon on a video.

Jungkook whips his head to his side. Y/N has her palm closed in a post-click of her thumb and middle fingers. Jungkook feels his throat clog up, “H-how did you do that?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Told you before, it’s because of my gift. And it’s also just seconds ago I told you I don’t like questions about how my gift works.” Y/N steps away from him and onto the road. “Follow me.”

Jungkook silently follows behind. It’s only a matter of seconds that they reach the side of the door of the silver-gray Ford. Jungkook lets his fingers touch on the coated metal. It felt cold on his flesh. Solid. Real. Jungkook can’t help but be astonished. This is no regular time jump. Totally unlike the first one he did with the woman. For this time, Jungkook doesn’t feel he’s living the film of the scene, just like any of the standard Precrime time jumping. This time, Jungkook feels he’s in the scene. Not in a film, not like the virtual reality experienced by Forecrime agents. But in real-time.

“Take your hands off your car.”

Jungkook tears his hands away from his car. He looks at the girl. Y/N gives him a pointed look, “I know this time jump doesn’t feel like the standard time jumps of Precrime so you may be astounded with,” she motions around them, “all of this. But I prefer you not to get too overwhelmed. We’re here for work.”

Jungkook nods, reluctant. Y/N walks further into the side of the road, now a foot away from the spot where the cars should crash. Jungkook quickly follows behind. When he’s by an arms-length away from her, he faces back to the scene in front of him. And then, Y/N clicks her hand.

The trees sway again. The winds continue their violent gush on the road. And the cars collide. The film is playing again.

But then, Y/N clicks her fingers. The scene stops, frozen yet again. The bumper of the Jaguar has dug into the Ford’s door, crushing the metal with its momentum. The side mirror is broken, glass shards shattering in mid-air.

“Come here,” Y/N beckons. Jungkook walks close behind as Y/N stops by the point of intersection of the two cars. From their position, Jungkook could see the past him hunched over on the wheel, seat belt digging into his torso. The window by his side is broken, a splotch of blood marring the clear glass. And on his right, Jungkook could see the driver of the black Jaguar. Non-existent.

Y/N looks at him, “So we know the man you’re after is doing an illegal time jump similar to the pattern of Precrime’s traveling agents. But what you don’t know is: he’s a professional.”

“W-what?”

“Look,” Y/N flicks her wrist and makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hand. The sound goes void again and the cars back away from each other in slow motion. Jungkook’s brows shoot up. The scene is rewinding. Y/N is turning back the time before the Jaguar collided into the Ford. And then, Y/N moves her arm horizontally to her left and clicks her fingers. The Jaguar moves forward again, but slowly this time. Jungkook could see the silhouette of the driver with arms taut on the wheel disappearing into a cloud of smoke until it turns no more but a nonexistent person on the seat as it hits the door of the Ford.

Y/N clicks her fingers and the scene pauses. “As you saw, it only took the driver,” she glances at her watch, “ten seconds before completely disappearing into his time jump. From how fast he disappeared, we could say it only took him twenty seconds in total to make the entire jump. I can only deduce this as the memories we have are short of the time we could see him in his solid form. The same way goes for the CCTVs you gathered. It only captured the last ten seconds of the whole accident. The Jaguar nonexistent in the frame from 20:23:39 and anything beyond before that time mark. The CCTVs only showed the Jaguar from 20:23:40 to exactly 20:24. The last 10 seconds, devoid of any driver.”

The girl continues, “Now, to be able to completely vanish in just 20 seconds, you must be a professional in time jumping in the past. Which can only be done if you’ve undergone training under Precrime. However, this could also be just any other outsider that’s gotten lucky doing an illegal time jump. Considering Somerset Road has a strong electromagnetic field that can help anyone do their time jumps faster and more successfully—including the risky ones that involve a huge time frame of unbounded jumps into the past. But to know that about Somerset Road, much less know how to effectively take advantage of its field during a time jump—you should be a long-time agent of Precrime.”

Y/N faces Jungkook, “The man you’re after is either a professional Precrime traveling agent or an outsider who’s fed with all the necessary information only a Precrime agent could know. It’s an inside job.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No. It can’t be. Every time-jumping device has a permanent tracker that can never be taken out even by the best engineer. Allen McGregor designed it to be like that to ensure these devices will not be used for personal interest. Every agent is tracked of their traveling activities and logged straight into the Investigation Bureau’s files. They’re inputted in glass files similar to the crime records—void for editing, copying, and deleting. And should it be an outsider utilizing Precrime’s technology, a travel will still be tracked back to the agent whose device was used.” Jungkook looks at Y/N. “There have been no reports of anyone traveling on Somerset Road the night of my accident.”

Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying what I saw. Especially this.” Y/N makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hands and the scene rewinds again. The Jaguar is frozen back into five seconds before it hits the silver-gray Ford. Y/N walks toward the car, Jungkook close behind. The girl motions to the passenger seat and Jungkook stills. There on the leather seat is a red file case. Unprecedented murder. Precrime Murder Sector. But this is not what rendered Jungkook immobile in shock. Rather, it’s the label on the file case.

“Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

“See?” Y/N smirks, “Told you we’ll find something today.”

A click of the hand and soon, the dark night sky of Somerset Road bleeds into the burning colors of the sunset. There’s no longer the silver-gray Ford and the black Jaguar. It’s just Jungkook and Y/N alone in the road, back to where they were before.

Jungkook hunches over, coughing as he beats his chest. When he finally stabilizes his breathing back to normal, he turns to the girl. “You…Ho-how can you be so sure with all of these vi-visions?”

Y/N looks at Jungkook, an indecipherable look on her face. “This is what you paid for 10,000 zials. I’m handing you what your eyes missed on just the way they are.”

Jungkook holds in his breath as he knocks on the glass door.

“Come in.”

Jungkook pushes the door open and salutes. “Chief Nathan Spencer.”

“Captain Jeon,” the Chief of Precrime glances up at him before returning back to the stack of papers he’s signing. He motions to the chair in front of his desk, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jungkook pulls back the black chair and sits.

“So, what brings you here?”

“This week’s report, sir—the joint investigation with DOJ on the unidentified black Jaguar.” Jungkook places a brown folder on the Chief’s desk.

The chief looks at the captain. “Still no progress in the identification?”

Jungkook shakes his head, face grim.

“That can’t be helped,” Nathan sympathetically mutters. “It’s not the first time FJO has handled a difficult case.”

“But it is the first time FJO can’t identify a suspect with its current system.”

“You’re right,” Nathan nods. He flips open the brown folder and skims the report. “How’s the auditor doing?”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Fine. Still…meddling with our processes.”

Nathan lets out a light scoff. “As expected of someone who’s running for a promotion. Always been a know-it-all jerk, this Min Yoongi.”

Jungkook makes a tight-lipped smile.

Nathan chuckles. “Forgive me. I’ve always had a prejudice against DOJ’s auditors. Most, if not all of them, always give us a hard time more than what’s necessary. Anyway, what else do you have for me, Jungkook?”

The captain sits up straight. “I would like to ask a favor, sir.”

Nathan clasps his hand on his desk. He leans forward. “What is it?”

“It’s for the investigation. DOJ has access to all of our files—Precrime, Forecrime, and even the Investigation Bureau. So I figured if I can also do the same since our sector seems to be their main target. If I have the same leverage on our own information as them, I can have control over this investigation and drive them away before they can even assume power over us.” Jungkook leans on the table, “We could see the problems first before they become visible to DOJ.”

Nathan raises his brow. “So what do you mean?”

“I would like to have unrestricted access in our archives. Everything that contains anything pertaining to FJO.” Jungkook leans forward, “Including the Memory Temple.”

The chief sighs, “That’s a big favor, Jungkook.”

“I know. That’s why Chief General Andrews told me to go to you.”

Nathan’s brows shoot up, “The Chief General?”

“Yes, Chief General Matthew Andrews. He said you’re good friends with Chief of the Bureau, Natasha Ryde. Chief Andrews wants to ask if you could do a favor of a friend for a friend.” Jungkook slides a white envelope underneath the folder, “Of course, not without considerable credit.”

Nathan purses his lips. A beat. He shakes his head, sighing. “Okay…I’ll try to put in a word for you. I can give you the entire archives tomorrow. But the Memory Temple could take a while. Two days or three.”

“That’s fine with me.” Jungkook smiles. He stands up and heads to the end of the room. Before he could disappear behind the door, he salutes one more time, “Thank you for the kind accommodation, Chief.”

Jungkook heads to the main elevator and hits the second floor below the Superiors’ Hall. The metal doors ding open and soon, Jungkook’s looking at a wide expanse of glass wall reflecting hundreds of shelves on the glass panes.

Jungkook heads to the entranceway and salutes at the guard, “Sally.” The guard returns the salute, smiling. Jungkook tilts his head, “Did the Bureau come by to retrieve Precrime files?”

“Not yet, sir. The Bureau’s still busy in their matters with DOJ. They halted the synching of files for now.”

“That’s good,” Jungkook quips and pushes the glass doors open.

Tall metal bookshelves snake like an accordion around the floor. The spaces between them is occasionally filled up by wooden desks that mandatorily come along with a wooden bookstand and black study lamp. It looks like a hedge maze made of old books, monochrome papers, and multi-colored files.

Jungkook heads to the leftmost aisle—Precrime’s archives. He weaves his way through the bookshelves until he stops in front of a separated room in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s made completely out of glass, just like FJO’s offices. The only difference is that this room contains five sets of desks and chairs, bookshelves, and the Archive Manager’s huge white station as the centerpiece.

And before Jungkook could finish leveling his eyes to the scanner set by the door, he could already feel the growing stare of Emily Young.

“Captain Jeon.”

“Ms. Young,” Jungkook nods to the manager.

Emily smiles, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

“Jonathan Winston’s Assassination case file.”

“As usual,” The thirty-seven-year-old manager sing-songs as she stands up and disappears into the back room. It doesn’t take long for her to retrieve what the Precrime captain is looking for.

A long expandable, red file with the label in Arial 12 print: “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

Just like in Y/N’s time jump. Identically the same. Jungkook looks at the manager, “Do you have a log of anyone who looks into this file?”

Emily chuckles, “I don’t think that will bring anything new to the table, captain.” She scans the numeric code of the file and turns the monitor of her computer towards him. “There’s no one who’s been looking at this file but you.”

Jungkook peers in. Indeed, the log on Winston’s file contains nothing but his name. From August 15, 2047, the date of Winston’s assassination, to the most recent date, August 3, 2059. The day after Leigh Anderson’s suicide. The day after the Winston case was closed cold. There’s no other name in the log for 12 years other than his name.

Jungkook looks back at Emily, “Are you sure this is the complete log on this file? No one borrowed the file earlier than July 12th?”

“That’s the whole log, captain. There’s no record on August 1st because we’re closed to do an inventory check.” Emily leans back in her chair. “Everyone knows you’re busy on a case in Down Hill for the entirety of June. The Allison future murder is all over the news. Of course, with a Metropolis resident as a future victim. And with you busy on another case, this Winston’s file is devoid of any viewers.” Emily releases a chuckle. “Every cop has an obsession with a particular case. Everyone here knows Winston’s case is yours. I think I will remember if someone other than you looked into this file because I swear that day will be a miracle.”

Jungkook purses his lips, face undecipherable. Right then, his phone rings loud. He turns to his back and picks it up. “Hello?”

“Captain.” It’s Jimin.

“What is it?”

“You have to come to the sector now. There’s a file from Precrime. It’s…a blank.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon,” Jungkook ends the call. He faces Emily. “Thank you for today, Emily.” The archives manager nods with a playful salute at him. Jungkook quickly returns the salute and pushes the door open. Soon, he’s tearing past the labyrinth of shelves.

It doesn’t take Jungkook longer than ten minutes to reach the left-wing of the 2nd floor. The cold sweat from the discovery in the archives is still clinging on his nape.

As soon as he steps into Murder Sector, everyone’s eyes are set on him. Including Yoongi. Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue as he slides in the gloves over his hands. “Jimin, give me the run-over.”

“Captain, Jeon. It’s a grayish-white file. Precrime, Property and Crime Scene Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Eric Williams. Crime record validated by traveling agents Hannah Peters and Ivan Park. Case number 3571, hit-and-run, destruction of property. Suspect is unknown. Victim’s name is…Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook whips his head towards the secretary, eyes wide.

“It’s your case, sir.” Jimin confirms, “Eric accidentally time jumped into the night of your hit-and-run while he’s traveling for a T-Bone accident in Middle Town. Property and Crime Scene figured this blank is a crucial update on your case.” He walks to the end of the glass board and slides the disk into the middle slot.

Jungkook turns to his front. The glass board lights up and a video starts playing. It’s Somerset Road and it’s almost pitch black in the grainy film. Eric stands frozen on the pavement for a second. But the seeming serenity of the scene soon dissipates as he looks down at his gear and frantically fumbles for his time jumper. Suddenly, hot blinding light fills his peripherals. Eric’s head shoots up. A car is speeding toward him. The headlights grow larger and finally, the car becomes visible. It’s the silver-gray Ford. Eric turns around and right then, a black Jaguar zooms past him, merely missing him by a hairsbreadth. But the Jaguar doesn’t stop and further increases its speed. It bulldozers right into the side of the Ford, sending it flying across the barren road. Eric picks up his feet and dashes to the cars. But his efforts are futile. The black Jaguar has already disappeared before he could even take his 12th step. And then, the record stops.

Before Jimin could even state the protocol run-through, Jungkook frantically swipes through the blank record. He slides across the frames in reverse, back and backward until he reaches the first second of the blank.

“Sir, I’m afraid we have to do the protocol first—"

Jungkook’s hand stills on the board. The frame freezes. It’s a close-up of the black Jaguar as it barely grazes Eric’s body. Jungkook zooms in. There inside the passenger seat of the car is a long, red expandable file. “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

Jungkook feels his blood run cold. It’s the same file he just had his hands on less than 15 minutes ago. It’s the same file he saw in his and Y/N’s jump. Y/N’s vision is true.

Jungkook feels his pocket vibrate and he quickly whips out his phone. However, he wasn’t able to dwell on it longer as a hard force pushes his shoulder backward, forcing Jungkook to tear his eyes off the screen.

Yoongi glares at him, “Why are you indifferent about this? You know something about this, didn’t you? Captain Jeon!”

But even with his name called out loud, Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. All that registers in his mind is one single message.

Y/N L/N: Have you ever heard of a Sooah Kim before? (11:14 A.M.)

prev | next | series masterlist

Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N | Hi hons! Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter! I hope I got you guys more curious about the story hehe. Anyway, I have some announcement: I have finals for a major coming up this week so I’ll spend the next whole week studying. So, I’ll try if I can update the next chap the week after next week, on Sunday, too. But nothing is certain yet as I still have some uni stuff to do. Don’t worry, I only have 3 projects left to do to finally finish this sem. So as soon as I’m done with them, expect more frequent updates from me!

If you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all in my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probable your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading and giving a chance to My Time! :”)

Notes: As you know, this is a mystery fic. So, it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

162 notes · View notes

abstract-kat · 3 years

Text

Samurai Jordan, the Mianite AU This is an AU, and a prologue of sorts that I wrote in a one in a blue moon burst of inspiration. :D

Prologue: A Man, a Myth, and a Legend.

Jordan blinked, his eyes bleary and his vision swaying. He had trouble focusing, the world around him was far too bright for him to make out anything. His limbs felt prickly, a sign of numbness. He wants nothing more than to go back to sleep, but the Gods seem to disagree. A brisk, freezing cold wave crashes onto his back, making him jump. Cold sea water flies in the air as he scrambles away from the edge of the water, further onto the cold beach.

Waking up, alone on a beach after falling through a seemingly endless void, his muscles aching from probably months of sleep. An unfortunately familiar feeling to him.

Jordan presses his back against something in the sand, wiping at his stinging eyes and shivering as saltwater drips down his chin. But then he stops. And reaches back behind himself, towards the object he’s leaned up against.

“Isn’t this…?”

He brings the item- the sword, in front of him, studying it. This was the same sword. He was sure of it.

The Sword of Light.

“Now, how’d you end up here with me?”

Items normally never came with him whenever he crossed dimensions.

Jordan ran his fingers down the metal of the sword, feeling a faint warmth emanating from the metal itself. A weapon that embodied the Light that stood against the Dark, a weapon of purity.

...So why did this one?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jordan screams.

He unsheathes the blade, spinning around, coming face to face with… nobody? Jordan looks to his left, and then to his right, still finding nobody else. He was sure he was alone.

So why does it feel like somebody was breathing down his neck?

“You’re quite the jumpy one aren’t you?”

He swerves on his heels again, trying to pinpoint where the woman’s voice is coming from, when he stops. He recognizes that voice… he thinks.

There’s hesitance to Jordan’s voice, as he calls out, “M’Lady?”

“Do I LOOK like- Wait. No, that joke doesn’t work. Damn it.”

...That isn’t his Lady.

“Real genius aren’t you? For your information, I’m down here sweetie.”

Jordan looks down, past the sword, and into the sand under his shoes. He’s not sure what he should be seeing. His eyes wander up from the sand, to the silver blade in his hands, squinting as the metal catches the light in the golden embellishments in the metal.

“Oh sorry dear, is my dazzling beauty blinding you?”

Jordan’s thoughts halt, and he tilts his sword slightly, studying it, “You’re… the sword?”

“You’re learning!”

He was beginning to grow tired of this sword’s...lip.

“And I’M tired of getting passed around from asshole to asshole, but what can I do?”

Jordan stabs the sword back into the sand, intending to let go, and be on his merry way without a possessed and probably cursed sword that refused to leave his hand.

Why couldn’t he let go?

“Sorry pal, afraid I’m not letting you walk away so easily.”

Jordan’s blood runs cold as he suddenly feels the warmth of the blade against his neck, warmer than it had been before. He can’t make himself let go, nor can he bring the blade away from his own throat. He’s trapped.

“Now who do you work for? Answer quickly boy.”

He can’t form words properly, too many thoughts running through his head all at the same time, most of them unhelpful “W-What?”

“What did I just say?”

“...”

“...Fine. All those who have come into possession of me in the past, have all been thieves and schemers. Men after fame and glory. So what are you after?”

Jordan doesn’t know what to tell this woman….Spirit? Sword?? He doesn’t really remember specific details from what happened before he jumped into the void.

...Except he didn’t jump. Not this time.

Images flash through Jordan’s mind. Memories returning, rapid, harsh, and hurting his head.

Fighting Gandus. The Gods are there. Defeating the Wizard. The Darkness abandoning her. Winning the war. Ianite’s proud smile. ...There’s a sword through Karl’s chest. Watching the life leave his eyes. He drops dead. The culprit is swinging at him now. FIghting another battle. Getting the upper hand. Almost winning. Ianite’s screaming for him. Pushed back into an opening portal. ...Tom’s grin.

“...Did I seriously just sit through you having a flashback?”

Jordan takes a breath, the sword no longer at his throat, and his hand reaches up to rub at the skin. He’s still holding the sword in his other hand.

“Well… At least you’re not trying to pawn me off for a few gold pieces.” “What’s your name?”

“J-Jordan. Jordan Maron.”

“Jordan.” The spirit’s voice addresses him, “I saw three Gods in those memories of yours. Whom do you follow?”

“I am a follower of Balance and Justice. ...Champion of Lady Ianite.”

The spirit is quiet for a moment. Jordan wonders why, until he hears a quiet statement, almost a whisper.

“Champion of Lady Ianite. Goddess of Balance...and Justice.”

The whisper in his ear is a voice he finds so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

“Uh…”

He wants to address the spirit, but calling this spirit the Sword of Light feels...wrong. He doesn’t like it.

He finds himself studying the blade once again, tracing the symbols in the metal.

“You are a follower of the Goddess. I suppose I can give you my name.”

Jordan briefly wonders what that means, until he catches sight of the symbols on the blade under his fingers. The golden marks seem to shift and distort, forming something else, something Jordan can comprehend, and he speaks her name aloud.

“...Aianite?”

The name rolls off his tongue before he can realize he’s said it aloud. It sounds like the name of a Goddess. So alike the names of the three Gods he’s grown so familiar with.

But placing that same title to this name feels as right to him as it did when he held Ianite’s gift to him for the first time. The heaviness of the wood, the way his fingers curled around the grip so perfectly. A weapon crafted for him, a bow made for him, perfectly balanced. Like his lady is. Like he is meant to be.

Jordan’s deafened to the softest sound of shifting sands, disturbed by slow, precise footfalls.

“The one and only, dear Champion.” The Goddess tells him.

“...Excuse me?”

Jordan’s head snaps towards the interrupting voice. A deep, hoarse voice. He recognized it. Even if it feels like it’s been a long time since he last heard it.

“Declan?”

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

Jordan recognized this place. How could he not? He had many fond memories of this place. His introduction to it. Building his own little pieces of it. Finding pride in it. Defending it. He knew this was the same place.

Even if it didn’t look like how he remembered it.

“This is… all wrong.” is the only thing Jordan can bring himself to say.

“...I will admit, when you told me stories of this place, it sounded like a fantasy to me.” Declan tells him. “But we both know this isn’t the same future you once described to me.”

Though Declan had not aged, as the vassal of the triumvirate is never meant to, Jordan can tell, the Declan that stands with him is much older than Jordan can possibly imagine.

Jordan sees it in the strands of gray in his unkempt orange hair, in the way his eyes look into the distance, so full of sorrow and exhaustion. The man beside him may not age physically, but the passage of time has still changed him. The man he stands with has seen so much, and he’s so… so tired.

“When you had vanished, Jordan,” Declan began again, “The Gods spoke to me. Told me to hide myself away. To hide from him. The one who had destroyed their trust.”

Jordan hisses, the name, quietly. Anger bubbling in his blood, his grip on the Sword of Light tightening. He feels her concern for him, but he can’t bring himself to calm down. Not knowing what he knows now.

“I was alone. I could not search for help. ...Not yet at least.” Declan continues, undeterred.

“I had to watch everything you all built, everything any of us ever cared for-- And I had to stand by, and watch it all burn. And I had to watch his empire rise.”

The priest walks, guiding Jordan, through a beautiful scene. Pitch black gnarled trees surround the two of them, stretching upward, much taller than Jordan remembered they were when he first walked this path. The golden leaves gently fall, flowing with the breeze, casting faint light from where they come to rest in the grass and the dirt, illuminating the world around the two.

Declan casts his weary gaze on Jordan, “She tried to find you, you should know. You were her champion, and she couldn’t accept you were gone too. She searched as far as she could, but she couldn’t leave the rest of us. Not while he was still around.”

“There was no resistance, once you were gone. While the three of them were scrambled and disorientated, He set his sights on somebody more powerful. The one individual left who truly posed a threat to him and his new patron.”

“...Angrec?” Jordan took a shot in the dark.

“Oh Mother....”

Declan nodded, “Angrec was attacked, and slain by him. The trio had been too slow to react, and it cost them dearly.”

“But before Angrec perished, she passed on some final wisdom to her three children” Declan added on, directly meeting Jordan’s eyes, “She spoke that you were not dead, but that you could not help them. Not yet.

“Declan… I’m one man. I can’t-”

“You will not be alone Jordan.” The Priest interrupts Jordan’s thought.

“...The Gods needed to grow stronger in your absence, and when you would return, all four of their powers would be needed to take down this threat. For good.”

“...All four of their powers?”

“Ianite’s powers, Mianite’s powers, Dianite’s powers…” Declan casts a glance down at the sword at Jordan’s side, “And Aianite’s powers.”

“....You know about Aianite?”

The Priest nods, “Aianite was born the same time Ianite was, the two were twins, inseparable in life.” Declan begins to explain.

“Ianite had domain over Balance, deciding what was fair. My job was to enforce Justice, and right the injustices of the world.”

“Aianite’s strengths lied in physical enforcement while Ianite’s strengths lied in diplomacy. Ianite decided what was balanced and what was fair. Aianite enforced those beliefs” Declan pauses, thinking, “The story of Aianite’s fall, is not one of true victory. She was a casualty when the Darkness was first sealed away. Their enemy could not reign in terror, but Angrec had lost her dear daughter. Angrec didn’t want to lose her, and tried to resurrect her, using her sword as a conduit. It worked, in some way, but not the way she intended.”

“My soul and very quintessence was imbued into my sword. Without me physically there for my siblings, Ianite took over my domain, spreading herself thinner to take up both the mantle of Balance and Justice. Meanwhile, I was gifted to the Champions of Light, meant to be used in times of dire need. I.E. The Darkness’ return. But one of those Champions had lost me along the way, and I had faded from stories, becoming nothing more than a myth to most...”

“History is repeating itself,” Declan says suddenly, snapping Jordan back to attention, “The Darkness once again is threatening the Light, and a Goddess’ blood has been spilt. And now you’ve arrived. A new Champion of the Light.”

He looks up, into the trees, the light of the leaves dancing on his beard, “...A legend was created, during your absence. A man bearing a sword made of pure light would find the three, bring them back into the light, and eradicate the darkness that plagued the home he once knew for good, in his own time, a time too far back for anyone else to follow.”

Declan chuckles, “It’s more straightforward than most legends, but that doesn’t really matter.”

“What does the legend mean? That- The one part. ‘Find the three, bring them back into the light’ ?”

Declan takes a moment to respond to Jordan’s questions, looking back down, towards the ground.

“While you were gone, the three of them banded together, driving off the forces of the Darkness once again. Ianite led their armies, the devoted followers that you all had originally guided to the three of them. Dianite turned to the shadows, spying on the enemy to see what intel he and his followers could gather to give to his sister, creating disarray within the enemy’s forces. He always thrived in Chaos.”

“And Mianite?”

“...Mianite renounced his domain over Order. There was none anymore. Not when they’re at war. He had to take up the mantle of Light, in order to prevent the world from falling entirely. It made the most sense for him, of the three siblings, he was the one who most closely aligned with their dear mother. But the three of them weren’t enough by themselves. ”

“Mianite always was a mama’s boy. ...I can’t imagine how he felt when she died.”

Declan brings his hands together, tapping one outstretched finger, “Dianite has vanished completely, and nobody knows where he’s gone, not even his siblings. They believe that he is fine, and possibly went off the grid to better gather intel. ...He’s always been a little bit unpredictable, but they always worry he’ll get caught by the Darkness.”

He sticks out another finger, “The domain of Light is still new to young Mianite, and he’s inexperienced with it. Angrec could create tools and weapons that did incredible damage to the forces of the Dark. Mianite is still young, and he cannot create weapons of that same caliber of his late mother. He’s trying too hard to be what his mother was, and he can’t. He can never replace Angrec.”

Declan stops, turning to stand in Jordan’s path, forcing him to stop walking as well. He taps his third finger, speaking, “Your Goddess, Lady Ianite is spearheading the efforts to hold the Darkness back. Even as we speak, but… She is not her sister.”

“The Gods are divided, each of them too caught up in their own way of holding back the Darkness.”

Declan breathes a deep sigh, placing a hand on Jordan’s shoulder, “They all need help Jordan, and that is the role you serve in all of this.”

#Mianite AU #Mianite #Captainsparklez #My writing #Samurai Jordan AU #God I am so tired #This is almost 2.5k words #Where is this motivation when I need it to finish my DEGREE

24 notes · View notes

deidaratheartboi · 3 years

Text

Chrollo Headcannon

I'm on a roll with these headcannons even though I'm just now updating. In this headcannon or whatever you are at the Yorknew city auction and you meet a raven haired man named Chrollo. Inspired by a Gibi Asmr Rp. y/n= your name f/n- friends name A/N: This is going to be much longer then any of my other stories. I am aiming to write longer more detailed ones. Also this might trigger some people so read at your own caution. Here you were standing in front of the tall building they had the auction in. You couldn't believe you were actually here. It was all thanks to your friend who was well off, and she was gracious enough to give you a ticket. The building itself was intimidating with its tall structure and glass windows. They called it “The Cemetery Building” it was an odd name for a lovely building but, your mind didn't linger on it any longer as your friend ushered you to join her. She also had one of her servants with her name “Rin” she was sweet and made sure her mistress had anything she desired. You both walk inside the building, and you were shocked to see the inside. Marble floors, chandeliers, long staircases basically everything you weren't use to. Your friend saw your shocked expression and chuckled. “Welcome to the high life y/n. This is what all the fuss is about.” You sheepishly smiled and nodded not wanting to look like a poor idiot. Your friend then walks away to mingle with some other people. You walk towards her but, you keep getting pushed every direction, and now you were lost. It was overwhelming and confusing but, you then feel someone tap your shoulder. You look to see who had done touched you and you meet gray eyes. He had black hair and a really nice face. You blushed a little but, gained self-control. He motions you to follow him and you do. What am I doing following a complete but, handsome stranger? You follow him for a short amount of time even though it feels like hours, and he guides you to a seat by a window. You mush be on maybe the 6th floor seeing as how high up the window was from the ground but, you decide to ignore that. “Hello there I know thus might be odd but, I couldn't help but notice you seemed lost, and I had to get you to a quiet place to talk.” Oh, he speaks. You nod like an idiot not knowing what to say obviously nervous. It's not that you were shy it's that you didn't know how to talk to people especially strangers. He chuckles. “No need to be nervous now may I know your name?” You flush from embarrassment. “My name is y-y/n.” “Well that's a very nice name y/n. So tell me why are you here at this auction? Is there anything you want or catches your eye?” To be honest you didn't even know why you came. You barely knew anything about the auction except your friend going on about scarlet eyes and someone's hand. You just came because your friend insisted and you were a bit curious. "I don't know much about the auction or anything really I just came because my friend f/n wanted me to. She told me something about scarlet eyes and much she wanted them but, that's it." He nods in understanding. "Your friend has impeccable taste but, was it really wise of her to bring someone who knows nothing of this event?" That kind of hurt but, he was right. "I don't know she knows I've wanted to go for awhile so yeah." He nods. "Would you like some drinks or any food?" You shake your head but, your stomach said otherwise as it grumbles loudly. "I don't think your stomach agrees with you much y/n." You blush furiously and hide your face. He calls a waiter over and orders for himself and you. You didn't mind him doing so he seemed like a gentlemen. You both ate and talked and you tried to avoid talking with food in your mouth. Taking small bites and wiping your mouth whenever you could you aimed to impress the man with your etiquette skills. You both finish your food and you are stuffed. "Hey y/n I have to tell you something. Some events will take place at the auction and it won't be safe for you here. I suggest you tell your friend and the both of you leave this auction." You sat there

confused. What was going to happen? Why did he want you to leave? Before you could ask you hear footsteps and your friends loud voice yelling at the top of her lungs at you. "Where were you y/n! I was looking everywhere for you!" You hold your head down in shame. When she acknowledges everyone was staring at her she sighs and tells you the auction was starting soon. You look back at the man. "Go and remember what I told you." You nod and walk away with your friend. "Now y/n the auction is soon and I need those eyes so what you're going to do is sit down while I bid. You and your little incident is time we wasted time-." Should I tell her? What if she gets mad? "Y/N are you even listening?" You took a deep breath. Here we go. "F/N we need to leave something is going to happen the man told me." She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Ya know you are so naïve believing everything people tell you he probably told you to reduce competition for the eyes and one look at you and he knew you didn't belong here." That had hurt a lot. F/N wasn't very good with words and said things that were hurtful but, only because she was mad. She was practically your only friend and you didn't want to lose her but, the mans warning replayed in your mind. "I really think we should leave." Your friend stops in her tracks and turns around to face you. "Listen here y/n you can leave if you'd like but, I'm getting those eyes with or without you. So why don't you just leave? You trust that man more then you do me. Maybe we're not meant to be friends." Tears start to form in your eyes as you watch your only friend leave you. You slowly walk back towards the entrance and leave the place. Feeling barren and full of despair you call the driver who brought you here to take you home. When you do arrive home you thank the driver and walk into your house alone. You call f/n's phone but, no answer. Oh I forgot no phones are allowed inside the auction. The emotions inside you were immense and it made you tired so you fall asleep. The Next Day You wake up from slumber still in your formal clothes but, refreshed. You get up to freshen up and put on some more casual clothes. When you were finished you decide to turn on the tv and when you did your heart stopped. On the headlines there were "Thieves Rob The Yorknew City Auction; More Then 10,000 Killed." On the screen were the people who died and your friend was one of them. She was very well known because of her father and lots of people loved her. You felt it the most. The pain and anguish of losing someone. Someone who did nothing but, help you. Sure she might be rough around the edges but, at the end of the day you always made up. You then remembered her last words to you. "Maybe we're not meant to be friends." That had hurt the most. You couldn't help but cry and cry until your head hurt and eyes were dry. Until your throat was hoarse and you just couldn't stand. You then heard a knock on the door. You fix your self up and wipe your eyes even though they were still bloodshot. You open the door to reveal the butler Sebastian. "Hello Miss. Y/N may I come in please?" You nod and sit on the couch. He takes a seat across from you. "I'm quite sorry for your loss but, my mistress left a will and she wanted you to have her bank account, animals, company, anything she had of worth or sentimental value." You smile. She always did pull through in the end. She was always looking out for you. "Tomorrow we will give you the passwords and just about everything she had. Or until after the funeral you can decide." You look up at him. "After the funeral." You cringed at your own voice it sounded like you had been smoking for 20 years. "Very well then Miss and again sorry for your loss." He then leaves you alone with your thoughts. You turn on your phone and go look for other news regarding the auction robbery and once again your heart stops. It was him. The man who told you to leave. Anger, confusion, and dissatisfaction fills you as you read the headline "Phantom Troup Leader Dead" but that didn't fool you the bodied were

fake. But, he wasn't going to live for long. The funeral was Saturday and you attended. You said a few words and expressed your sympathy to the family but, inside you were empty. You only stayed there shortly you came to collect the things she had left you. She had left you some box with a note on it Dear y/n, If you have this I am dead for reason eh who knows. Maybe I was killed by a hitman or something anyways I left this box for you. It holds all of your memories. I know you might be sad and confused right now and that's ok. Also I am sorry if I have said anything in the past to hurt you. I am sorry I wasn't a good friend at times and made you cry. But, we always pull through for each other in the end. I hope you can forgive me for all of this. Just know if someone did kill me I want you to kick their asses! <Love, f/n. A single tear slips from your eye as you closed the letter. You weren't ready to open the box just yet. Rest assured f/n I will bring them to justice. For you. For me. For everybody. Get ready Chrollo I'm coming for you. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wow what a adventure am I right? Quick question though seeing as she/he/they hate the spiders or Chrollo as much as Kurapika should I have them join together? Like you and the mcs. I think it would be cool.

#chrollo headcanons #y/n x chrollo

6 notes · View notes

sapphicwhump · 3 years

Text

Deception of Luna

Fandoms: Destiny, Destiny 2 Tropes: F/M, trauma recovery, heavy angst, light fluff, creepy whumper, cosmic horror elements, whumpee/caretaker intimacy TWs: flashback, explicit noncon, implied death of loved ones, implied misogyny

Read on AO3

Lich-5 considers herself to be quite lucky. At least with her assignments on Luna; not so much with her loot. She speeds across the lunar surface on her Sparrow towards Archer’s Line, having just received a bounty to clear out the Fallen there. There are three of the usual crimson phantoms en route this time; each one cowers and screams in terror as her Sparrow plows by. To her, these nightmares are just nameless red silhouettes that occasionally make creepy noises; none of them are the slightest bit recognizable. The larger ones, the ones that appear as long-dead enemies rather than Guardians, have names she can recognize from her historical studies, but nothing more than that. Despite her own experience, Lich knows that most of her fellows don’t see them that way.

The Pyramid of Luna is a nasty piece of work, to say the least. She would call it sadistic, but it would be improper of her to anthropomorphize such an alien being. The nightmares it spawns are drawn directly from the Guardians’ most painful losses; vanquished nemeses, outlived mentors, lost loves, and a myriad of others now walk again on Luna. In every case, their passing had left wounds on the people they left behind, and now the Pyramid has made those wounds fresh again.

The worst part, Lich thinks, is that doing so offers it no tactical advantage. The Pyramid doesn’t need to crush Guardians’ morale; it could crush them all very literally if it so chose. This thing’s kind had caused the Great Collapse of humanity’s golden age; surely the Last City of today would be no trouble for it to exterminate. The only thing keeping them all alive is this Pyramid’s continued desire to bide its time. And in that time, it’s chosen to reopen their old wounds because it’s fun.

The reason Lich-5 considers herself lucky is because she doesn’t have many wounds that can be reopened. She'd been resurrected just after the Red War, into a world struggling to recuperate, to make some amount of sense out of the tremendous loss. Her roommate Windy isn’t a particularly old Guardian by any means, only a few years her senior, but that still puts his resurrection date solidly before the War. She doesn’t pry him about it, but she’s aware that the majority of people he knew had been permanently Returned To Light by the forces of Dominus Ghaul. Windy avoids assignments on Luna like the plague, as do many of her elder acquaintances. She’s met Guardians who were resurrected in the Dark Age, now hundreds of years old, who have pushed on through every defeat humanity has ever faced since the Collapse. Lich herself recently turned three.

Will she live to be hundreds of years old? If she does, how much will she lose in that time?

She’s coming up on Archer’s Line now. There’s already some Guardian activity here; in the distance, she can pick out the dull gray bulk of a male Titan’s armor against the background of lunar dust. Ignoring his presence, she drives into the old K1 Logistics facility and gets to work.

Clearing the facility takes under ten minutes. She emerges from the front entrance with her armored Warlock’s robe dotted with scuffs and splattered with Fallen Ether. Her bounty objectives aren’t quite complete yet; there are still a few Fallen skittering around the Lunar surface that’ll have to be dealt with. She’d think that life-or-death combat would be too stressful to become boring, but when that death isn’t much more than a temporary (if painful) setback, the repetitiveness of it can get a bit dull.

Just gotta get it done, then I can relax. The rewards from these last few bounties should be just enough to afford that fancy new armor set she’s been working towards, and then she won’t have much to do until the next big crisis inevitably hits the Sol system. She’s already thinking of a few new science projects she could start work on during her extended down time; monotonous work like this does little to satiate her burning curiosity.

The Titan she saw earlier seems to be approaching the K1 facility now. He’s welcome to loot the place if he wants; she only went in to get her bounties done. It’s nice to see another Guardian out here; the presence of an ally makes her feel slightly less alone in this gray hellscape, even if they don’t interact.

The boxy silhouette of his armor strikes her as oddly familiar. It’s possible that she’s seen him somewhere else before; there aren’t an unlimited number of Guardians in Sol, and Lich has met quite a lot of them.

Wait a minute—

Recognition shoots through her neural network like arc lightning. Instantly, her every piston is tense, all sensors on high alert. It’s him. Why does he have to be here?

She takes it back. Having another Guardian here isn’t nice at all, not when it’s him in particular . Lich quickly ducks back into the empty facility, taking cover from the imminent danger behind one of the large storage containers strewn about. She needs to be in a place where he isn’t in her line of sight.

Maybe she isn’t so lucky. Of course the phantoms wouldn’t reopen old wounds, only for another Guardian to do it instead. Taking stock of her emotional state, she abruptly realizes how much she’s shaking. She forcibly steels herself, struggling to regain her composure while cursing her own weakness. Simply seeing a Titan, even if it’s him, should not frighten her to the point where she’s struggling to even function.

Lich is ashamed to admit to herself how much sway he still holds over her mental state. His existence is a disgusting muck polluting the back of her mind; just being reminded of him feels like wading through a stagnant pit of human sewage, from which she can never truly escape because it’s in her head. Thinking about it more only makes it worse, causes her to sink deeper. She can forget him, at least temporarily, but then eventually something random always jogs her memory and she'll be back, trapped again in that pit of sewage.

She considers abandoning her objectives and transmatting back to her jumpship, still safely parked at the landing zone. But it’s this part of Luna that needs to be cleared of Fallen, and that fancy new armor set won’t be on sale forever, and she really shouldn’t be so pathetically weak to let this get to her. No, she’ll stay, to earn her extended down time if nothing else. She just needs to calm down and wait here until he—

“Oh hey, Lich. Long time no see.”

If Lich had a heart, it would have stopped beating at that exact second. His voice, just his fucking voice, almost throws her back there all by itself. He’s so insufferably casual with his greeting, like she’s just any other acquaintance to him.

“Hey. You mind leaving me alone?”

“Woah, relax. I’m just finishing up these bounties.” Condescension drips off of his words like spoiled milk.

“Yeah, well, please stay away from me while you do that.”

His tone sours, sounding almost disappointed. “Well you’re being awfully frigid.”

“Of course I fucking am!” Lich fumes, rage momentarily cutting through her fear. “What did you expect, that I’d be nice to you!?”

The Titan pauses. “Well… yeah, kinda. I at least didn’t expect to be jilted like this.”

For a brief moment, Lich sees red. Her trembling has elevated to a truly intolerable level, and she’s currently about five seconds away from drawing her Dawnblade on this man. She knows that getting violent with him would almost certainly end poorly for her, though. With great effort, she puts together a facade of something resembling calmness.

“Look… I think I’ve got a pretty good reason for not wanting to see you. Please leave, and never try to interact with me again. I know I’m never gonna get justice, so I just want to move past this and get back as close to normal as possible. You’re making it rather difficult to do that right now.”

“Justice?" He cocks his helmet to the side in what looks like disbelief. As if he has any right to act surprised by any of this. She can practically feel him rolling his eyes at her underneath his blank faceplate, and it makes her synthetic stomach turn. “Fine, fine. If you wanna be like that, it’s not my problem.”

He proceeds deeper into the K1 halls, finally giving Lich a reprieve from his vile presence. She turns to leave in the opposite direction, but stops short when she catches the Titan muttering a final insult under his breath.

“Fuckin’ melodramatic bitch.”

She whirls on him. “Fuck you, asshole!” she spits over her shoulder, still heading for the facility’s exit. “If I ever see you again, it’ll be too soon!”

The Titan is mercifully quiet. Lich is almost at the door; just a few more Fallen slain, and she’ll be able to go home and do her best to forget that she ever saw him again.

“No, fuck you.”

Lich barely registers the Titan’s words in her audio receptors, and she doesn’t notice the suppressor grenade roll between her legs until it’s too late.

————————————

Windy’s day has been restful, to say the least. He lays sprawled out on the couch of his and Lich’s shared apartment, his usual combat armor doffed in favor of boxers and a tank top, lackadaisically swiping through the datapad in his hand. On one tab is the sidearm section of Omolon’s digital storefront; on another is a gallery of images displaying a nude Awoken. He lifts his can of alcoholic liquid from the coffee table and pours the last of it down his throat, sighing in satisfaction. It’s kinda nice to stay home for once while Lich goes out to grind away at bounties.

Fuck, he needed a day like this. He’s been seeing less than his fair share of action recently, but continuously dodging Vanguard assignments on Luna has been anxiety-inducing enough on its own. After his first visit, he vowed to make every effort he possibly could to never return. The Vanguard had assigned him a strike against the Hive on Luna today, and so he had to call in one of his favors for a friend to take his place in the fireteam, hence his current position at home while Lich is out and about.

An Incoming Communication notification buzzes at the top of his screen, and he quickly closes the pornography tab before answering. It’s from Phylactery. That’s odd; Lich’s Ghost hardly ever lets themself be seen, and speaks even less. If Lich had a message for him, she’d give it herself.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

The Ghost doesn’t waste any time on pleasantries. “Lich needs immediate evac from K1 Logistics on Luna.”

Windy instantly bolts up from his slouched position. “Wait, what’s going on? Can she transmat out?”

Phylactery is doing their best to keep their tone clipped and curt as usual, but Windy still picks up on the desperate way they hurry over their words. “No, she’s currently catatonic. We’re stuck here until someone can provide an evac.”

“Catatonic?" Windy balks. “What the hell happened down there?”

The Ghost’s distress is evident. “I’m not quite sure. Lich saw something; I think we were attacked, but she still isn’t cognizant enough to give me the details. I felt something suppress our Light. I was knocked unconscious, and Lich… she’s not recovering. We need you here as soon as possible.”

Fear grips Windy’s gut. Suppressed Light means that an RTL is on the table. He’s got enough dead friends walking around on Luna without Lich joining that long list.

“It’ll take me awhile to get there; can you call any nearby Guardians for backup?”

Windy can detect a wince in Phylactery’s tone. “No, this… isn’t the kind of thing that a random stranger would be able to help with. Might make matters worse, even.” the Ghost quietly speculates to themself. “What she really needs right now is someone she trusts.”

Well that’s cryptic. He knows he’s not getting the full picture of events, and stumbling blindly into danger has always been more of Lich’s thing than his. He doesn’t exactly have time to press the Ghost further, though.

“Already on my way. Just gimme like twenty minutes to get there.”

“Right, thank you.” Phylactery seems relieved to no longer be discussing it.

Windy is already in motion as he hangs up the call. He drops the datapad on the cushion beside him, then vaults over the back of the couch in his usual manner. He doesn’t bother taking the time to change out of his boxers and tank top before exiting the apartment; he’ll don his armor in his jumpship. The residents of this housing block have seen far weirder things than his underwear, anyways.

Fuck. On Luna. Guess I won’t be able to avoid it after all. Dread constricts around his gut like a snake as he approaches the Tower’s hangar, a sensation that he knows won’t dissipate until he and Lich are safely back on Earth. For now, he tries to shove it down as best he can. His current priority is making sure that his roommate doesn’t get RTL’d; once she’s safe, he can go drown his worries at the nearest bar and put this all behind him. He distracts himself by planning out the route he’ll take there, what drinks he’ll order, who he might meet up with...

As he’s exiting the Earth’s atmosphere, Windy briefly speculates that maybe finding a therapist would be a better use of his time than just getting drunk again, before he blasts off at near-light speed for Luna.

————————————

Lich-5 awakens to the sensation of an immense weight on top of her, as if she’s trapped underneath a boulder. She’s laying stomach-down on the couch where she fell asleep, being pressed down into the cushions by the heavy object above her. She’s in an apartment typical of one of the Last City’s massive housing blocks, although not the one she shares with Windy. Night has long since fallen outside, casting the living room in darkness. What little illumination remains bathes everything in an odd vermillion.

The Titan’s apartment is small, but his couch provided an adequate place to crash for the night after a particularly wild bar crawl. Lich can’t get drunk, but flying her jumpship home while exhausted would be just as dangerous. When she proposed the idea of crashing at a nearby friend’s place, one particular Titan was eager to offer. He’s new to her group of drinking buddies, and so it struck Lich as unusual that he would so readily invite her over. Once at his apartment, she figured out his reason pretty quickly.

Tucked away in her backpack at the foot of the couch, Phylactery sleeps soundly, enjoying a well-earned rest after a long day’s grind. Lich is currently not being afforded that same rest. The weight on top of her shifts around erratically, fiddling with something, trying to get it open. She’s nearly driven to panic, but her fear keeps her frozen in place. Just pretend you’re still asleep, her mind unhelpfully provides. Play dead, and soon the predator will go away.

The predator does not go away. She feels a sudden spike of pain, and the irregular shifting of the weight quickly becomes paced and rhythmic.

Lich can’t pinpoint when or how her view shifts, but at some point she finds that she’s above herself—literally. She’s watching the scene unfold from a third-person perspective, her disembodied consciousness hanging a meter in the air over her incapacitated frame. She can’t compel herself to move a single piston or servo, her physical form refusing to comply with her immobilized will.

Long ago, in a time before she could remember, Lich had had nightmares in which she was pursued by an extreme danger, only to find her limbs paralyzed and unresponsive to her attempts to flee. This is a lot like that, only it’s not a nightmare; this is real life and the danger is directly on top of her. There is no chance to flee; she’s already been caught.

The Titan’s head, now free of its helmet, rests on the couch next to hers. Despite the warmth of his breath, a chill runs through Lich’s system. She can feel his wet lips graze against her artificial skull as he begins to speak.

“The Light does not hold its wielders to any standard of morality.” he whispers into the side of her head, where the ear would be if she were human. There’s a horrible wrongness in his tone, like multiple beings trying to speak through one mouth. “In the Dark Age, the Warlords inflicted terrible violence upon the innocent, just as he inflicted violence upon you.”

The motion gradually escalates in speed and magnitude, pressing Lich further down into the couch cushions with an oscillating rhythm. Her pain briefly increases as the pace picks up, but it quickly turns dull, and a sensation of warmth grows in its place as her own body turns against her. He’s speaking again, those wet lips and warm breath directly on her audio receptor. He doesn’t pause for air as he produces the words, regardless of his physical exertion.

“In Light, there is only pain.”

There’s a groan from above her, and the weight slumps, ceasing its rhythm. Lich silently breathes a sigh of relief, although she’s still far too overwhelmed with disgust to really be relieved by any of this. She knows on some level that it’s only been minutes, but her dilated sense of time has stretched the ordeal into what felt like hours.

The floorboards creak next to her, and the Titan exits the small living room, although Lich still remains effectively paralyzed. A heavy exhaustion has seeped into her chassis, now even worse than the one she was trying to cure by crashing here. Still unable to will herself to move, it isn’t long before unconsciousness claims her again.

————————————

Windy summons his Sparrow within the second he touches down on Luna. His stomach churns as he exits his jumpship, doing his best to keep his eyes on the ground and away from the lifeless red Guardians hanging motionless over the landing zone. The Pyramid must know this is a center of Guardian activity, and so the nightmares swarm here like some kind of macabre flock.

He passes three more of the crimson phantoms on his way to the dot Phylactery marked on his heads-up display. He gives each of them as wide of a berth as he reasonably can, trying to keep them in his periphery while still steering the vehicle on course. If he looks at one too closely, there's a decent chance he’ll recognize it. He fails to give the third one enough room, and winces under his helmet as it wails at him for help in a voice he’s pretty sure he can put a name to.

Phylactery’s coordinates lead him to the K1 facility at the far end of Archer’s Line. A short distance in, he finds his roommate’s distinctive hive-bone helmet lying discarded to one side. It’s not until he proceeds down a hallway and searches behind a storage container that he finds the Warlock it belongs to. She doesn’t appear to be in any immediate physical danger, although he wouldn’t think it purely by her posture; she’s curled up in a fetal position on the floor, trembling violently, the shutters over her optics squeezed as tight as they’ll go.

One of the red phantoms looms over her cowering form. This one is clearly a Titan, and Windy can’t restrain his relieved exhale when he fails to recognize it. It does not turn to acknowledge him as he enters, keeping its blank gaze fixed on the ball of a Warlock curled behind the box.

It takes Windy a moment to realize that Lich is crying. Her digital optics don’t feature tear ducts, but the anguish in her soft vocalizations is unmistakable. It’s a sound that he doesn’t hear often, but still far more than he’d like.

Windy steps straight through the phantom towards his friend, passing through it as if it’s not even there. The spectral Titan’s body offers no resistance and induces no sensation. The thing recoils in a mimicry of pain, then disperses into maroon wisps as if it were mist. The instant it vanishes completely, her optics fly open.

The first thing that Lich sees is Windy leaned over her, right where he had stood, offering her a hand.

"W-windy?" She accepts the hand graciously, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Phylactery told me you needed an evac.” The somber concern in his tone catches her by surprise, and she briefly feels a pang of guilt for causing him to worry this much.

Lich emits a single humorless laugh, barely holding in a sob behind it. “Yeah. You could say that.” She’ll have to thank her Ghost for their forethought later. She takes a moment to collect herself, brushing the lunar dust off her robes and trying in vain to suppress her shivering.

“You didn’t have to come for me.” she tells him frankly, refusing to meet his sympathetic gaze. “I know how much you hate this place.”

“Lich, it’s fine. There is nothing in all of Sol that could make me leave you behind.”

For a moment, Lich looks like she’s about to cry again, before she closes the distance between their bodies and embraces Windy in a tight hug. He tentatively returns the gesture, protectively wrapping his arms around her back, and her hold on his torso quickly turns into a death grip. She’s no longer crying, but he takes careful note of the way she still shivers and shakes in his embrace.

Lich buries her face in the crook of his neck, hiding away from the world in the rough fabric of his Hunter cloak. Her chemical receptors flood with the particles that cling to the garment; it smells like his shampoo and sweat and the dust of a hundred worlds, all composing into a unique odor that is very distinctly Windy. His smell is grounding, bringing her attention back to the here and now.

“So, did the nightmares get to you?” he asks, tracing his fingers over the top of her fiberglass cranium in the way he knows she likes. He immediately withdraws his hand when she unexpectedly flinches away from the gentle contact. “I thought you hadn’t lost anyone.”

Lich shakes her head gently against his cloak. “I, uh… I saw him again.”

Windy’s blood freezes. Then the phantom Titan was—

“Oh shit, Lich, I’m so sorry.” He suddenly feels very conscious of the way he’s holding her.

Windy can’t forget the morning that Lich had nearly collapsed into their apartment, utterly disheveled after a long night out, and he had to delicately explain to her that sex is not a required payment for a male friend lending you his couch to crash on. Working through that day had been a painful experience for them both, although Windy has no illusions about which of them had it worse. Despite his seniority as a Guardian, dealing with this particular type of violence was entirely outside of his expertise. To his knowledge, aside from him and Phylactery, she’s never told another soul of what happened that night.

“This fucking Pyramid.” he spits out venomously, staring out at the lunar expanse beyond the facility. That fucking Titan. Hate festers within his ribcage like rot. At the time, he’d had half a mind to bust down the Titan’s front door with his Golden Gun in hand, ready to vaporize both him and his Ghost. But Lich needed him more than that Titan needed a bullet, and so the obligation to support her had stayed his hand.

With the Pyramid, though, it’s so much worse. Even though he couldn’t act on his impulse against the Titan, at least there had been some degree of hope there. With how utterly infinitesimal he is compared to the Pyramid’s world-ending might, he doesn’t even get the luxury of a revenge fantasy.

"It was like—" Lich begins to speak, but stops short as her chassis is taken by a violent shiver. Windy can almost feel the intensity of the chill that runs through her. "Like being there all over again."

His attention snaps back to her, and all the hate goes cold. His rage is not what Lich needs right now. Staying angry is impossible when she’s still so visibly distressed. He mentally reminds himself that this is her pain, not his; she’s the one who gets to have the revenge fantasy, if she so chooses.

“Yeah. I... get what that’s like. It sucks, but the suck is ultimately temporary. You’ll get through this.”

The pair are silent for a moment as Lich’s mind swims. She really wishes she could take his words to heart, but the memory of him freshly burned into her mind is all she can focus on. She tries to clear her thoughts by concentrating on the steady rise and fall of Windy’s chest, while her own remains eternally still. She reminds herself of what’s real: he’s here, holding her in his arms, and soon they’ll be home safe. The danger has long since passed, and was never even here in the first place.

“I feel disgusting.” Lich voices the thought aloud, her gaze remaining firmly downcast. “I’ve felt disgusting since that night. I don’t know if it’s ever gonna go away.”

Windy winces, sucking in a quiet breath through his teeth. "That… I lack experience with. But, from the experience I do have, I can tell you that it’s not true." Now he’s the one to strengthen the embrace. Through the heavy weave of her robes, he soothingly runs a hand up and down her mechanical spine, and is relieved when she relaxes into the touch rather than flinching away. "You’re smart, and beautiful, and brave, and you can be really really annoying when you want to be, but I still care about you. You’re the furthest thing from disgusting that I can imagine. What he did doesn’t make you any lesser as a person; you’re still the same Lich I’ve always known.”

Lich tries to form a response, but words fail her, immediately getting caught in the knot that’s formed behind her speakers. She settles for simply holding Windy close, savoring the feeling of their arms wrapped around each other. Some part of her is still trapped in that sewage pit, but it’s further away now, distanced from her by the closeness to him. For the briefest moment, she believes with absolute certainty that everything he said is true, and almost manages to clamber her way out.

“Y’know, if Guardians really are amoral, you’re a pretty good counterexample.”

“Hm?” He turns his head towards hers with a raised brow.

“Ah, nevermind. Symmetrist ramblings.” Windy can’t help but notice another chill run through her.

It’s a long while before Lich feels stable enough on her own to leave his arms. When she finally begins to move away, he retracts his protective embrace, allowing her to separate from him without resistance.

"You ready to head home now? I'll ride with you to the landing zone and fly us back to Earth. We can pick up your jumpship later."

Lich releases an extended sigh, exhaling her residual tension into the thin lunar atmosphere. “Sure. Thanks for all this, by the way. I… needed to hear that.”

He gives her a warm, relieved smile. “Don’t mention it.”

Lich finally escapes from K1 Logistics with her hand firmly in Windy’s. While the Sparrow is intended to be a single-occupancy vehicle, that’s never stopped particularly affectionate Guardians from riding them two at a time. Lich and Windy share the single seat, with her clinging to his back, holding on with her arms wrapped around his midsection.

The ride back to the landing zone is short, but both Guardians savor it. The red phantoms don’t cause either of them much distress on their return trip. Holding each other close, the nightmares seem just a little bit fainter.

#my writing #whump #lady whump #female whumpee #tw noncon #lich-5 and windy

1 note · View note

meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

#batfam #dc fanfic #batfam fanfic #batfam big bang 2020 #bbb 2020 #tim drake fanfic #tim drake #ra's al ghul #tam fox #no grave can hold my body down #ngchmbd #my writing #read the warnings

22 notes · View notes

aster-aspera · 3 years

Text

Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds

CW's for this chapter: minor character death, semi-graphic descriptions of injuries, parental death, unsympathetic Remus

Relationship: romantic logince

This prompt was suggested to me by the lovely MizzMarvel on ao3

Chapter title is from thistle and weeds by Mumford and sons

This is Logan’s backstory in my superhero AU. You can find the whole thing on ao3 here or on the masterlist here

As Logan walked home that morning, he felt invincible, untouchable. All the grey days at school fell away, all the teasing and bullying and all the fear was suddenly gone.

He felt like he was soaring, floating somewhere high above his life. He was so much more than himself in that moment.

Maybe, he didn’t want this to end. However terrifying chasing after criminals was, that particular high almost made the danger worth it. He mourned the fact that it would be over soon. That they would put the gang away, file away the info they had collected and go back to school, alone in the knowledge of what they had done.

The ecstatic feeling faded when he entered his garden and noticed the front door was open. His blood ran cold.

Logan dropped his bag to the floor, frustration written in the lines of his posture.

“Hey sweetheart, how was your day?” His mother called from her office.

“It was uneventful as always and I am not in the mood to discuss it further.” He replied shortly.

His mother rounded the corner and took in his drawn face and the force with which he set his books down on the table.

She held out her arms invitingly and Logan let himself be wrapped up in her embrace, savouring the feeling of safety it gave him.

“Are the other kids giving you trouble again?” She asked.

The other kids were the least of his worries, currently. He could handle their childish taunting. His other problems were related to the more dangerous, night time aspect of his life. But he couldn’t exactly burden his mother with that.

She would worry too much and while he wouldn’t exactly blame her for that, he didn’t need her nagging atop all his worries about Roman and Remus.

So he just nodded and left it at that.

His mother didn’t pressure him to say more. She understood that he didn’t always feel like talking.

Once he was finished with his homework, he locked the door to his room and grabbed the locked box he kept hidden away at the back of his dresser. He opened it and carefully arranged the papers inside into orderly stacks.

The box contained a wealth of information, information that could likely get him in serious trouble if it got into the wrong hands. These files were the fruit of months of research and careful surveillance.

Supply routes, lists of buyers, lists of couriers, the entire ledger, even the names of the most elusive members.

This information could dismantle the entire gang and that was their goal. A few more weeks and they had all the evidence they needed.

Public scandals that would knock the leaders off their thrones, accounts of crimes and evidence so solid no judge would be able to refute it.

They would just have to drop it off at the police station and the gang’s fate would be sealed. It made Logan feel a little better whenever he looked at it. Despite the dangers, they were doing something good, something that would make this shithole of a city just a tiny bit more liveable. And hopefully, would help Remus.

Logan had to admit, he didn’t have that much faith in Roman’s plan. In theory, rolling up the drug rink so Remus lost his debts and could leave without fear of repercussions made sense.

But that theory was heavily relying on the fact that Remus even wanted to leave. He seemed way too comfortable in the criminal environment than Logan cared to see.

His phone started ringing and Logan picked it up without looking away from the supply route he was copying onto another paper.

“Hey erlenmeyer trash, you ready for tonight?”

Logan sighed at the nickname.

“Hello Roman, I told you at school I have everything prepared for tonight. I don’t see why you felt the need to call.”

“It’s just...something feels off. I’m scared something’s gonna go wrong.”

“Did something happen to make you feel like this?”

“No, not really. Well, I haven’t seen Remus in a while and he was acting weird the last time I called.”

“Remus dropping off the map or acting strange is not usually a cause for concern. He is prone to doing things like that.”

“Yeah, I know. I just…” Roman sounded uncharacteristically quiet. He must really be nervous.

“Is there anything else that caused this concern?”

“No…”

“Then we will be alright. We know what we do is dangerous, but there are no signs the gang is aware of what we are doing. We have gone undetected for months, it is improbable they would suddenly know now and not give us any sort of indication. But, if you really are worried, we can call tonight off.”

“No! No, the sooner we get this done, the better. And if you say we’ll be alright, I believe you.”

“So you’re listening to me for once. How novel.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it, specs.”

Logan rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t forget the flashlights this time.”

“You’ll bring back up ones anyways. I don’t see why I bother.”

“It’s important to be prepared, definitely if you’re trying to fight crime with someone as scatterbrained as you.”

“You sound like Batman.”

“Good, that’s what I’m going for.”

“Well, caped crusader, I gotta go make dinner. See you tonight.”

“Yes. Don’t forget your scaly panties, robin.”

Roman signed off with a snort and Logan continued looking through the documents. But Roman’s words kept running through his head and his feeling of unease grew. Maybe it would be better to call it off for tonight.

No, Roman was right, they had to get this done as soon as possible. The longer they waited, the more time the gang had to discover what they were doing.

He decided to head downstairs. He had done all his prep work for tonight and sitting in his room feeling anxious wasn’t helping anyone.

Downstairs, music was playing and his mom and dad stood in the kitchen. They held each other close and were sloppily slowing along to the music, horribly off beat.

His dad noticed him standing in the door opening and beckoned him over.

They took him up in their embrace and his dad kept trying to dance, even though Logan was tripping over his own feet and his mother was laughing too much to follow along.

“Logan! Don’t tell me you don’t know how to slow.” His dad exclaimed as Logan bumped awkwardly into his mother again.

“It’s not like I’ve ever done it before. Nobody slows anymore, dad.”

“What a disgrace. My son should at least know how to slow. What if a pretty boy asks you to dance?”

Logan rolled his eyes but his dad was not to be dissuaded and grabbed him.

“Just follow along to the music.” He instructed.

They ran through the steps slowly and after a while, Logan felt himself loosen up a little. His steps became less mechanical and more like an actual dance.

He smiled as he imagined himself dancing like this with Roman, the other boy was sure to enjoy it, always one for outdated romantic gestures.

His mom laughed and then grabbed his father.

“As important as teaching our son outdated school dances is, I still need your help with dinner.”

They finished making dinner together while Logan set the table.

“ Lettuce eat.” His dad called as he set a bowl of salad down on the table and Logan groaned and hid his head in his hands.

“That pun was souper bad.” His mom groaned.

“Stop.” Logan whined.

“What, don’t you loaf my jokes?” His dad asked.

“They’re terrible.”

“I think they’re sub lime. ” His mom laughed.

Logan lay in his bed, the light from his phone lighting up his face as he waited for his parents to go to bed.

Finally Logan deemed it safe enough to leave and he slunk out of the house.

He walked through the silent neighbourhood till he reached the busier, less ideal parts of town.

There, he found Roman leaning against a wall, in a red leather jacket and heavy black boots, blending in with the crowd of people out on a friday night. Logan felt his heart stutter at the careless way Roman was slumped against the wall, his face cast in stark shadows by the neon lights from a nearby club.

He reminded Logan of the devil, of the incarnation of pride, everything about him inviting yet dangerous.

Logan stopped staring and walked over to join him, trying to lean against the wall with the same graceful abandon but only managing to look like an awkward stick.

“Hello, my dark night.” Roman said.

“You forgot the panties.”

“Oh no, what a tragedy. Guess I can’t be your Robin tonight. Maybe I can be your batwoman?”

“Batwoman’s gay, you dolt.”

“I mean, same.”

“And they’re cousins.”

“Yeah, nevermind.”

“Come on, we have a job to do.” Logan reminded him.

They stayed out all night. Skulking in the shadows and trailing couriers all over the city. Logan felt a strange thrill every time he looked over at Roman. His eyes glinted with excitement and adrenaline.

During the day, they were just teenagers, being pushed and shoved and keeping their heads down as they walked to class.

But now, they were so much more. They became a part of the city, let her bustling energy envelop them. They slipped out of their skin under the streetlights and let themselves disappear into the hubbub and danger that prowled the city streets.

They were angels bringing her justice, they were devils tearing her apart.

They hid behind dumpsters in cold alleyways and walked along the busy promenades, holding each other and pretending to get lost in the others touch, all the while keeping their eyes trained on their mission.

Finally, when the sky was turning a murky gray and Logan’s eyes felt gritty with sleep, they ended up on a bench two streets from Logan’s home. In the suburban neighbourhood, nothing was stirring and, even in the city, it was too early for even the earliest risers.

Roman curled up on the bench and stared at him. Logan stared right back, too tired to care about being seen as weird.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Roman asked, his voice breaking the quiet of the park.

“The evidence we have collected is irrefutable, as long as we take care to deliver it to the right people, there is no reason it shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I know that. I meant Remus. You said he might not come back, even if he is relieved of his debts. What if he’s really just in it because, I don't know, he likes it? Or he just feels like he fits in there?”

“I don’t know your brother as well as you do. If you have faith in him, then I believe it will work.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know if I have faith in him. He’s just… So different nowadays. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.”

“Roman, it will be alright. Your brother may have made some mistakes, but it doesn’t mean he is changed forever. Sometimes people just have trouble figuring themselves out. And either way, whether he makes the right choice or not, at least we did our best.”

Roman smiled at him, his mascara smudged and the glow of the street light lighting up his frizzy hair in a halo of golden light.

“You’re a great friend, you know that right?”

“I try my best.” Logan said with a soft smile.

Roman sat up and leant forward. He reached out and gently traced his thumb over Logan’s jaw. Logan looked up into his eyes, his breath stopping somewhere along the path from his lungs to his mouth. Roman’s thumb came to a stop on his lips.

“Is this alright?” He whispered.

Logan just nodded, his usual eloquence rendered mute.

Roman moved in closer and gently, ever so gently, slotted his lips onto Logan’s.

It was soft, and sweet and when he drew back, he pressed his forehead to Logan’s with a bubbly laugh. He threaded his fingers through Logan’s hair.

Finally, after a long moment of his brain incoherently looping the last moment over and over again, he managed to regain some mobility and placed his hand over the one Roman had cupped around his cheek. He turned his head and placed a kiss on Roman’s palm.

“We’re going to change the world.” Roman breathed, ecstatic with sleep deprivation and adrenaline.

“Together.” Logan whispered back.

As Logan walked home that morning, he felt invincible, untouchable. All the grey days at school fell away, all the teasing and bullying and all the fear was suddenly gone.

He felt like he was soaring, floating somewhere high above his life. He was so much more than himself in that moment.

The ecstatic feeling faded when he entered his garden and noticed the front door was open. His blood ran cold.

Had his parents noticed his absence? He had no idea how he would explain this to them.

He entered the house quietly, trepidation burning in his stomach. Should he call out? Maybe he had just left the door open?

But Logan distinctly remembered checking it was locked before leaving.

Downstairs, all was quiet. Everything looked as it should have been except that muddy footprints tracked in from the door to the stairs.

That was disconcerting, there was a very strict ‘no shoes upstairs’ policy in the house.

Logan’s unease grew. He crept upstairs.

“Mom? Dad?” He called out hesitantly.

The house stayed dead quiet.

With a deep breath, he kept moving. He looked in his room first, as it was right next to the stairs.

The door was pulled open. Strange, Logan could swear he had closed it.

His breath hitched when he saw his room. All his drawers were pulled open. His papers were strewn out over the floor.

The box!

Logan found it upturned and shoved in a corner of the room. All the papers were gone. All the evidence they had collected missing.

Ice cold terror clenched around his heart.

They knew.

Without a second thought, he tore out of his room and ran to his parent’s room.

“Mom! Dad!” He choked off when he entered the room.

No! No, no, no, no!

This wasn't real. This was just a nightmare. He would wake up any second. This just couldn't be real.

Blood painted the walls and bedsheets. It looked like a scene from a horror movie, almost comical in its goriness. If he had seen this in a movie he would have scoffed at the overuse of fake blood.

He hesitantly stepped closer and kneeled next to his mother, who was sprawled out on the floor, her entire back a mess of torn flesh and blood and glistening things Logan didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Mom?” His voice came out waveringly.

He reached out. A pulse, he should look for a pulse. He tried to take her arm but recoiled from the blood that covered it.

It was warm and sticky and already seeping through his pants.

“Mom, wake up.” He whispered.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, I’m sorry I stayed out all night, just please, wake up.” He begged, like apologizing would fix anything.

She still wasn't moving and neither was his dad. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Logan was aware that begging wasn’t doing him any good. He needed to call for help.

But all that came out of his mouth were more pleas.

“Mom! Stop ignoring me! Just wake up!” He yelled and then he started crying, great gasping sobs that tore all the air from his lungs.

He needed them to wake up, he needed to feel their arms around him, needed their comfort. They couldn’t be gone. Not like this, not now, not when just an hour ago, Roman had kissed him, not when outside he could hear the trucks thundering by. This wasn’t real. It just couldn’t be.

He screamed, desperate and heartbroken.

Wake up .

His eyes got caught on a flash of green on the walls and he looked up.

On the wall, painted in a bright neon green, was the symbol he had been studying for months, the gang's symbol, a sword pointed downwards, and underneath it, like an artist’s tag, a sloppy R.

Remus.

Logan felt anger curl in his gut. After everything they had done to help him, this was his answer.

He would pay.

This wasn’t the end. If they thought they could stop him with this, they were wrong. He would get his revenge, he would burn that gang to the ground and he would destroy Remus.

This was personal now.

#sander sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #ts logan #roman sanders #ts roman #u!remus #unsympathetic remus #logince #romantic logince #superhero au #ts superhero au #my writing #tell me if i forgot to tag something

10 notes · View notes