#oh ALSO when i say i fail to see why pap needs lips i am nOT being a hypocrite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

4dtk · 3 years

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hello, i hope you’re doing well! can I request holding hands 13, hugs 34, kiss 7 & 31, and touching 38 with johnny? the plot could revolve them finally deciding that it’s time they’re ready to try for kids since they just moved into a new place! thank you <

got carried away. enjoy LMAO

hand-holding, 13: linking hands together during sex

hugs, 34: hugging while grabbing butt

kisses, 7 & 31: passionate kisses, gentle stroking of cheeks

touching, 38: stroking their leg

warnings/tags: dom!johnny, sub!reader, fem!reader, breeding/impregnation kink, daddy kink, brief cockwarming, cunnilingus/oral (f receiving), fingering, missionary, mating press, vaginal penetration

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI!!!

"how’d you like the place, mrs. suh?" you can’t help but let out a smile at the honorific, leaning into his side at the stunning place you’d manage to get. taking inspiration from pinterest, the array of options for you was blinding, but soon you settled on a style that you could both agree on along with the carefully crafted furnishings you’ve chosen.

"it’s so sexy," you whisper with a laugh, looking around at the pristine kitchen counters and overhead lighting. you’re saying it half as invitation, and you smile knowingly when johnny turns it around to compliment you.

"ya know what else is sexy?" rolling your eyes, you turn to face him to see a lazy smirk stretch across his face. johnny says nothing more and leans in gently, taking your lips with his in a sensual kiss that shows no matter how cheeky he is with you, the love that’s gotten him wrapped around your finger is undeniably unconditional. in a way, it was literal, too where the silver band wraps around your fourth finger as a reminder of your shared love.

your husband pulls away just for a second, "for how many times i’ve came in you, i was sure i would’ve knocked you up by now." johnny has the pleasure to witness the malfunction of your brain, unable to form any words at the casual sentence he drops about fucking impregnating you. he coos and lets out a giggle when you try to pull away from him in embarrassment.

"you-! you’re really not shy saying those kinds of things?!" playfully you push him away, ignoring the turn in your stomach when he had murmured with a low voice. his apology came in the form of kisses along your forehead right up to your lips where you melt once again into his chilling embrace, fingertips as cold as the arctic while his body emanated warmth. you never understood his body temperature, but you couldn’t care much when his touches leave traces of electricity along your skin.

johnny walks you back, feeling around for the kitchen counter that he accidentally bumps you against. with a muttered apology said in haste, your lover captures your lips with his even more hungrily, using the strength in him to prop you up onto the counter. reluctantly, he pulls away again.

"aren’t you an eager one?" his hand strokes the legs that accommodate him, spread to hold him as close to you while his forehead rests on yours.

"how can i not? you’re so tempting without even knowing it…"

you sigh affectionately, "is it also as tempting as kids running around in our new house?"

johnny jerks back in surprise. "you… you want to try, now?"

with a hesitant smile, you reply, "i mean, why not?" you’re afraid you’ve said the wrong thing when johnny’s surprised look doesn’t let up, but soon you’re met with his contagious laugh, looking at you like you were the only thing to exist in his world. his heart’s never felt so warm before looking at you as it does right now and he has to hold himself back from taking you then and there.

"now who’s the eager one?"

you fail to shove him away, a grin plastered on your face as your cheeks flare up completely now, "bitch, you were the one who made the lewd joke!"

"it was a fact," you roll your eyes for the second time that night, pulling him in anyway to smash your lips with his. you're needy, unable to keep your hands off of him even when your skin is stinging from the cold temperature of the marble counters. johnny groans softly into your mouth, pushing onto your hips more and more to feel any form of friction with you.

he picks you off the counters effortlessly with a tight arm wound around your middle and lazy pecks placed onto your neck.

"do you think we'll get a noise complaint tomorrow?"

pursing your lips and shrugging was your answer, impatient with the countless questions and quips johnny liked to do during your sessions. "okay, okay, i'll shut up." johnny knows you like the back of his hand. it's an obvious feat, certainly, since you decided to say yes to his private proposal on the top of an observatory. under the stars, where they had given their blessing.

johnny knows you like the back of his hand in that way, too. and you forgot how fucking skilful he could be when duty calls.

you find your brows furrowed and your hand clutching onto the sheets for dear life while johnny's tongue relentlessly flicks against your clit. he eats like it's his last meal, both hands holding your thighs open. the warmth of his tongue makes you shiver, already feeling your slick leaking in between your cheeks.

obscene noises bounce off the walls of the new place, sheets already messy from your constant thrashing although everything else — the cupboards, the bedside table, the vanity — looked untouched. at least now you know this innerspring mattress was a good choice.

"you- fuck, johnny!" your moans only fuel your lover more, who settles into a more comfortable position, suctioning your bud into his mouth. your body twitches so much that you can feel the tightening of his grasp on your thighs, stilling you into a thrilling sensation of oversensitivity even before he's got himself buried in you.

"argh- fuck, fuuuck, mhnh-!" johnny swears his eyes roll back at the way you groan out multiple please's, which merges with the whimpers for him to go faster and deeper just as he sticks a finger in. your cunt clasps around the digit easily, mouth now speechless from how deep he reaches into you. "oh my god, j-johnny!"

johnny slips in a second finger, and a second later, a third which you easily welcome with your sopping pussy. he pumps all three into you at an agonisingly slow pace, half focusing on the lewd noises coming from below him and half licking up the arousal that lingers around his lips.

the hooded lids of his eyes stare up at you like prey, lowering his tongue back onto your clit. the combination makes you unravel, little mewls escaping your lips that contribute to the heat of the room.

"johnny- please fuck- please- can you fuck me now? c-can't-"

he shuts you up by sucking harder, causing your thighs to close in around his head. your pleas is not lost to him, but you're more focused now on chasing your high selfishly with how fucking good he's working his tongue despite the slow speed of his fingers.

"impatient." lick. "little." lick. "bitch." lick. he's loving every second where he doesn't give into you. "plus, you're gonna have to do more than that, honey."

"i-i need your cock, please, johnny!"

tut tut. "wrong name, baby." you whimper when his fingers slowly slip out, teasing your gummy walls by rubbing at your hole. you hardly can form any words, but you try your best anyway.

"c-cock, daddy- want your cock so fucking bad-"

"again."

sinking further into the delirious feeling of pleasure, you're willing to let go of any dignity just to have him deep in you, shooting loads and loads of his seed where there's no room for you to not get pregnant. "ah- d-daddy, please- i need your cock to split me open!"

"n-need your cum." the fingers halt, johnny's eyes are filled with you splitting your legs wider and wider. your hole is begging for him, clenching around nothing as it leaks more and more.

he hardly can contain his excitement, pants shimmied down to reveal his tight boxers. it's straining against his already hardened length, and he sighs in relief when he finally pulls the last remaining fabric down showing his tip that's angrily red, aching to be in you just by a few pumps of his hand. "all for you, pretty girl."

the name elicits a bashful smile from you, "need a suck, daddy?"

johnny caresses your sensitive sex gently, "'s okay, just wanna be deep in you. ain't that right, babygirl?"

you can taste him on your lips as he kisses you softly, a hand reaching up to stroke your cheek with a ghost of a touch. his eyes soften just a little before he nudges it into you, playing with your cunt just a little that deliciously clasps around the intrusion. a long groan leaves his lips when he finally gets deep into you, bottoming out in no time. smoothly, he slips an arm around your waist, supporting your arching back that grinds to feel more of him.

"that's right, baby, just like that. moan for me." his thrusts start out slow and you want to cum just from those few movements, his shaft brushing up against your walls so obscenely. your moans are like music to him, lips occasionally lingering at his ears where your repeated calls of daddy, daddy makes his thighs shake and his hips stutter.

you're certain you're drooling by now, trapping the man with your legs. his hips move quicker now, muttering praises that has your pussy fluttering around him and arms curling more around his neck. the line blurs more and more and all that's residing in your head is how good he feels in you paired with the wet pap, pap, pap of his hips meeting your cunt. gradually, the knot deep in your tummy tights like a coil, aching for release.

"god! j-johnny... you're so fucking deeep... hah-" with a tongue lolled out, you can only mumble short sentences, sometimes choked out in a sad attempt to call out to your lover. "ah- i am, a-aren't i? can't wait to- fuck- pump you full of my cum. want you filled to the brim, you'd like that, yeah?"

like a broken record, there's a chorus of yes's that leave you, at the thought of seeing your pussy struggling to take the many loads of johnny's seed as you whine and thrash at the way he'd push it back into you. and that's exactly what he plans to do.

he grunts when you tighten around him, jerking and transitioning into shorter, quicker strokes, desperate for release until he finally bursts. head buried in your neck, hot breaths littering your skin. you're not far behind, toes curling at the immense pleasure you're experiencing that when it comes, you shiver at the way you come undone, relishing in the way johnny spurts the warm liquid into you.

you're left to rest for a minute, his cock still buried in you. he can't get enough of you, he can never get enough of you. that's why he finds himself fucking into you again, the amount of rest not doing much for your sensitive body. it overwhelms you so much that you can't help but let your wanton moans fill the room, riddled with not a single thought.

"you feel so good around me, baby." johnny takes your legs, lifting them up from the previous missionary position. his cock delves deeper the same time he presses them into your chest, eliciting a shameless cry from you, begging him to move. "just to be certain, hm? gotta be sure that you're full of my cum — so i'd have the pleasure of seeing your belly swell up with my baby, your boobs full with milk."

"plus, i'm gonna need to be sure that i'm gonna become a daddy." using an arm to hold your legs down, the free hand grasps onto yours that's holding onto the headboard. he misses the first time, but catches your fingers in time with his thrusts.

"daddy... hah- please, you're filling me up so g-- so good!"

johnny groans, impaling you with his dick with a speed faster by the thousands compared to the previous round. with your legs tucked snugly to your chest, you can do nothing but plead with your eyes for any sort of relief.

"cum- cumming! cumming! jo- johnnyyy..." with a scream of his name, you're gushing around his length, head making a terrible indent into the softness of your pillows. your mouth grows lax, drool leaking from all sides of your mouth before the other's thrusts falter bit by bit. you take his cock to the hilt, balls twitching from releasing into you.

"fuck, baby, take it- take all of it in your pussy." he shoots another load deep into your cunt and you feel sticky all of a sudden, coming down from the intense high of the dizzying state you were always put in whenever johnny was in you. with a kiss to your twined hands, johnny murmurs out i love you to your fingers, planting another kiss on the silver ring that you donned.

weakly, you reply. "love you too, so much." although, you're confused when the other doesn't pull out.

"it's a plug. so i don't have to worry about you not getting a positive on that pregnancy test." you giggle at that. giving into him even when your legs return to their natural state. tenderly, johnny manoeuvres you onto your side, his still hard length resting in you and his hands move to your ass, squeezing it that makes you squeal softly. "it's a win-win. i get a baby, and you won't have to clean the sheets."

"oh my god," your words are littered with laughter, exchanging small talk with the slowly darkening sky with the promise of a little one and a lifetime with johnny suh, the man who'd given you the stars and the moon if you'd asked.

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

Text

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part-Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Oviposition, Egg Laying, Birth, Surgery, Male Infertility Words: 4029

Dr. Halvorg learns what could be causing his infertility and makes arrangements to try and correct it. He and the reader become closer, and the reader attempts to do something to help him feel less lonely and unfulfilled. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Halvorg went in for the tests that same week, returning afterwards subdued and blushing slightly. You assumed he’d never given a… sample… before.

“How’d it go?” You asked him.

He rubbed his neck bashfully. “It was… thorough.”

You snickered. “At least it wasn’t a biopsy after an abnormal pap smear. Those are traumatic.”

He looked aghast. “I can only imagine.”

“Did they say when the results would be in?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re supposed to call me when they come back. Could be a week or so.”

You patted his arm softly. “How are you feeling?”

He sighed heavily. “Worried. This could change my life or confirm my worst fear. Either way, I’m… well, to be honest, I’m a little scared.”

“I understand,” You replied. “Well, no, I don’t. My family is disgustingly fertile. If I ever tried to get pregnant, I’m sure it wouldn’t take me long.” You looked up at him with sympathy. “But I do feel for you.”

“I appreciate that,” He said solemnly. He looked at you curiously. “If I might ask, how old are you?”

“I’ll be one hundred and seventy four years in August,” You said.

“And you’ve never considered having children in that time?” He asked.

“Not really. I figured I had enough nieces and nephews that I didn’t think it was necessary. I mean, I’m not against the idea of having children, I’ve just been career oriented for most of my life and never really settled down in any place for very long. I’ve never been married, never had any serious relationships, never dating with the intent on finding ‘the one.’ I figured if I wanted that, it would come in time and I would let it happen naturally and there was no need to rush it. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” He said. “That’s how I used to be for a good three centuries. It wasn’t until I did marry and tried to make a family and failed, again and again, that I sort of became… obsessed.”

“How many times have you been married?”

“Thirty times, I believe.”

“Were they all human?”

“Most of them were,” He said. “There were a couple of tieflings, a half-orc woman, a faun, a selkie, and a dryad. I stayed with them all until the end of their lives, except the last one who left me. I’m nothing if not devoted.” He cocked his head. “Well, I divorced the dryad. She wasn’t happy that I couldn’t conceive children and berated me for it.”

“Oh, jeez, what a bitch,” You said, frowning.

He snorted. “I may have used similar language at the time.”

“I can’t imagine you calling someone a bitch,” You said, side-eyeing him.

“I was a different man in my youth,” He said, smiling. “I’ve got some papers to file. I’ll see you later.”

You waved him off, watching him walk briskly and frowned. He’d lost so much, been disappointed so often, given up on the things he wanted for himself to help others. He was using what he had to give others what he wanted, and as noble a pursuit as that was, it was also rather sad. And what if he got the news he was dreading the most. He’d be devastated.

Was there anything you could do to make him feel better? Was there something you could give him that would make him feel less… incomplete? The only time he seemed genuinely happy was when he was with the children. What else could give him the same joy?

The boy. It came to you suddenly. What about the boy he thought was his son? The one he raised until his mother left with him? Could you find him? Was he alive?

At lunchtime, you sat down with Amai in the cafeteria.

“Can I ask a favor of you?” You asked.

“Sure, what is it?” She responded, sipping her coffee. She always craved coffee when she was incubating and downed gallons of it after laying.

“The boy Halvorg raised, what was his name?”

“Robert, I think?” She said. “I can ask Yenuno, he knows.”

“What year was he born?”

“Uhhh… 1901 or around there.”

“What was his mother’s name?”

“Martha--why are you asking about this?”

You sighed. “I want to find Halvorg’s son. He may be dead now, but I have to try. Halvorg is so unhappy, he’s just gotten really good at hiding it. I want to give him some kind of closure.”

Amai winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Spending all these years around him, I can see how much he’s hurting, even if he tries to mask it.” She sighed. “I have some contacts at the census archives and I can make some inquiries. I’ll check the lineages websites and find as many records as I can.” Amai snorted. “Maybe he’ll be less uptight.”

“Amai!” You retorted.

“Sorry, sorry!” Amai held her hands up. “I’m sorry, it’s a reflex by now, sorry. This is serious. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you,” You said with a warning tone. “This is serious.”

“I know,” Amai said, her face more solemn. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” You repeated. “I’m sorry to put more work on you, though.”

She tsked at you. “Please, I always take maternity leave during Yenuno’s time incubating. I generally have nothing to do but keep the big guy company while he’s stuck in one place. It’ll give me something to do.”

Halvorg got the call a few days later and informed you of the appointment time. You offered to drive him, and he gratefully accepted.

“Are you alright?” You asked him.

He took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “I don’t know. This is either a new beginning or the end of the road. I don’t know how to feel.”

“I’ll be with you, no matter what,” You told him.

He grimaced in a failed attempt to smile. “Thank you.”

The two of you sat in the waiting room for a moment before being called back into an exam room. He sat there in his chair and fidgeted nervously. You put your hand on his and held it. He looked up at you with fear in his eyes and didn’t shake you off.

The doctor knocked on the door and let himself in. Halvorg straightened up, releasing your hand.

“Alright, Dr. Halvorg,” He said, sitting at the table. “We Have your results back. Blood and urine came back normal, and there’s nothing abnormal on your x-rays.” He flipped on the computer screen on the desk in front of him and pulled up Halvorg’s file. “However, there was abnormalities in your sperm sample and the MRI.”

“What type of abnormalities?”

“Well, first of all, your semen sample didn’t have any sperm in it.”

Halvorg looked confused. “What?”

“It’s a condition known as Azoospermia. It’s basically when there’s a blockage somewhere that’s trapping the sperm, which is why there weren’t any little swimmers in your sample.” The doctor clicked on one of the tabs and opened an MRI of Halvorg’s pelvic area and pointed out the anomalies. “The MRI confirms it. There doesn’t appear to be a connection between your epididymus and your vas diferens, and without that connection, the sperm is completely blocked. There’s also a blockage from your testes to the urethra. You appear to have been born with all of these blockages.”

“How does that happen?”

“As to that,” The doctor said, looking at the paperwork he came in with. “Your genetics test came back, and it appears that you have a mutation of Cystic Fibrosis. Thankfully, with this mutation, there are no other typical symptoms of Cystic Fibrosis besides the infertility.”

“Can it be corrected?” Halvorg asked anxiously.

“Yes, microsurgery can correct it. Before we do that, we’ll need to take a sample directly from the testicle with a needle to see if you’re producing sperm at all and look at the count. If we determine that the general sperm production is not the problem, then we’ll proceed with surgery.”

Halvorg sat in a stunned silence, gripping his knees tightly.

“So… it’s possible that I could have children?” He asked.

“There is a possibility,” The doctor said. “We would have to wait until after the surgery and take another sample. I don’t want to get your hopes up too soon, the sperm count could be low, they could be abnormal. There are a bunch of things that could go wrong.”

“But there’s a chance?” Halvorg asked, his eyes as wide and vulnerable as a puppy.

“There’s a chance,” The doctor replied.

As the two of you left the clinic and headed to your car, before you could get to your door, Halvorg gently took your arm, swung you around, took your face in his hands, and kissed you full on the mouth. You made a sound of surprise, but you didn’t push him away.

He lingered for a moment or two before breaking away and saying, “I’m sorry, I know that was extremely unprofessional and probably unwanted, but I don’t know how to thank you. I owe you so much, I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.” He gulped and looked at you earnestly, breathing out a shaky breath. “Do you remember when you asked me to dinner?”

“Yeah?” You asked, confused but intrigued by the sudden softening of his prickly exterior.

“Does the offer still stand?”

You smiled at him slowly and took his hands. They were trembling. This was the first time in a century he’d asked a woman out, after all.

“Yeah,” You replied, stepping closer so that your body lightly brushed his. “Yeah, it does.”

He smiled wide and kissed you again.

Maël went in the next day to have a sample taken, and was thrilled to learn that he did have a decent amount of sperm production. He scheduled the surgery immediately. The recovery time would be at least six weeks, and it was advised that he didn’t try to have sexual relations for another two weeks after that. Plenty of time to feel out your new blooming relationship and get more comfortable with each other.

Thankfully, you had a week to actually go on a few dates before he went under the knife. He took you to Dunmountain on a weekend trip to the museum and the opera. It was the first time you’d done anything like this recreationally in a really long time, and you loved every second of it.

Even though you were sharing a hotel room and a bed, he didn’t attempt to be intimate with you, and you didn’t push him. It had been a century since he last took a woman to bed, and you imagined he felt a little nervous about it.

You didn’t go out of your way to tell people that you were together, but it wasn’t a big secret either. Yenuno and Amai were overjoyed for the two of you. Maël had told Yenuno and Amai about the surgery, but he claimed it was a hernia. You weren’t sure if he would tell them the whole truth. Not unless he got the results he wanted.

By the time he healed completely, it would be about time for the eggs to hatch. Yenuno was already restless and it had only been a month.

You drove Maël to the surgical clinic on the day of his surgery, sat with him in pre-op while he waited nervously and just talked him through his anxiety, holding his hand when they put the IV in. They gave him some medicine to help calm his nerves, and he began to grow sleepy. You stroked his head and watched his eyes fluttered closed. They wheeled him into surgery while he was still snoozing.

The procedure didn’t take very long, only about an hour, and you waited to be called back. A nurse came to retrieve you and took you to his room.

He lay there in bed, drifting in and out.

“Hey, sweetie,” You said, rubbing his arm. “How are we feeling?”

“Sore and thirsty,” He croaked.

You picked up the cup with water in it the nurse had provided and helped him take a sip.

“I’m not surprised you’re sore,” You remarked, setting the cup back down. “A whole bunch of people fondled your balls for an hour.”

He wheezed a laugh. You loved it when he laughed. It changed his whole face. “Did they say when they’d release me?”

“As soon as you can pee on your own, they’ll let you out of here. They said there would be swelling so it might be a while before you’re able to do it, though. I’ll wait.”

He held his hand out for yours and you took it.

“I feel like all I do these days is thank you,” He said. “I wish I could do as much for you as you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” You said. “I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. But I’ll keep you around. You’re cute.”

He breathed another laugh through his nose. “I’m glad. I’ve become rather fond of you.”

You kissed his knuckles. “Likewise.”

He managed to relieve himself right after dinnertime, and was declared clear to go home. You drove him back to the facility and helped him to bed. He was asleep before you left his apartment.

Heading back into your own apartment for the night and sat heavily on your couch. God, you needed to do laundry. It had been a chaotic few weeks.

You started picking up clothes that were strewn haphazardly over furniture, and while picking up a pair of jeans, a small book fell out.

Oh. Right. Maël’s research notes. You’d meant to give it back. Well, Maël was going to be recovering in bed for a few days and likely sleeping most of that time. You could give it back when he was back on his feet. You placed it in the drawer of your nightstand, stared at it for a minute, and went on to start laundry.

And promptly forgot about it for a second time.

Maël slowly healed, though he walked a little stiffly for a few weeks and was careful when sitting. He was a little more irritable than normal, but you imagined he was trying to adjust and was also still worried about whether or not the surgery had worked. He wouldn’t know for another several weeks.

The children kept bringing him flowers they found in the forest to cheer him up, which always seemed to lift his spirits. You spent the evenings with him, talking and cuddling and kissing. You felt like a teenager again, and you hadn’t been a teenager in over one hundred and fifty years.

You were starting to regret the timing of the surgery, though. Sometimes the making out would get pretty hot and heavy, and you had to force yourselves to stop for fear of injuring him.

One night after you’d been dating for just under two months, he was kissing your neck and began to unbutton your shirt. You stopped him.

“You haven’t been cleared for intercourse, have you?” You asked him.

“No, not yet,” He said, breathing heavily and biting his lip. His white-blonde hair was out of it’s normal clean braid and falling around his face. “But I can do something for you.” His hand drifted down your abdomen and between your thighs.

“Oh,” You said, smiling a little. “Are you sure?”

He slipped his hand into your panties and stroked you, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I haven’t done it in a while,” He said, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. “But I think I still know how to do this.”

He got up from the couch and pulled you by your legs gently so that you were laying flat, pushing up your skirt and pulling off your panties. He knelt back down on the couch, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He slowly spread your legs and pushed your knees upward. He started kissing and sucking the inside of your thigh while circling your bud with his thumb. You moaned and lay back into the cushions, giving over to the sensations.

As he kissed his way toward the apex, he slipped his middle finger inside you and thrust it gently in and out. You whimpered and gripped the couch, your hips grinding against his hand.

“Maël, please,” You breathed.

He growled low in his throat, sending a shockwave through your spine.

“Since you said please,” He whispered teasingly, and pressed his tongue to your clit. Your toes curled at the contact and you grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Oh god,” You whispered. “Maël.”

He placed his whole mouth over you, licking and sucking, adding another finger inside you. He certainly did remember how to do this.

“Fuck!” You said through gritted teeth, followed up by a shuddering moan, raising your head to watch him. He looked up at you through his long lashes and doubled his efforts, sucking your labia into his mouth and pulling, adding a third finger. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Still sucking, he grinned up at you and quirked an eyebrow. He withdrew his fingers and used his hands to push your knees into your chest to open you up wider. You grabbed his head with both hands and rocked your clit against his tongue.

You came as though hit by a bus, loud and violent. Your butt lifted off of the couch as you pulsed in ecstasy, screaming. You hoped the walls of his apartment were soundproof. You couldn’t believe that he’d made you come in under a minute.

“How? How did you do that?” You wheezed.

He chuckled darkly. “I was married thirty times, darling. If I don’t know what I’m doing by now, I shouldn’t be dating at all.”

You just sort of laid there like a starfish while you got your breath back and cooled down. Maël went to fetch you some water and a snack. Eventually, you found your underwear and put it back on. Once your heart rate had slowed, he pulled you into his lap and kissed you slowly until you fell asleep. The next morning, you woke up next to him in his bed. You were tucked up under his arm and he was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, both of your cellphones buzzed at once. Maël snorted awake and untangled himself from you, picking up his phone, looking at it, and jumping out of bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“The eggs are hatching!” He exclaimed hastily, pulling clothes out of drawers and putting them on hurriedly. You threw your clothes on and joined Maël’s mad dash for the door.

When you got to the receiving area, the kids were milling around inside, instructed to stay away from the cottage until the babies were born, but they were craning their necks to see what was happening.

Amai was in the shelter with Yenuno and several members of the hatching team, looking into the circle of his tail. She looked up and saw the two of you running up and shouted: “Hurry! They’re almost out!”

You and Maël darted up the ramp and looked down into the coil. All three of the eggs were cracked open and little arms and tails were poking out.

“Vitals?” Maël asked, donning a surgeon’s paper outfit and instructing you to do the same.

“Vitals are elevated but within acceptable range,” One of the nurses said.

“Good,” Maël said. “Alright, we just have to stand back. They’ll do most of the work.

Amai and Yenuno were watching the eggs hatch with awe on their faces. You supposed watching this never got old for them. You wondered if they would miss this now that they decided to stop laying.

Slowly, the little wiggling figures freed themselves from their shells and were crawling around on their hands, looking up at their parents. Maël used that distraction to examine them.

“No way…” He said in a hushed tone. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Amai asked a little shrilly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Maël said, grinning up at her. “They’re all girls.”

“What?!” Yenuno and Amai said in unison, looking at their new little ones.

From what Maël had told you, the ratio of male to female births of Blue Gill Nagas was disproportionately skewed in favor of males. One in twenty eggs contained a female. Having an entire clutch of females was extremely rare.

Yenuno and Amai cried with joy and excitement. They’d been hoping to have at least one more little girl. To get three in one go was overwhelming.

Maël supervised the clean up process, and when they were ready, Yenuno and Amai brought the three baby girls out and introduced them to their siblings. You watched on the ramp with Maël, smiling, and took his hand. He squeezed yours in return. Looking up at his face, you could see he was crying, too.

This is what Maël wanted. He wanted to be the first to say hello to his own child, to be the first to hold them, to be the first to tell them he loved them. He wanted to kiss their brow and dance with them when they were crying and sing them to sleep at night. To get on the floor and play with them and put bandaids on their knees when they scraped them. He was desperate to experience that again, like he had with his son.

After the hatching, Maël went to file the new birth paperwork and Amai and Yenuno and their children were spending the next few days together. That left you with nothing to do.

Back in your apartment, you lay in your bed, thinking about that morning over and over. The babies busting out of their shells, the look of joy on their parents’ faces, the mix of happiness and pain on Maël’s.

You sat up to get your lip balm from your night table, and again found the book. You really ought to give it back. You’d been absent-minded about this for too long.

You opened it, flipping through pages until you landed on the date you first arrived at the facility. Intrigued, you read it.

“Amai’s friend finally made it today. It was exciting to meet her; I’ve been following her career for so long. She’s done so much for the non-human community. Amai didn’t tell me how breathtakingly beautiful she was. My heart stopped when I saw her out of the window. I haven’t felt attraction like this in centuries.”

Oh. Oh god. This was his personal diary. You knew you should stop reading it, but couldn’t. You had no idea he’d felt this way.

“I think I’m flirting with her, but I’m not trying to. I can’t help it. She’s funny and intelligent and everything I love in a woman. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying so hard to stay professional, but I can seem to stop smiling around her.”

The next entry was the day you asked him to dinner.

“She asked me out on a date tonight. It was so hard to say no, but there’s no point, is there? She won’t want me if she knows I can’t have children. She’ll either leave me or mock me. There’s no point. I’ll avoid her. That’s all I can do. It’s best if I don’t get closer to her. Even friendship is dangerous. I’m already half in love with her, and I don’t think I could take it if we started a relationship and she ended up pitying me or disgusted. I can’t do it again.”

There were no more mentions of you in the book after that. You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears hit the page.

It was then that you made a decision.

You took out your phone and dialed your gynecologist’s office. “Hi, Grace, I’d like to schedule a consultation with the doctor about canceling my next birth control injection.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Boyfriend #Fae

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shut-up-its-funny · 3 years

Text

All’s Fair In Tickle War.

@jessie-tries requested a remrom tickle war, and although I haven’t written a tickle fic before, I really like how this turned out.

Primarily Remrom, implied Moceit and Analogical. (the only one who doesn’t actually show up is Vee.)

AO3

Wordcount: 1855

It started this morning, and by this morning he means he woke up with Remus straddling him and poking and wiggling his fingers at his sides, he was awoken when Remus threw himself on top of him but he wasn’t expecting to get tickled; of all the things that Remus has woken him up with this is the most confusing, he had to register what was happening through his sleepy brain, because when Remus straddles him in his sleep, it usually isn’t followed up with tickles.

Sure, he’s woken up to weirder things, it’s Remus and he tends to not sleep long or at all sometimes so he gets up to things when Roman is sleeping.

It just caught him way off guard okay.

But that was this morning, it’s been a few hours since then and Roman is determined to get him back when he least expects it.

So at the moment he’s sneaking around trying to find his vantage point, he peeks out into their shared bathroom to see that Remus just got out of the shower, a towel around his waist; he’s singing and dancing around the steamed up room and once he turns his back to look in the mirror Roman strikes.

He crouches down as to not be seen in the mirror and attacks his brothers thighs; his most ticklish spot, and if he gets a foot to the face by Remus jerking with laughter from the attack, well, it was worth it.

Remus swirls around quickly and slips on water right on to his ass; they stare at each other for a beat before laughing loudly.

“Is this pay back?” Remus laughs out, Roman smirks.

“You better believe it” he says as he gets to his knees to tilt Remus’ chin towards him for a kiss, but it’s a front for another attack, he starts tickling Remus’ stomach making him wiggle and laugh out.

“Ro! Roman! That is so noooooot faihaar!!”

“You started it” he winks and pecks Remus’ nose before running off.

“This is war! I hope you know!” Remus yells after him.

Roman ducks his head back in “bring it bitch” he says trying to suppress laughter but fails as Remus slipily gets up to chase him.

“Come back here and face my wrath!” Remus shrieks in a playful tone, running after Roman in just his towel.

Roman stops in the living room archway to hold up his hand in a ‘stop’ motion “ah ah ah, what did we discuss about being mostly naked in the common areas?”

Remus narrows his eyes, debating in his head on whether or not he wants to do it anyway.

Roman points to Patton who is sitting on the couch, looking between them with amusement but also trepidation “do you really want to scar poor dear Patton once again?”

Remus scrunches his lips and intensifies his glare “fuck you, you win this round” he points at Roman “but this isn’t over! Mark my words sweets, I will get you.”

As Remus huffs his way back to their room Roman hears Patton let out a sigh of relief.

“That could have been a disaster” Patton says with a chuckle “I’ve seen way too much of your brother to be comfortable with, I don’t need another glimpse.”

Roman laughs “that’s why I put that rule in place” he says plopping down on the chair.

“What’cha guys doing?” Patton asks “another prank war?”

“Tickle war actually” he informs then adds: “he started it.”

Patton giggles “of course he did.”

“And I’ll finish it too!” Remus yells from their room.

“Shush you, you’re not in this conversation” Roman yells back.

“Shush you memememe” Remus mocks in a high pitched voice “that’s you, that’s what you sound like!”

Roman rolls his eyes with a snicker, he relaxes into the chair, comfortable enough that Remus wont strike so soon after.

He was wrong.

The fast paced pap pap pap pap pap of Remus’ bare feet on the hardwood was his only warning, and he realized it too late.

Remus jumps on to the back of the chair and spider monkeys his way around to get at Roman’s front.

“Gah! No nooooo!” Roman yells as he gets tickle assaulted kicking out as Remus tries to pin him to get a better advantage point and as they’re both flailing and squirming to get at each other the chair falls backwards making Remus stumble away from Roman.

Roman now has an opening and doesn’t waste any time pouncing, grabbing at Remus’ thighs and blowing raspberries on his belly.

“No! Ahhahahaa Roman!! This isn’t faaaaair!!”

Roman lifts his head to ask “how so?” then goes back down to issue more raspberries making Remus shriek out more laughter.

“You’re, hahaaaha you’re the only one” his laughing starts to outweigh his capacity to think as Roman’s hands squeeze at his thighs, his weak spot of tickling making him kick and squirm more frantically.

Roman doesn’t let him go but he does stop the raspberries to lean up and kiss Remus’ cheek, but once again it’s a ruse! He snuffles at Remus’ neck, a move he only recently discovered was a tickle tactic to get Remus to wiggle and laugh.

“Roooooooooomaaaaahhhaaann!” Remus flails his head from side to side to try to make him stop, but it just gives him more advantage points, and now straddling Remus he gets to lean back and wait for his openings.

“Who’s going to finish it hm?” Roman smirks down at Remus.

Remus narrows his eyes, breathing heavily with a large smile “still me” he says defiantly.

Roman raises an eye brow and before he can attack again Remus strikes, his hands fly up to Roman’s sides taking him off guard, making him lean away letting Remus take control.

Remus hoists himself towards Roman using that momentum to switch their position, he grabs Roman’s wrists and pins them to the ground “got’cha” he says snarkily flicking his tongue on the tip of Roman’s nose then proceeds to plant raspberries all on Roman’s cheeks and neck, giving little playful nips here and there.

“Oh oh god no! Remus stop stoooooohhaaaaap! Thaaaaahat’s my weak areaaaaa!”

Remus laughs against Roman’s neck, making Roman laugh more from the air on his sensitive area.

“Ahem” a voice sounds from above them, they both freeze.

Remus looks up –not letting Roman go- to see Janus standing there with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh hey Jan Jan!”

Roman goes to explain themselves but Janus just puts up a hand and stops him, they look around to see the turned over chair and back to the twins.

“I don’t care what it is that you two are doing now, but you’re in the middle of the walk way” they say.

Remus looks around “go around us, there’s plenty of room.”

There is, and Janus knows this, Remus knows they know this.

Janus rolls their eyes “fine, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re doing whatever this weird thing is”- they wave their hand towards the twins who’re still locked in place on the floor, both of them red in their faces and breath laboured –“in the common area.”

Remus sticks out his tongue with a playful sneer “it’s not weird, we’re having a tickle war!”

Janus doesn’t look amused by that thought “please don’t give Patton ideas” they mutter.

Roman snorts “sorry, he already knows.”

“Ah, great I’ll be off then” they say waving their hand in a dismissive way.

“Wait!” Roman yells “help me!”

Remus snaps his head towards Roman with a look of disbelieve.

Janus stops and looks down to Roman “what do I get if I do?” they ask, Remus snaps back to look at Janus with the same look he gave Roman.

“My two favourite people going against me! Oh what a day what a day!” he bellows.

“Uh what do you want?” Roman says.

“Oh, oh Roman that’s a very open question.” There’s a beat of silence before they say “teach me to drive your motorcycle, and then let me drive it.”

Roman’s face, for lack of better words looks downright scandalized. Remus looks down at him with a look of ‘oh shit bro what’cha gonna do now?’

He sputters for a moment “I, I can’t do that, not to my baby-“

Remus gives him a harsh raspberry on his cheek “hey!” he says in offence.

Roman rolls his eyes “sorry, my trusty steed then! I can’t let someone else drive her! All recklessly! What if something happens? I couldn’t bare it.”

Janus looks nonplussed “you’re so dramatic, but fine, Virgil and Logan are going to be gone this weekend”- they nod towards Remus -“you are going to take him and go somewhere until Sunday night as well.”

“Deal!” Roman says before Remus can object.

Janus smirks “good doing business with you, and since you’re all… pinned down right now I’m going to take your word for it” they say, they then lift their foot and shove Remus off of Roman.

They may be short, but damn they’re strong as hell; Remus tumbles off of Roman and is discombobulated long enough for Roman to jump up and sprint to their room, closing the door and locking it.

“Hey! That wasn’t fair!” Remus shouts jumping up to his feet.

Roman unlocks the door just to peek his head out to taunt “all’s fair in love and war babe.”

Remus narrows his eyes and scrunches his lips together before running at a dead sprint towards their door, Roman yelps slamming the door and locking it once again right as Remus slides to a stop; slipping a bit as he tries to stop his velocity.

“You can’t stay in there all day!” he says.

“Watch me!” Roman says back.

Remus bangs on the door “Roooman open the doooor!”

“Never!”

Logan opens his door and leans on the frame, addressing Janus when he says: “no matter how lovey dovey they get you can always tell that they’re siblings.”

Remus ignores Logan in favour of coaxing Roman to open the door still “where am I gonna sleep?”

“The couch, obviously” Roman answers.

Remus scoffs, a hand goes to his chest in offence “you would rid me of cuddles just like that!”

“You could always sleep in your old room” Logan says.

Remus shoots him an un-amused glare “shush you.”

Logan sighs and walks out to the kitchen.

Remus leans against the door, his cheek smooshed against it, his whole weight supported by it “Roman, honey, baby, sweets, love of my life pleeeeeeeeease open the door, truuuuce?” he whines.

There’s a beat of silence, then there’s a click and the door opens, and Remus falls with the door no longer supporting him, but it’s okay cause Roman catches him.

“Truce?” Roman asks warily.

Remus looks up at him from his stumbled position in Roman’s arms and kisses his chin “truce… for now.”

Roman snickers “of course.”

“I don’t forgive you for using Janus against me though.”

Roman’s laugh at that is boisterous

“I’ll make it up to you this weekend” he says as way of recompense.

“Deal.”

#remrom #RomRem #creatnativity #sonnywrites #human au

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mcwriting · 4 years

Text

Starstruck (6)

IT’S FINALLY HERE! After revision after revision, I’m done with ch 6! Thank you to everyone who has been soooo patient with me! I’ve finally found a groove with this story and am super motivated to finish. I promise the next chapters will actually include more of Tom and get us into the story resolve!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Fandom: Tom Holland

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Setting: LA area

Word Count: 1863

Warnings: some “bad” words as usual

Rating: Meh. K+

__________________________________

Days later you finally drove yourself to dance, even though it was only a short walk from home

It was a necessary evil to avoid the paps trying to harass you.

The studio would be full today, but you couldn’t keep skipping class. You talked to your instructor privately to ask that she help keep the class from getting “distracted” by your situation.

You were there pretty early and entered the large room to pick a spot on the barre and start warming up. As the time for class neared, students trickled in.

Some of your friends came to give a hug and say they were happy to see you, but the others just wanted to grill you. You ignored them and stayed silent, exchanging awkward looks with your closer friends.

Class went somewhat smoothly, if you forgot every time someone tried to pull you aside during a water break to squeeze info out of you.

By the end, you were tired and drained and ready to go home.

It wasn’t until you’d already begun to step out the door that someone tried to warn you about the paparazzi and journalists outside.

You were immediately overwhelmed by people rushing forward, shouting out questions and statements. Shocked, you stood completely still as cameras snapped and microphones were shoved in your face.

Obviously, someone had told them you were here, and unfortunately you knew they would be able to follow you home.

Parents, teachers, and classmates kindly came to your aid, surrounding you to help push through the crowd to your car.

You dreaded walking towards it and willingly giving away what your vehicle looked like to them because if they happened to capture your license plate number (which was very plausible) they could find you easily.

As the people supporting you tried moving you forward, you finally sucked up your fears and stepped with them, head held high. You wouldn’t let yourself get caught looking dejected over a stupid, selfish celebrity.

It took a while to drive out of the lot because you had to avoid the sea of people. It wouldn’t look great for you to hospitalize a reporter because you ran over them.

Even if it was their fault for stepping in front of me? you asked yourself.

YES

Cars were tailgating you, as some of the people had been smart enough to hop in their cars when you did so they could follow you home. A sense of panic tightened your chest when you realized how dangerous this might be.

You wanted to call the cops but figured nothing could stop these story-hungry maniacs from trying to dig up the smallest speck of dirt on you right now and running to the police would make you look weak.

Surely this media storm would end as soon as Kendall Jenner did another Pepsi ad or some rapper got arrested outside the US, right?

Wrong, of course.

Two days later, the tea was that Tom was going from LA to Seoul, and he had been bombarded at LAX with fans and journalists, while others still followed your every move, even going so far as to watching your parents go to work and back.

Tom had pulled the same stunts as you, practically bending over backwards to avoid answering the difficult questions of what had happened. You had to give it to him, he knew what he was doing, but you couldn’t help but feel a fire in your body every time you caught a glimpse of his management team in the background of pictures.

It had been so tiring being silent about the matter that you felt like you were bursting at the seams, and you did the only logical thing you could think of:

Pack a backpack and drive straight to b/f/n’s house.

The only warning you gave was a text saying I’m ready, and I hope you are too.

She responded with the okay hand emoji and you took that as the “good enough” signal to head over.

__________________________________

You knew people had followed you to her house and you would have to apologize for that later, but now you were on the doorstep, nervous to knock.

Before you could reach your hand up, however, the door swung open.

Standing before you was your best friend in the flesh for the first time in the longest week of your life.

She looked at you seriously and then glanced behind you, raising an eyebrow. A small grin crept up your face.

“Sorry about them. They don’t really understand when to leave,” you blurted.

She looked you up and down for a moment, calculating a reply before a smile rose to her own lips.

“Come on, let’s get you inside before they invite themselves in too.”

She shut the door behind you and locked it, and as soon as she turned around you both embraced in a long, much needed hug. You teared up

You were still holding each other when a male voice called out.

“Is that y/n?” her dad asked from the couch.

You pulled away and sniffled.

“In the flesh!” you called.

“Come on, let’s go talk in my room,” b/f/n said, pulling you that way. You waved at her dad and sister as you passed the living room.

Boy did it feel good to be in that house again.

__________________________________

Both of you sat on the floor, backs leaned against the bed, sharing a bowl of chips.

You finished summarizing what had happened from the day you went to the premiere until Tom left the city and you were waiting for her to respond. She had been silently listening the whole time, and now you were silent in your wait, except for the occasional crunch of chips.

It had been a few minutes when she finally turned to you.

“Y/n… why didn’t you tell me?”

Your stomach dropped. Of course she would ask you that. You sighed and leaned your head back.

“I know it was wrong, and I’m sorry for that but, b/f/n, I was scared. I know how much you love Tom and I didn’t want anything to go public… even though that ended up failing. I never wanted to be in the public eye and I was afraid that if I told you, you might accidentally let it slip on twitter or insta.”

“You didn’t think you could trust me?” she accused, rightfully. You turned your head to look her in the eyes.

“It’s not that you aren’t trustworthy, I mean, you’re my best friend, I tell you everything. The problem is that this was the biggest secret… ever. No one could know, not even you. The only people who knew the extent of what happened were me and Tom. I don’t think he even told his brothers or best friend everything.”

You both sat quietly again, studying each other’s faces.

“So when I came over last week? You lied to me about the car picture?”

You cringed a little, but had to tell the truth.

“Yes. You had just missed him leaving the house, too. That was the morning after he stayed the night.”

“WHAT!” she exclaimed. “You’re telling me I could have met him for real and you’re just telling me now??”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“I guess if I would’ve just let you meet him I could’ve prevented this whole situation, huh?” you joked.

“Honestly, yeah,” she replied with a smile.

“I’m really sorry that I lied to you and hid all of this.”

B/f/n sighed this time.

“I know I should be mad, but I weirdly understand. If I’m being honest with myself, I probably would have done the same thing. Let’s just promise to be real with each other from now on.”

“Yeah, I like that idea.”

You both leaned over in a hug.

“So, since I need to know everything… where did Tom sleep that night, and are you the reason he liked my post.”

You pulled away.

“First of all, rude that you would ask me about that in my time of need,” you joked, “and secondly, yes I told him to like your post. I told him allllllll about you. Also... we both may have fallen asleep on my bed.”

“YOU SLEPT WITH TOM HOLLAND??” she basically screamed.

You started giggling as you slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Shhhhh! If you aren’t careful there’ll be even worse rumors about me!”

You both spent the night recounting your night with Tom and the other times spent with him, only leaving the room for dinner and more snacks. After your time apart, it was like you were attached at the hips.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you finally slept soundly, not tossing and turning with the anxiety of days past.

__________________________________

You sat at the dining table with b/f/n, laughing like things were completely normal again.

“Hey I’m gonna grab some more juice, want anything?” you asked, standing up.

B/f/n shook her head and you headed out of the room, beelining it to the fridge.

In the kitchen stood b/f/n’s older sister, Caroline, who was serving herself some pancakes as you pulled the juice bottle out.

“So… Crazy week I presume?” Caroline questioned.

“Like nothing you could imagine,” you replied.

Caroline was only a couple years older than you and b/f/n, but she had been a confidant for you many times when it came to things like relationships or just more mature topics. She also was getting her PhD in psychology, which came in handy for advice and discernment about different situations.

“Yeah, I’m sure. So do you actually hate him or are you secretly in love with him now?” she deadpanned, causing you to almost spill the juice.

“What?” you asked back, flabbergasted.

What kind of question was that? Was this girl out of her mind?

“Oh come on. It’s like the biggest fanfiction cliche of all time, ‘enemies to lovers’? Don’t think that we didn’t all notice that he had been crying in that live. Also you blushed when I said it.”

“Well obviously any normal person is gonna blush when someone says something embarrassing about them!”

“What does he smell like?” she interjected, and this time you were completely taken aback.

“I- WHAT? How is that relevant?”

“Answer the question, y/n.”

“Fine. He wears this Calvin Klein cologne. Hah, my whole room smelled like it for almost a week... Now tell me why that’s relevant.”

“Your eyes lit up and you smiled when you mentioned your room smelling like him. And you blushed again.”

Do I really? you thought. Sure he’s good looking and we had a great time together, but he was such a dick. He broke my heart and ruined my life. How could I like the guy that did that to me?

“I hate psychology.” you eventually replied, earning a laugh from Caroline.

I’m gonna have to do some more thinking on this later you admitted to yourself, carrying your beverage back to the dining room.

__________________________________

Part 7 is done and hopefully coming soon. It’s looking like this is gonna be a 9 or 10 parter. Love you all!

Taglist: @marvel-lously, @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @dreamyvans, @lisannehus, @honeymoonpeter, @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven, @chenellearose

#starstruck #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland dancing #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #spider-man #spiderman #spider man

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cetaceans-pls · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

On a quick mission with Jason to deal with pirates in the Caribbean, Bruce finds himself ejected overboard and accidentally lost at sea. Being a castaway gives Bruce ample time to indulge in self-discovery and survivorman-ing, as Jason boats across Pit-green waters in search of this dumb, fine man.

Or, things go incredibly wrong for Bruce and Jason while out at sea, but with help from a dedicated boat captain, The Fellowship Of The Rings, and banana-leaf-pants, they're actually unstoppable.

Written for the @batfam-big-bang, beta’d by @kuraness, @sultcnah, and hassan, with art by @pikachica, @succulents-and-fairy-lights, and @mandolinplayer (thanks everyone)! Special shout-out to @setsailslash for being the wind beneath my wings.

And! Thanks to the mods for organising this massive, chaotic event c:

Please enjoy the first part of a story about a damp and determined Bat and the struggles a a dapper young man’s gotta face to save his dank ass dad 🙏

On tumblr below the cut c:

Pulling a disappearing act is something Bruce should be good at; he’s had years and years of practice by now sinking into the night. Keeping secrets is pretty important in being invisible too, which is why the files outlining the increasingly severe piracy problems in the Caribbean are so heavily encrypted they may as well not exist. After all, at any moment any of his children could be using the Batcomputer to do anything from figuring out how to topple a corrupt government remotely to buying an unreasonable number of chew toys for Ace, and given that they’re all so ridiculously nosy, a security breach is more a question of when rather than if .

Nosiness is a good trait for vigilante detectives, but it makes it hard to work covertly without tipping anyone off. International travel isn’t a good idea for anyone this deep into a pandemic, and while Bruce Wayne being an ass and swanning around the Bahamas in a yacht is pretty believable as far as cover stories go, he’s not keen to subject anyone else to the sort of vitriol that behaviour will garner.

So the plan is simple, with as few moving parts as possible. Three, maybe four days tops being loud and visible on his biggest, ugliest yacht in the hopes that pirates will decide to come after him, and then maybe a couple of days after that to dismantle the bulk of the operation after he’s tracked them back to their base. There’s less of a chance of failure than his usual work, but it still leaves him feeling uneasy.

It’s a long way away from Gotham, and he’s not exactly excited to leave, but his comfort’s not more important than a greater good. The League really does need to sort out a presence for Central America though, and that goes on his notes for the mission too.

So he had planned in secrecy so complete not even Alfred was informed, because Alfred can be notoriously casual in his flagrant betrayal if he disagrees with Bruce’s plans. He’s skulking around the cave at 11 AM on a Tuesday when most of the family is either at work or asleep, and half an hour later he’s climbing into a Beemer, ready to roll out. He has a moment of smug certainty that he’s gotten away with this before the door to the passenger’s side is ripped open, and Jason climbs in with a little battered suitcase, a pair of aviators that reflect metallic blue, a genuinely heinous red wig, and what can only be described as a noxious Hawaiian shirt.

Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever seen a shade of yellow so bright, but it’s now imprinted on the back of his eyeballs, so that’s that.

“Jason, what are you doing?”

Bruce doesn’t even know if he’s referring to Jason’s presence, his outfit, or his hair (oh god, his hair ).

“Tim was supposed to be the one to tail your ass on this mission, but he’s still way too concussed after last week’s fight with Clayface so he got pulled out.” Jason chucks his suitcase to the backseat and pulls his seatbelt on, still fastidious about traffic safety despite it all. “Then Dick wanted to sub in but Blüdhaven needs him more than you do right now. So they called in the big guns to look out for you, and when I get back everyone’s gonna owe me favours. Sounds like a damn good deal for a week of work.”

Favours are a currency way more important than cash within this family, but Bruce struggles to see how a few favours is worth a few days in the company of a man you loathe.

(All right, loathe may be a bit dramatic, but it’s how Bruce feels about himself in reference to Jason, and it’s mind-boggling that a boy can wake up in a coffin and be driven to lunacy by the Pit and still, somehow, end up in this car with him in an ugly shirt and an offer of support).

He decides against asking if Jason’s really going to be all right floating in a sea of green in bad company, and doesn’t make Jason leave. It’s the rule of things; if he fails to out-sneak his children, he must deal with their demands, because it’s the only way he could get them to agree to his more paranoid measures in return.

So Bruce makes an effort not to think about it, in spite of himself, and gets the car in gear.

It really is looking like a damn good deal for a week of work; with good company, how badly can things go wrong?

Karma really wants to make him eat his words.

Years and years on the job, near-death experiences well past a hundred by now, active involvement in everything from petty theft to intergalactic peace missions, and it’s a little incredible that this is somehow the first time he’s been held at gunpoint while wearing the skimpiest pair of Speedos he could force up his thighs.

A billion dollars for a dressing gown, Bruce thinks but very carefully doesn’t say to the pirates who have commandeered the yacht. It’s all part of the plan, minus his questionable outfit.

Whoever’s manning the screens at the Cave is likely having a grand old laugh right now, but if it’s Stephanie he hopes she realises that he is using her trick with waterproof concealer and translucent powder to hide his scars, and it’s working like a charm. The Speedo was meant to feed the paparazzis that are currently stalking him in their little fishing boats that are weighed down with telephoto lenses, and L’Oreal 24 Hour Max Hold Extra Dewy Outlast! Long-Wearing Concealer makes him look happily whole from 40 yards.

He hadn’t expected the pirates to come on the one day he had planned to parade in front of the paps, but luck is a lady and it looks like Bruce just will not be getting lucky tonight.

The leader of the gang is yelling at the captain, clearly assuming Bruce cannot speak Spanish and isn’t worth speaking to regardless, which is fair. The leader is also standing far, far too close for a man without a facemask in these sickly times, and Bruce makes a show of tripping over nothing and landing in between Pirate Captain and Captain Luis, building space in between them. Half a dozen vaccine trials down, he’s as close to confidently immune as he can be, so he just strikes an entirely embarrassing pose and grins up at Mr. Pirate. “Sorry, sorry, not every day you get hijacked. Listen, you,” he waves at the assembled gang of ne’er-do-wells, “take my stuff,” he waves to indicate every gaudy expensive thing not nailed down in this frankly ghastly ship, “and leave us alone, okay?”

It’s tempting fate to be extra loud and extra slow like he’s talking to somebody extra dumb, but eyes on him are eyes off civilians, so that’s what he does.

It’s the point of information-gathering with the entire force of his Bruce Wayne Billionaire Playboy personality after all, even if Jason hasn’t stopped mocking him relentlessly for his outfits and table manners and affect (and so on and so forth) every time he breaks into the Master Cabin to help cover up Bruce’s many, many back scars.

The Pirate Captain appears to not appreciate being spoken to like a concussed toddler, and backhands Bruce right across the cheek. Bruce dutifully sets his tooth in so that he gets a dramatically split lip, and tries to look suitably cowed as he wonders about the man’s hand hygiene. Where is Jason, anyways? The standard response in this situation would be to evacuate civilians to safety, and even if the captain is currently stuck with Bruce, hopefully the stewards and the cooks are being shown to the panic room. It’s only in doubt because it’s a Thursday, and Thursdays are Jimmy-the-steward-boy’s day off. What that means is that Jason is likely in his bunk listening to audiobooks while half-asleep, and if it’s the Lord of the Rings and Jason’s hit a particularly engaging part, they could be firing cannons on deck and he wouldn’t hear.

It’s still fine, probably. Jason’s good at showing up when you least expect him.

There’s enough pride and bull-headedness in Bruce’s veins that he still officially objects to having back-up whenever he follows a case abroad, but times like these it’s really hard to feel anything but grateful that his children don’t trust him not to get himself killed in suitably dramatic ways as soon as he leaves Gotham. It’s even easier to feel glad that he and Jason have gotten good enough with each other that laid up on the ground of his yacht with blood in his mouth, Bruce knows that everything’s going to be alright.

“Please,” he says, and his voice trills like a well-trained bird, “please don’t hurt me. I have so much money, if that’s what you want. Somebody just needs to call my PA, we can do a transfer right now.” Oh, good, the captain is slowly backing away while all eyes are on Bruce and his tiny swimwear.

Thank you, Stephanie, for recommending a concealer that doesn’t even smudge as he dramatically cowers on the ground. The captain’s taken shelter behind the big outdoor dining table, a sturdy, immovable beast made of aluminium, and Bruce has a semi-circle of reasonably menacing men he could potentially incapacitate without definitely dying. Things are looking up already.

Pirate Captain (Pirate King? Pirate Lord? Pirate Admiral? Who knows how a hierarchy works for the lawless, after all) is barking orders for one of his men to handcuff Bruce and move him over to their boat, because this is now a kidnapping-for-ransom situation. In casual dress, Bruce wouldn’t have minded it much; there’s enough untraceable kit in his average pair of slacks to get him out of most situations.

Again, the cursed Speedos are hugely, disproportionately problematic despite their actual size. At least there’s the tracker and the lockpicks in his watch, because thankfully no one questions why a rich man who is mostly nude would be decked out in a fantastically expensive watch.

A gangly boy who can’t possibly be much older than 20 hauls him to his feet and starts to tie his hands behind his back, which is fine. The boy also deftly unbuckles Bruce’s watch and sleight-of-hands it away, presumably into the pocket of his beaten up jeans, and that is decidedly less fine. Still, as long as the tracker remains in his vicinity, it won’t take much effort for him to be found.

Things are still on track, even if they’ve gone off the rails an alarming number of times since he woke up this morning and nicked his face while shaving for the first time in, oh, a decade? More? Hopefully there’ll be a sack or something he can fashion into a tunic on the pirate boat; he doesn’t imagine this entire ordeal will outlast his long-lasting concealer, and given that the yacht’s currently bobbing in the ocean somewhere between Nassau and Port-au-Prince, help’s not far away (so long as Jason has also called the Coast Guard and is not still in his bunk, listening to Gandalf telling an overlong story).

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, until it’s not.

Honestly, Bruce takes worker well-being very seriously, whether it’s the COO of the Hong Kong branch of WE or the tired cab driver who inadvertently helped the Bat on an undercover case at 3:30 AM one morning. Fair pay, fair working conditions, every benefit that’s the industry standard and a few that he secretly encouraged the unions to demand. It’s a point of pride that people who work for him enjoy it, and it’s a way Bruce Wayne can help people in a way that Batman can’t even dream of.

It’s important that people who work for him are treated well; them becoming a little protective over him when some journo gets particularly nasty on Twitter is frankly rather sweet.

It’s significantly Less Okay that when they meet him in real life, ‘a little protective’ becomes ‘Captain Luis, seeing his bumbling dim-witted but ultimately not a bad guy boss getting carted away by pirates, finds strength from deep within himself to pick up a chair, start screaming, and try to bumrush half a dozen heavily armed men’.

Time slows down in times of crisis, thank god. Jason’s still nowhere to be seen, and reality narrows to Bruce running through every possible thing he could conceivably do to keep Luis safe. In the first fraction of a second, a trademark Bruce Wayne clumsy stumble is discarded as an option; two of the pirates already have their guns up. He doesn’t have smoke bombs or stun grenades or any of his million gadgets, and his hands are tied (literally and metaphorically), but playing dumb and letting Luis get shot to preserve his identity doesn’t even feature as an option.

And so, half a second after Luis starts his war cry, cracked voice and all, Bruce is actively working to dislocate his thumb to get out of his bindings, weight tipped forward in the hope that he can body slam half the men to the ground before they can get to their guns.

It doesn’t work; he gets shot in place of Luis, what feels like a clean through-and-through by the hip that hopefully missed anything particularly important. He does manage to bring a couple of the men nearest to him down with a heavy whumph , and little victories are still worth savouring even while lightly bleeding out on the ground.

He hears a lot of shouting, both from the direction of the pirate boat (reinforcements?) and from the grand double doors that lead to the inside dining room (reinforcements!) but he just keeps moving. Best case scenario, Luis knocked somebody out with one of the absolutely hideous chrome-and-leather chairs before beating a hasty retreat, and now Jason’s tag-teaming in for clean up.

Worst case scenario, he and Luis are about to be killed, and the news might be broken to his family by unflattering pap shots gone viral on Facebook. It’s an unbearable thought, so he doesn’t think, and just keeps moving around like an angry bull intent on sharing his displeasure.

There are a lot of gunshots, and something clips his ear as he knocks another man to the floor. While the pirate groans, Bruce headbutts him unconscious with a helping hand from the metal plates that help hold his skull in one piece. He thinks he hears Jason’s voice, but he knows Jay’s there for sure because no other weapon on Earth seems to crack the air quite like his Jerichos, and it’s like light at the end of a tunnel.

He hopes that Jason’s wearing some manner of face-covering; Bruce Wayne smashing a bunch of skinny pirates to the ground in a feat of great clumsiness and luck is entertaining enough to be acceptable, but a master marksman taking out a horde of sea-faring villains isn’t as likely to come off as normal.

Bruce doesn’t have the breathing room to turn around and check because more pirates are scrambling aboard with their own weight in weaponry, even if in his mind’s eye he imagines that Jason is wearing a pillowcase on his head with holes shot out for the eyes.

What an absurd quantity of guns. The number of ways Bruce hates the damned things is uncountable, and if Jason is actually on deck yelling blue murder in pyjamas, things can tip over from ‘scuffle’ into ‘bloodbath’ real damn quick.

Only one thing for it, then. He rolls away from a well-aimed kick and staggers to his feet, keeping his hands behind his back even though he’s worked his way free already. Pirate Captain man is angrily waving his rifle like he’s never known a day of joy in his life, but shooting Bruce might break the streak.

“Stop, stop!” Bruce shouts, aiming to look as non-threatening as a man who has mowed down a series of pirates can. “You can take me, just don’t hurt my staff.” Stand down, Jason , is implicit, while stand down, Luis , is implored.

It’s enough to get the man to bark for his men to stop shooting, as he tries to grab Bruce by the throat in a presumably threatening manner. This is what you get for modern-day piracy where there’s a lot less rigging and ropes and a lot more outboard engines; his grip strength is laughable, but Bruce gamely pretends to struggle to breathe anyway.

Pirate Captain hauls Bruce towards the cluster of his men, looking smug before he turns Bruce to let him see the wreckage of the outdoor lounge of the yacht. It’s bullet-riddled and messed up, but this far from the engine and the bridge, the damage is almost exclusively cosmetic. Thankfully Luis seems relatively whole even if he’s got the remains of a chair leg in his hands and a snarl twisting his face, and so does Jason. No pillowcase head-covering, unfortunately, but his steward-boy curly ginger wig is on and his oversized sleeping t-shirt is bulked out in a suspiciously bulletproof-vest shaped mass (thank God).

There are headphones hanging around Jay’s neck, so Bruce assumes he’d gotten it right about the morning lie-in and audiobook listening. Even mid-emergency, it’s still a rare, nice feeling to see that he knows Jason well enough to guess at least this correctly. Bruce tries to communicate with his eyes that everyone just needs to calm down and let him be taken. Pirates don’t tend to shoot billionaires dead, what with the invisible hand of the free market ensuring trigger discipline and all that, so it’s fine. They can rescue him afterwards, and there’s always help to be had. Superman might be off-world at present and Aquaman might take his own sweet time because he’s a sea king moonlighting as a massive asshole, but as long as no one gets hurt badly, a delay doesn’t matter to Bruce.

Jason’s scowling, but he does point his guns down. There’s hope yet that this is going to end relatively bloodlessly, but then the Pirate Captain lets his little victory get to his head. He’s got Bruce in an ineffective chokehold, and now he’s chuckling and waving his gun around and telling Jason that you’re not so confident now that we’ve got your boss, huh?

Even at a distance, Bruce can see that Jason is just barely holding on to his temper, jaw tight and teeth clenched. Having close to a foot over his captor and a hell of a lot of muscle mass on top, the ‘chokehold’ registers more like a messy cuddle, so it’s fine.

It’s all fine.

Until, of course, it isn’t.

Because Pirate Captain isn’t completely done flexing, because he takes it into his head to further press his advantage and slam the point home, he holds the muzzle of his rifle to Bruce’s temple, and shouts bang!

And of course Bruce has been held hostage before, of course he’s had weapons brandished in front of his face, of course there’s nothing exceptionally terrible about this situation when compared to the dozens of exceptionally terrible situations he’s been stuck in.

It’s just that he’s always, always hated guns, and he particularly hates guns held to people’s heads (a goddamn mystery why), and it’s just a little beyond what he considers tolerable, to find himself on the other side of a situation where a parent is about to be shot in the head in front of their child.

It’s something he’ll be ashamed about for the rest of forever, but hindsight’s 20/20 and not even an iron will could stop the tiniest of flinches when the thought of Jason’s going to have to see me die and he isn’t even the one pulling the trigger goes through his head at great speed.

It’s a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, but Jason hadn’t blinked, and it’s just that inch too far.

Lord, if Luis had been fearsome before, then Jason picking up a steak knife from the dining table and throwing it so viciously, so hatefully that it goes right through the back of a pirate man’s hand is an absolute vision of terror. While Bruce gets the side of his face coated in blood (he’s pessimistically hoping it isn’t from an arterial flow), Jason is scooping up Luis and chucking him overboard. It feels like barely a second has passed from when the first splatter of blood had hit his cheek before Jason appears right in front of him, one hand holding both guns (cool-looking but hilariously ill-advised) while the other is wrapped around the bulky plastic case of the emergency life raft.

Someone tries to drag Bruce back, and the man is met with two gun butts to the nose with a resounding crack! . A moment after that and Jason has Bruce pulled behind him, wig askew and kicking a different man right in the family jewels. The Pirate Captain is screaming and waving at them even as Jason hustles Bruce towards one side of the ship, shoving a life jacket down over his head and tightening the straps before Bruce can get his hands through the armholes.

It is, clearly, on purpose. “Jason,” Bruce warns him, growling even as he keeps the name as quiet as he can. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason kicks a stack of sun loungers over to act as a barricade against the approaching pirates, but he’s completely unharried as he turns to look at Bruce. “B, you’re banged up to fuck and back, and these guys are just massive assholes who’ve been pillaging ships carrying aid during a goddamn pandemic. Your plan’s not working out, so I’m going to handle it my way. Just go hang out in the water for a while, okay,” Jason pauses and shoots over the top of the mass of wood, before ducking down to reload. “On God, I’ll swab the decks clean-ish before I pull you back up. That’s my plan.”

An errant chair arm by Jason’s side explodes into splinters from the return fire, and it’s getting really hard to avoid kill shots in order to have a civil conversation. They’re running out of time, and Bruce knows , knows without a shadow of a single doubt that this is restraint and thoughtfulness and care from Jason, to hold back on what he thinks is right just because he knows Bruce doesn’t like to see a case devolve into death. There’s also a chance that the gun to his head shook both of them up more than they want to admit. This could well be a really touching moment for everyone involved.

But a dozen pirates are advancing, and more than wanting to stop Jason from murdering a bunch of people, Bruce simply refuses to let him face this alone, so he just shakes his head and starts trying to work his way out of the vest.

Unfortunately, it’s at about the same time the pirates decide to go on an all-out siege, running towards them and knocking the stack of chairs over in their haste. Bruce doesn’t have time to think, just steps forward so that he can body block Jason and hope that polyethylene foam can take a shot or 12.

Jason disagrees with this course of action, and he makes it exceedingly clear. One moment Bruce is standing firm between his son and almost-certain death, and the next he finds himself being flung over the side of the yacht, Jason executing a frankly gorgeous Judo throw. A blob of bright orange follows him down, the instant raft deploying in midair.

“Fly, you fucking fool!” Jason screams at him, and Bruce’s last thought before he hits the water and the hard outer shell of the raft hits him in the head, is that he was right.

Jason had been listening to the Lord of the Rings.

(And Bruce is really regretting leaving the Shire).

It’s going to be a hell of a story to tell the gang; hijinx on the high seas, and if Jason can convince Bruce to take a picture of him looking suitably pensive while the sea breeze flutters his hair and open shirt, they’ll have a cover for the book deal that inevitably follows Jimmy the Red-Haired Steward’s dramatic rescue of literal billionaire Bruce Wayne.

It’s almost anti-climactic in the end; he sends Bruce overboard and is polite enough to chuck a raft down with him so that the man won’t have to find out that not even Steph’s go-to brand of makeup can stand up to the open ocean, and minus an overbearing parent idiotically trying to take bullets for him, Jason’s free to just go right the hell off.

By his count, there must be close to 20 pirates now, and just one of him.

Damn, what fun odds. He knocks out 4 guys the moment they pass his barricade, and they definitely won’t be dying from those wounds. There’s a slightly messier kerfuffle when he kicks a tabletop off its legs and flings it at the guy who thought setting off a rocket-launcher in a luxury yacht is a good idea, and casualties from that are self-inflicted, so there’s no sweating it.

A half hour of screaming and shooting later, and at this point he’s just showing off when he leaps off the upper deck and gets a trick shot out into the knee of the man with the biggest rifle. At the end of it there’s a lot of moaning and groaning on the ground, there’s blood everywhere, and barring rocket-man, the Pirate Captain’s still the worst off because a serrated steak knife thrown at high speed will do a number on anyone. It’s exactly what he deserves.

Jason putters about securing the pirates with fishing line, and shoves handkerchiefs into the deeper wounds as he does a headcount and takes deep pride in having not killed anyone even though his temper’s the most frayed it’s been in a while (his history with bodies of water is bad and his track record with parental figures is even worse).

He leaves the captain tied up on the sun deck, because a sunburn’s the least the man deserves after holding a gun to Bruce’s head and being so proud of it. If Jason had trod on his hand a little heavily on his way off the deck, well. Some lessons just need to be worked in with some elbow grease.

Cleaning takes a while because B can be so damn picky about appearances , and it’s easier to do without the man himself anyways, so he doesn’t think twice about leaving Bruce to sulk in his floating inflatable tent while Jason works. When he hears noises from the pirate ship while he’s going around disarming all the weapons, he ends up finding a gaggle of kidnapped fishermen stuffed in the hold, and he wants to go step on the Pirate Captain’s hand all over again.

He frees the fishermen and moves them onto the yacht, where the staff who have crept out of the panic room with knives in their hands and murder in their hearts welcome the poor fucks and make them something hot to eat. Really, being a crusader’s a lot easier without Bruce’s presence, and it’s like a victory lap at this point. No one’s dead, even more people have been rescued than when they started, and the Coast Guard should be rolling in any minute.

Jason cannot wait to show off to B just how damn good he is at his job.

Everything wrapped up and a dozen shoulder-slaps from the crewmembers later, Jason makes his way down to the back of the yacht, where a platform can be lowered and the canoes and jet skis can be set out in the water. He’s fully expecting to see Luis hanging on to the ladder near there, with Bruce tethered like an errant puppy. Jason’s already grinning as the platform swings open with a quiet splash, but the sight that greets him isn’t one for smug eyes.

Luis is there, looking a little cold but ultimately quite calm and relaxed, and smiles when he sees him. “Jimmy!” Luis calls out, hauling himself up onto the platform and taking his shirt off to wring it dry. “You crazy bastard. I’m glad you’re okay! Is Mister Bruce also all right? The pirates are gone?” He eyes the bobbing pirate ship with great distrust, and overall gives the impression of a man ready to pick up a kayak oar and go to war.

Jason’s leaning as far off the platform as he can, craning his neck to try and see the bright orange floating raft. “Pirates are taken care of,” he tells Luis, and doesn’t let his unease show. “Everyone’s fine, but I threw Mister Bruce off the boat too, with the little tent raft. Did you not see him, captain?”

Luis shakes his head. “You must have thrown him overboard on the other side, Jimmy.” He turns a frightful shade of pale, and leans back out the yacht to help look. “Can Mister Bruce swim?”

Everyone in the family is an accomplished swimmer; for reasons that probably only make sense when you’re a paranoid patriarch, all of them had to prove that they could swim a mile in full gear before they were okayed to patrol close to the waterfront. It’s also common knowledge in a family with a collective competitive streak a mile wide that Bruce once rescued 3 full-grown adults in the open ocean while fully kitted out, so yeah.

“Yeah, he can swim.”

So why in the hell is he not right here?

Jason takes a deep breath, and reminds himself Bruce always has a tracker on him somewhere, so even if he was carried away by the waves, actually locating him shouldn’t be an issue. What’s more likely to be a pain in the ass is the Coast Guard boats plowing through the sea towards them. Jason’s cover as a steward is enough to fool local police, but if he’s pulled in for questioning re: owning and using his guns, it’s going to become A Problem.

A problem that would take a lot of time to handle, and that’s not something Jason’s got in spades if Bruce is missing.

Ah, shit. He’s going to have to call this in, and that’s not going to be possible in an itchy wig on a ship crawling with officers. It’s time for Jimmy to disappear, looks like.

He considers his options, and decides to just go with his gut. Luis seems like a good guy; civilians who step up in a life-or-death situation despite common sense telling them not to usually are. And compared to B, Jason’s always been quicker to trust, anyways.

“Listen, Luis,” he tells the man, face serious. “I’m actually Mister Bruce’s bodyguard. If he’s missing or drowning, I have to go find him. He’s…. like family.” Thank God that no one else is here to hear this. “But if the Coast Guard comes and takes us all in for questioning, I can’t start looking for him. Can you tell them I jumped in the sea after Mister Bruce, and to send people out to find us? I need to grab the tender and sneak off first; he’s been in the water for a while already now, so I just don’t have time to wait.”

Everything is probably completely fine, but you don’t live and then die and then be reborn and then continue to live as a successful vigilante by hanging your hat on ‘probably’. Jason’s itching to get on the little tender and check in with Alfred, but Luis covering for him would be really fucking helpful.

It feels real good when his instincts pay off. Luis doesn’t even bother saying ‘Yes’ and ‘Of course’; he’s already striding to the little box by the light switch that has the keys for all the gear, and after a quick rummage around he throws the boat’s keys to Jason.

“I’m going to believe you, Jimmy. Go find Mister Bruce, and I will tell the police how you saved us and why you left. Do you need anything more?”

Luis is just hitting homerun after homerun today, wow. Jason grins, and shakes his head. “I’m going to get my stuff from my bunk and climb out the porthole in the kitchen right onto the boat. See you when I see you, captain.”

And Jason’s gone.

Bruce comes to a couple of hours after his inauspicious disembarkation, if he’s judging the sun right. His face is an achy sunburned mess, but he supposes it’s preferable to being unconscious while facedown in water. He regains consciousness quietly and calmly, an extremely important skill when you are regularly abducted and knocked out, but when he cracks his eye open all he sees is the sea, all all of it.

He takes stock of the situation, and notes with some resignation that his yacht (the Pretty Penny, and worth every cent for the look on Alfred’s face) is nowhere in goddamn sight. He’s still cocooned in a life jacket, but luckily a loose buckle had wrapped around the ropes lining the life raft. It takes a bit of finessing, to work his way free and then haul himself up into the raft when he’s disorientated from being sunburned and injured and groggy, but he manages eventually.

The raft had managed to inflate all the way up, and the little tent provided blessed, blessed shade. If he was marooned on a liferaft with his children, or with a civilian, Bruce would be all action by now, cataloguing injuries and rummaging around to find what equipment they have. That’s just the exact right thing to do, in a survival situation.

But he isn’t marooned on a liferaft with anybody else. He’s by himself, his face feels like it’s on fire, he’s a little concussed, and he doesn’t know if everyone’s safe on the yacht. Instead of doing something meaningful, Bruce just groans and lays out as flat as he can get on the small raft, with his legs hanging off over the side.

Might as well get sunburnt knees, make a set of it.

It’s starting to feel like he’s just not meant to have a casual fun time out here in the Caribbean, and this far away from shore, nobody can hear him swear.

His legs are starting to sizzle a little by the time Bruce re-finds his will to survive, and he eventually drags himself upright, looks down to once again despair that he’s literally in swimwear and nothing else, and tugs out the dry bag filled with survival equipment tucked into a pocket near the back of the tent. He’s sure it’ll have much more kit than the average equipment bag, but because he can’t remember the last time he took it into his head to pack survival kits for non-Bat vehicles, everything is likely several years out of date.

As he digs around, any hope of finding a tracker that can ping! loud enough to alert the Batcave disappears. There’s a brick of a satellite phone, but failure to keep it well-maintained means the battery is completely flat, and trying to fix it in a bobbing liferaft that’s constantly letting water in…. ill-advised.

At least being in the Caribbean in the summer means that the current is more likely to have him drifting across the archipelago instead of sweeping him out to the Atlantic. Deserted islands are a dime a dozen here, and Bruce shudders at the thought that he might meet his end here, where it’s warm and sunny and beautiful, instead of bleeding out into a puddle of what might be rainwater or piss or both in a dark alley in Gotham, which is what he thematically deserves.

If only Alfred were here to hear him loudly think about his death after maybe 3 hours of being at sea with his own grim thoughts.

At least the kit bag reflects his personal preferences. Enough energy bars to keep a man physically functioning for at least 2 weeks, and half of them are white-chocolate-and-cranberry flavoured. There’s a rain poncho made of the same material his cape was about 5 years ago, which means it’s light and breathable and incredibly strong. He puts it on, because where Jason presumably gets power from wearing either leather or garish beachwear, Bruce unfortunately counts himself closer to goth than not, and a black raincoat is enough to make him feel at least marginally better.

He digs around some more and finds the usual suspects: a multi-tool with a blade sharp enough to gut a camel (tried! And tested!), 3 flare guns, a little floating solar still, a first aid kit that could keep you alive through increasingly alarming injuries, wax matches and some solid fuel, and a little tin mug that had some fishing line and a bunch of hooks. God, there’s even sun cream in here, and that’s as Classic Alfred as the tiny glass bottle of exquisite whiskey. The reach of one elderly butler’s tender loving care extends really alarmingly far, and Bruce salutes the sky in his honour before taking a carefully-rationed glug of Stranahan for moral support.

It burns smoothly down his throat, and it’s as close to a second wind as Bruce is likely to get out here. Bruce sets up the solar still and has it floating on a tether right by the raft, even if he’s got at best a couple of hours of daylight left. Dinner for the night is either a protein bar or fresh-caught fish if he can swing it, and the bottle of good whiskey needs to stretch for 2 weeks for the worst case survival scenario, because that’s around when Superman comes back from his off-world mission and can come play fetch.

Best case scenario, Jason’s going to pull up in the BatWing any moment now, and Bruce will gaze upon a hideous ginger wig and once again get to marvel at the miracle of Jason alive and coming at him.

The Batman hasn’t survived so long off the backs of best case scenarios though. Fantasy revelled in, Bruce starts divvying up his resources and makes his peace with potentially having his body be found in a poncho 3 months from now by deeply unlucky fishermen.

Hell of a legacy to leave for his children, but it’s better than pearls and a dark alleyway (he sure would have appreciated a larger bottle of whiskey).

Escape was the name of the game, so Jason doesn’t burn time on thinking, just grabs his supplies and steals the tender, gunning the engine and gone out of sight before the Coast Guard could board the Penny. It’s pretty hair-raising, literally; throttle opened to full he almost loses his wig to the whipping winds.

Fifteen minutes after separating from Captain Luis, Jason’s dropping anchor in a tiny lagoon and pulling out his Bat-issued laptop. First things first, he runs through all the trackers Bruce is most likely to have on him. No point in alerting HQ if Bruce just got washed ashore on a little beach a couple of miles away. He could do without the rest of the family calling him out for simultaneously being both Bruce’s back-up as well as the main reason Bruce is currently missing, thanks. There’s already plenty of self-recrimination going ‘round.

The internet’s pretty slow considering the private BatSatellite beaming it right down at him, but it only takes a few minutes before he’s run through the checklist of the dozen or so standard trackers Bruce could have chosen from. Almost everything is deactivated, probably because a mother-of-pearl button and a tie clip aren’t options that mesh with swimwear too often, but one of his watches is active and blinking a cheerful green from the other side of the island, moving swiftly towards land.

Jason thinks hell yeah! at the start but then logic comes a-calling; neither the current nor a very determined man could move that quickly, and the blip is moving in a straight line away from the yacht. He takes another look at the list, and groans when he realises that what likely happened was that Bruce’s shiny golden Rolex was liberated from him pre-getting-thrown-overboard, and is now likely enjoying a pleasant ride to Nassau in the pocket of some pirate on the Coast Guard’s ship.

“This is why I told him to get a goddamn belly button ring,” Jason shouts down at an errant starfish, who fundamentally does not care. Garish intimate jewelry work because they can stay on regardless of the state of undress, and because not even the most determined thugs tend to be super interested about groping around a man’s navel to get half an ounce of cheap tin and silver. An ugly piercing is by far the best option for discreet trackers.

Just classic goddamn Bruce; too good for gun violence, too good for tacky piercings, too good to just stay the hell still. Jason half-heartedly goes through the rest of the list, on the extremely off chance that Bruce slapped on the temporary tramp stamp with its special magnetic ink, or decided to opt for the cute anklet with dangling shells that’s a Cass design, but no go.

There’s not a blip anywhere, and if Bruce is really really lost at sea, time’s not something either of them have a whole lot of. Jason starts up the boat and decides to head right to the outermost chain of tiny islands, because the vital thing here is making sure that Bruce doesn’t get swept right out into the open ocean. One hand on the wheel, with the other he pops an earphone back in and presses a complicated code using the volume up/down buttons. It’s another few seconds of the Fellowship coming through before the comm connects, and it’s Alfred.

“How can I help, Master Jason?”

“How much of what went down did you catch, Agent A?”

“I must confess to a little chuckle when I saw Master Bruce being thrown overboard. The onboard cameras caught the rest of your fight, and may I just say, splendid aim with the steak knife. I doubt I could have done better myself.”

That’s a blatant lie if Jason’s ever heard one, but he’ll take it. “Thanks, Alfie. Thing is, uh. Thing is, I might have misplaced B.”

There’s a short pause, and Alfred’s voice comes back on with polite inquiry. “What do you mean by ‘misplaced’, Master Jason?”

“You saw me chuck B over and leave him a life raft, right? Yeah, well, when I went ‘round to do a pick-up, he was gone. And he doesn’t have any kit on him, so.” Urgh, this is going to live on in infamy. “So I might have lost Batman somewhere in the sea.”

There’s another pause, a little longer this time, filled with enough character that Jason can just imagine Alfred with his head tipped back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to chase off a headache that has given him no peace presumably since B was born. “I see. Do you know if he is injured? Or if Master Bruce is missing as per some sort of plan?”

“Think he might have been grazed by a couple of bullets, but nothing life-threatening. And this could be a dick move that’s part of a bigger plan, Alfred, but he knows you’d be real passive-aggressive if he runs off without telling anyone. He pulls that kind of bullshit when things are apocalyptic, but it’s just a bunch of pirates not social-distancing.” Jason worries at his lower lip, and tries to feel more confident about the absence of serious injuries. “I don’t know, maybe he hit the water wrong and passed out and got swept out, or something. I just know I’m not leaving this as is.”

God literally save B if this does turn out to be some dumbfuck ploy to go off and Rambo a mission solo, that’s a Jason Todd guarantee right there.

“I believe not trusting Master Bruce to be all right is generally the right way of thinking, unfortunately.” Alfred sighs, and it comes off as static in the earpiece. “I will make some inquiries, and see what resources we have for a search and rescue mission. In the meantime, Master Jason, do what you think is best. Master Bruce may not have any of his usual equipment, but so long as he has the raft, he should survive for a good long while.”

Knowing how extremely over-prepared Bruce is in almost every aspect of his life, Jason wouldn’t be too surprised to know that all WE rafts came prepared with spear guns and a bar of solid gold. Best case scenario, he’ll find Bruce in time for dinner, and they can have an(other) awkward meal where Bruce does his damnedest to be inoffensive and haltingly the best father he can be, while Jason tries not to get ticked off by every third word out of the man’s mouth.

Jason tells Alfred that he’s going to whip out some maps and do a lap around all the tiny little cays that dot the sea to try and find Bruce, and half his head’s thinking about a memorial service where Clark will presumably burst into tears while stood in front of a casket that’s got a symbolic Speedo in it, and that’s how Bruce is going to go down in history, which is what he deserves.

The other half decides that now is a good time to remember how Bruce had once gone all-out on a search-and-rescue mission for Jason too, many many years ago, and oh, look how that turned out.

What a fucking feast or famine man.

Fishing is an accursed activity for accursed men. Bruce is somebody whose hobby slash raison d’etre involves getting dressed up in armour and perching on a gargoyle somewhere high up in an unmoving manner for hours at a time, and he still finds himself bored almost to tears by the lows and lowers of idly holding a fishing line in his hand, being convinced something has gotten hooked, and pulling up absolutely nothing (again and again and again).

It’s blissfully sundown by now and there’s no fresh fish on the menu, but he has a mouthful of fresh water thanks to the solar still, and he’s got half a protein bar in him for dinner. The moon’s nowhere near full and the stars are obscured; he’s completely enveloped in the kind of darkness that’s so, so foreign to a city like Gotham.

It’s all blackness as far as the eye can see, which is not very far, and all he has for company are his thoughts and the quiet splish splish splish of little waves pattering against the side of his raft.

It’s deeply unnerving even for Bruce, a man who has on occasion described himself as The Night. He has a fire starter and nothing to start a fire; he has a phone and no way to connect to anyone. He has a lot and very little all at once, and despite his best efforts, no amount of focus can get anything done .

So Bruce sits with his back to the opening of the little tent, and over the next couple of hours finds himself slumping and sliding lower, til his head is thrown back across the edge and all he sees is nothing.

Stoicism in the face of terrible odds is an important part of being the Batman, but Bruce has no cowl and no cape; he’s just him right now. As he stares at what may or may not be the North Star, he finds himself thinking about how dinner was supposed to be scallops and baked fish with a side of exquisite wine, and gently mourns just a little. If his luck held, Jason would have swung by later to help himself to the dessert tray that Bruce has delivered straight to his room, and he could have sat there and basked in the unending pleasure of Jay's healthy and hearty and whole company.

Instead, he’s stuck out at sea trying to guess how close or far away he is from 10:47 PM, which is the default time to throw up a signal in cases where a team’s been broken up. In Gotham, even if he didn’t have a watch or a phone or a comm unit or a car, he could usually guess the time down to 15 minutes, just based on which shops were open and which shops were closed, what buses were running and what colour the WE building was lit up to, by the presence or absence of the tinkly elevator music that accompanies the fountain light show in the main plaza.

Here, there’s nothing. The position of the planets would be a bit of a hint on a good day, but on a bad day with heavy clouds and a concussion he’s not confident Venus is real. The outdoors are a mistake, and laid out in a raft miles and miles away from the nearest cityscape Bruce feels homesickness so keenly he has to turn over and throw up a little bit.

At least the concussion is keeping him company.

The first hour after nightfall he had taken the initiative to just sit there and count time out, but there’s something spectacularly soul-sucking about counting down seconds. Bruce was somewhere in the 3000s when he came to the conclusion that he would rather not reinforce his concept of mortality by literally calling out each moment he comes closer to death, thanks. It’s been a while since he stopped counting, but time’s a mess in the absence of manmade context.

He’s also, shamefully, a mess in the absence of manmade context.

Bruce has 3 flares and a son out there somewhere looking for him. Having a predetermined time to launch a signal is not a fundamentally bad idea, but it’s not practical when out in the field, and right now he’s even willing to go so far so as to admit that using the time of his parents’ passing is both extremely grim and extremely unkind to all parties involved.

All factors considered, it’s as good a time as any to get the flare gun. If he’s lucky, Jason will be ‘round to pick him up in under an hour. If he’s less lucky, it might be a different band of roving pirates that come for him, though by this point the company of sun-dried criminals is greatly preferable to just his own.

If he’s really, really unlucky, the flare’ll explode big and bright up in the sky to the attention of absolutely no one, and when that happens Bruce can begin to doubt his reality as much as he doubts Venus’.

“Please let it not be 10:47,” he says in the vain hope that karma’s looking out for him as he sticks his upper body out the tent flaps and shoots at the sky.

The flare goes up straight and true and explodes into bright bright light, and all of this would be a thing to be happy about if the presence of light didn’t highlight the clear, helpless absence of everything else.

For the first time in a very long time, the fearsome big bad Bat of Gotham turns in early for the night, but nobody is even around to appreciate it.

(He will find out that it was, in fact, just around 9 when he shot off the flare, or just about 3000 seconds after the 3000 seconds he’d already counted.)

(The invention of time was a Mistake.)

[1/2]

#batfam big bang 2020 #batman #bruce wayne #jason todd #whale writing #the vibe is v much that specific kind of humid depressed u get in summer #when ur not feeling great but #the overwhelming presence of the sun tells your body to #keep on keeping on #anyways i love the sea thanks for coming to my community tedtalk

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Unforgettable-Chapter One

Also on AO3 Special thanks to @statell for all your help

Chapter One

Short flouncy skirt, tight strapless top, boyfriend jacket, bare legs, high heels, curled lashes, red lipstick, and wild black hair.

“Oh my God Beauchamp, you have outdone yourself.”

“Claire! You are late for your own party! Time to go!”

“Okay, okay, let’s go.”

Claire smiled at Geillis and Laoghaire when they gushed over her outfit. The three of them were notorious fashion smashers who could not give a rip about fitting in. Her friends looked bomb tonight, very fitting for her favorite club and last night out for two years.

I will go out in style tonight, she decided.

Entering the club they heard the loud roar from friends, causing enough of a disturbance to make heads turn in their direction. Claire scanned the crowd and smiled at the good looking men, it was her weakness after all. Bodies were hugging and shots were pounded and then it was time time to dance. Claire grabbed Laoghaire and pointed at Geillis and they pushed into the center of the dance floor to get their groove on. After five songs Claire headed back to the table and was pulled into Rupert’s lap showing her a cherry in his palm.

“Lovely! Lay down your bets people, Geillis will cover up to one hundred dollars!” Geillis shot her a look and she shot one back, I got this, no worries.

Someone dropped a second cherry into Rupert’s palm and a fifty-dollar bill was slapped on the table. Claire looked up at a dreamy cowboy in a Stetson and felt her panties melt off. She smiled and took the challenge pushing both cherries into her mouth. Mister dreamy sat down and watched closely and four minutes later out came two cherries tied together. Dreamy turned them this way and that smiling at her parlor trick.

“Care to dance…miss…”

They swayed to a slow song while she took inventory of dreamy. Stunning hair and height, handsome face, but alas, she wasn’t feeling it. When he walked her back he pointed in the direction of his table and asked her to join him. Claire smiled and said maybe later. Shots came to the table and her friends toasted her as they slammed them back.

Laoghaire spoke in Claire’s ear that her cousin was here and she should say hello. She pulled Laoghaire into her lap and kissed her on the mouth before standing up to meet her kin. She was used to looking eye to eye with most men so when she saw a massive chest her eyes kept going up. Square jaw and cleft chin, yummy blue- oh my God eyes. She quickly surveyed the table and then put her arms around his neck to speak into his ear.

“I’m sorry but newcomers are required to kiss someone with dark hair and it looks like I am the only one at the table with dark hair. Let’s get this over with so you can get on with your night.”

She pulled his laughing mouth down on hers for a sensuous soft kiss that he was in no hurry to end. His arms came around her and his kiss deepened and then suddenly it was over. Claire told him that was fine and announced James was one of us tonight. Geillis started screaming it was time to dance and pulled her to the dance floor. They waved and hollered at their favorite DJ and he spun their favorites for the next hour keeping them on the floor shaking their ass.

Claire pulled Geillis back to the table before passing out from heat exhaustion. More shots were ordered and more friends came until the table had no seats left. She tapped cousin Jaime on the shoulder and motioned to his lap. He laughed and pushed away from the table so she could sit. Ooh, an unexpected delight was her short skirt being pushed this way and that by her constant twisting in Jamie’s lap. Before long she was in direct contact with the denim covering Jamie’s thigh and decided that was spectacular.

Someone produced an old Instamatic camera and the friends burned through three rolls of film, toasting and kissing each other, hugging and smiling. Because it was Claire’s going away party, most of the pictures were of her and various friends and all of those were on the lap of Laoghaire’s cousin.

She felt his hand move down her leg and she looked at him smiling.

“I have to go Sassenach, work tomorrow. I wish I could stay.”

“I get it, someone has to be responsible to remind all of us that we are hopeless miscreants. I suppose you have to take your lap with you? Alright, James.”

She kissed him and held his cheeks to keep him on her lips. The minute she broke the kiss she shot out of his lap heading for the dance floor.

It was an extraordinary night. Geillis left a bit early to pursue her new love interest and Laoghaire and Claire stumbled out to Laoghaire’s car after last call.

“Laoghaire, your staying on my couch tonight. You are much too drunk to drink alone… drive alone. Thankfully, I am with you and will keep you on the road, at least to my apartment.”

“Alright, but I’m up and out early for school tomorrow. Thank God I don’t have hangovers. Is there anything ye need help with, gettin ready to leave?”

“No sweetheart. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to clear me for my shots, and then the shots of course, and I’m done. If I'm completely ready one day before I leave it keeps the anxiety at bay, ya know? Good night sweet one, thanks for bringing your cousin, he is a gorgeous man that one.”

Once she tucked Laoghaire in she closed her bedroom door to send a text message to Joe. He would be sleeping but he would see it in the morning.

C: Everything still super groovy? I will see you in three days, can’t wait.

Claire flopped down on her bed and fell asleep with her clothes on. It wasn’t the first time. The next morning she was racing around the apartment trying to find something to wear and finally opened some boxes to find clean clothes. Late, as usual, she pushed the UBER driver to hurry but he couldn’t find the doctor’s office. Geillis set the appointment for her but failed to mention how to get there. Flush with frustration she pulled out her phone and set the navigation. Five minutes later she stood winded at the reception desk signing the check-in sheet.

Waiting to be called, she mentally ticked items off her to-do list and remembered the last conversation with Joe.

“Very primitive Claire. Lucky if we have electricity to run the lights and sterilize the instruments. Weather is nice. Ninety degrees and ninety percent humidity.”

Since she followed him all over the globe, she wished he would be more discerning when choosing his next post. Maybe I will pick next time, she thought, two years from now when we get ready to leave. I wonder if he would follow me? I would never put him to the test. I can’t live without Joe so where he goes, I go. Hearing her name snapped her out of her daydreaming.

The nurse mumbled something about my being late for the appointment as she pulled Claire’s hips to the end of the examination table and secured her feet in the stirrups.

“I’m sorry, the UBER driver got lost. I don’t suppose the doctor can fix chronic tardiness?”

“The doctor will be in shortly Claire.”

Claire pulled her phone out of her purse and checked her messages. Typing a quick response to one of them she heard the door open and doctor washing his hands. she clicked send and looked up at what had to be a joke, a very bad joke.

“What the hell are you doing here in that white coat inching toward my business end?”

She watched the color drain from his face. He was as shocked as she was. Christ on a crutch, how did this….Geillis!

“I’m doctor James Fraser and you are here to verify no pregnancy, pap, and clear ye for shots before ye travel to… Honduras!”

“Stop! Don’t come an inch closer, please stop. This is a mistake, I need a real doctor, a better doctor, I mean a doctor I don’t know. Sorry, I have to go.”

“Sassenach, I am a professional, no need for embarrassment.”

“I hardly believe that the way you are giggling, and would you please just stand still while I think.”

“I can do better. I will see my next patient and give you some time.”

When he disappeared out the door she jumped off the table and wrapped the ridiculous fitting gown around her then paced the small room. She was so freaked out and really couldn’t think at the moment so she dialed the diabolical Geillis for help.

“Geillis! I need another doctor's appointment, today! This doctor is Laoghaire’s cousin who came to the bar last night. I can’t let him bury his nose in my cooch. Can you find another doctor…”

“Don’t be silly Claire. I see him for my yearly and he’s great, not to mention drop fucking dead gorgeous. No Claire, it's him or no one because ye wait until the last minute to do everything. Just bite the bullet and let the man do his thing.”

“Why do I feel manipulated right now?”

“It took some doing to get him to the bar last night so maybe that’s it. He is my going away present for my short term best friend.”

Claire was speechless. Geillis was right, it was her own fault. If she was going to leave in three days she had to get through this. She climbed back up on the exam table and melted into her misery.

“Sassenach, have ye decided what to do?”

He walked to the end of the table and put his elbows on her knees. “I can probably do this without lookin if that will make it easier for ye.”

Claire knew she had run out the clock and had no choice in the matter but that did not ease her humiliation. He waited patiently while she tortured through the inevitable decision to get this over with. shutting her eyes tightly she told him to hurry. I never have to see him again, she thought, he is a stranger to me.

“Hurry please.”

It was over in a matter of minutes and doctor Fraser was pulling his gloves off and wishing her well. The door clicked shut and she was alone to dress and get the hell out of there.

On her way home, she considered how few men in the world were truly handsome, fewer still were those with a body you wanted to bounce off of. The rarest of this small, endowed group were those with a good heart. The triple threat as it were. Doctor James Fraser was a triple threat and she wanted a second helping before disappearing into the jungle for two years. She leaned back in her seat and asked the driver to push up his speed. She needed to call Laoghaire and ask a favor.

Claire looked at her buzzing phone and smiled at the caller ID.

“Miss Beauchamp this is doctor Fraser.”

“Oh please, call me … whatever it is you call me.”

“The message says yer havin complications from the procedure today.”

“Yes, complications, what should I do?”

“Can you explain what’s amiss, do ye have pain?”

“Not yet but I’m afraid that may be happening soon.” She held her breath and waited.

When he spoke again his voice sounded softer and more interested. “I dinna want to send ye into the jungle with unresolved health issues Miss Beauchamp. Perhaps ye would meet me for dinner to discuss the problem. I believe that is best at this stage.”

“Do you mean tonight doctor?”

“For tonight I need a promise of a short skirt and high heels and ye agree to cheer my team to victory in the playoffs.”

There was silence on the line and Claire was breathing from open lips. She heard his deep voice, “can that be arranged Sassenach?”

“That would be fine I suppose. Where is the game, I will be cheering from the stands.”

She wrote quickly and ran to the shower before plowing through her boxes for a short skirt as requested by the good doctor.

She was late getting to the game because she was late for everything. Walking toward the bleachers she saw the doctor’s impressive ass as he bent in a huddle with his players. Claire was amazed at the little people hanging on his every word. He broke the huddle and scanned the crowd quickly. His head snapped back to black combat boots, bare thighs, and a short skirt. She waved and smiled, calling out “GO…” oops, she leaned toward the lady next to her and shouted “Wolverines!!”

Claire was in her fan zone, having a great time. When doctor Fraser’s team was running the ball toward the goal she was on her feet cheering them on. With less than two minutes left in the game, Jaime pulled in a fresh player and spoke into his ear as he nodded his head. He shot a look at Claire catching her biting her nails, wide-eyed. Jamie managed to look at his player in time to call a code they had practiced a thousand times and the team came together in a formation that broke all the rules of the game.

His new player kicked the ball hard into an area without players as a teammate was running to take possession. Once the ball was securely underfoot the kid passed the ball to a teammate who specialized in high-flying aerial kicks. The player ran for the goal, twisting just a foot from the goalie and looking into the sky as the ball came down like a rocket. He kicked it into the net and the stands erupted. The kids on Jamie’s team almost exploded on the field. With wide eyes and huge smiles, they searched the crowd for their coach, to say, oh my God it worked, you were right, sorry we doubted you.

Jamie strode to the coach of the opposing team with his outstretched hand and a humble smile. He was aware of the all too rare moments to demonstrate sportsmanlike behavior. Claire scanned the field for his clump of kids and smiled at their jubilation. As Jamie walked back they ran to him clamoring for his attention. Claire watched their mouths closely, “thank you, coach,” “You were right coach,” “sorry I was an asshole coach.” Claire thought she had a handle on the situation and she stood in the stands and smiled down at this handsome man.

Jamie was shaking the hands of the parents and smiling as he tried to extricate himself from the well-wishers. His gaze was stuck on the smiling Claire and one of the fathers figured it out.

“Is lovely legs your post-game party Fraser?”

Jamie looked at him dubiously, “somethin like that.”

Like Moses parting the red sea, the man cleared the bodies between Jamie and the bleachers and stopped several kids from going after him.

Claire sat in the bleachers and watched him approach with a smile for the hero. Jamie took inventory of her frilly feminine skirt, lace-up trench boots, ribbed wife-beater, jeans jacket, red lipstick, a bit of mascara, and those amazing eyes.

“Ye were the best fan we ever had Sassenach. Can I rent yer services?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve always fancied myself a professional fan.” As she walked down the stairs her skirt popped up above her thigh with each step. Jamie was transfixed watching the feminine lace and army boots under it. She stayed a stair above him and laid her arm across his shoulders as her lace bounced. Jamie liked the feeling of a woman’s arm up there and having to look up to see her face.

“I like yer boots Sassenach”

“Christ, my apologies. You asked for high heels but I couldn’t find any in my boxes and I was already late. These are standard issue for where I’m going with the traveling nurses program. I hope you’re not disappointed, Jamie.”

She bounced down to the ground level and looked up at Jamie who studied her inch by inch. Claire felt a wave of arousal move through her and Jamie saw the millisecond she gave into it.

He looked into her eyes and saw a free spirit, playful and vulnerable, yet honed by something big. Somehow she chose to forget her embarrassment of that morning because it suited her to do so and then she set her cap for a bit of fun with him. He was truly honored this beauty would choose him.

“Will ye feel safe on my couch for five minutes while I shower and change?”

“That depends. Will you be feeding me tonight?”

“Absolutely, anything ye like.”

“I like whisky and fine hors d'oeuvres”

“Perfect, me too.”

Claire decided Jamie Fraser smelled like heaven when he was clean and she kept pushing her nose into his neck to breathe deep. Jamie watched her skirt rise higher on her thigh and relished the intense arousal of having her mouth so close to his neck. They hit five of Edinburgh’s best for shellfish, aged beef, sushi, greek, and Mandarin. It was in the Mandarin restaurant that she gave up her side of the booth to sit across his lap and feed him delicacies with expert use of chopsticks. One bite followed by a kiss and Jamie’s hand found it’s way to her knee and then higher.

“I am so stuffed I don’t think I can walk but let's try. I knew you would be so fun to go out with. Thank you for agreeing, I had the most wonderful time.”

Claire decided to satisfy her curiosity. She would not be coming back to Edinburgh when her commitment was up and would never see any of these people again, including Jamie Fraser. She clutched his arm as they walked to his car.

“Why did you choose a career in pussy?” She leaned into his ear, “do you love it that much?”

He looked at her genuine interest and smiled. “I love bairns and families as well as female reproduction. It is very rewarding to see a woman through her pregnancy safely and catch the baby she has wanted all her life.”

“That is totally sweet but how do you deal with the jealous husbands when your face is buried between her legs under a sheet?”

Jamie cleared his throat uncomfortably, “I have not thought of it that way Sassenach.”

“I have thought of little else.”

She pulled his arm around her waist and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. His kiss was soft and exploratory as he touched her face and looked into her eyes. She tried again using her tongue and hoping he would give in to his brutal side. That is the orgasmic side where the party starts. She had no need or comfort with the emotional side. It scared her, it was needy, it would want to plant her somewhere and grow her into a smaller version of himself. She tried it a couple of times and decided that life was not for her.

“We should get going. I have two days before I leave and a week of work to do.” When they were at her door Jamie asked why she invited him out tonight. He liked her and didn’t understand her sudden distance.

“To see that awesome game, eat exotic food, drink the best whisky, and fuck. I have a desire for you that is completely carnal. Before she could get her key in the lock Jamie grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her head back to receive his crushing kiss. He licked from her collar bone to her mouth making her groan. Pulling her up he felt her legs go around his waist and grind down on him.

While they were otherwise distracted, a male neighbor walked toward his apartment next door feasting on the erotic dance happening in front of Claire’s apartment. Jamie rolled his eyes at the stranger and said move along as best he could with Claire’s tongue in his mouth.

Jamie took her keys and opened the door tripping over a box directly in his path. He spun in midair so he would land on his back taking most of the impact. He looked up at Claire straddling him, “I want ye lass.”

“Well, we finally agree. I believe you are already acquainted with my pussy, care to return the favor handsome?”

Before the night was up Claire would experience the lethal combination of a strong finger rubbing her G-spot while a wicked tongue flicked, soft lips sucked, and nipples were pinched. Jamie reclined on her headboard with a fistful of Claire’s hair guiding her mouth to his balls and then telling her to open her mouth as he exploded down her throat.

When Jamie could breathe again he looked at Claire and recognized the signs of a booty call. Fidgety, suddenly silent, and glancing at the clock. This was the worst part of casual sex for Jamie. No warmth, vacant eyes, an empty heart, and guilt he had done it again.

“Your a beautiful girl Sassenach, will ye be comin back to Edinburgh when yer tour is up?”

“No.”

Jamie shook her hand, “I wish ye all the best miss.” He grabbed his jacket and left without another word. He had zero respect for women like Claire who buried their heart in concrete and just disconnected from their emotions. A man was just like a job to them. Some were amazing and fun and others were drudgery but she got an orgasm paycheck after which she enjoyed her freedom and answered to no one.

He stared at the road ahead, hating his sexual need that put him in this mood time after time. He dated two girls in college that were in love with him but they could not compete with medicine. He thought about them often, the way they would hold him, run their fingers across his skin, kiss him breathless while being so fragile. They made him feel like Hercules but his plan did not include commitment at that stage so he ultimately hurt them and moved on.

Jamie dropped into his bed and thought about Claire in the dark. She was exotic and beautiful, daring and spontaneous. Most women were so afraid of saying the wrong thing they didn’t say much at all, forcing him to pry each word from their mouths. Those dates were uncomfortable and regrettable as he shook their hand and said goodnight. Not with Claire. When her mouth opened it was anybody’s guess what was coming out and he loved it. He loved her free spirit and her ability to accept each moment as it came taking everything she could from it. The bold initiation kiss at the bar was so Claire. He smiled in the dark remembering her demand for a kiss because he was a newcomer. Claire decided what she wanted in each moment and then asked for it. Why couldn’t all women own their power that way? He slept fitfully, dreaming of the wild and beautiful Claire Beauchamp.

Claire watched the door close behind the handsome doctor and felt very strange about the way he left. His sudden distance and shaking her hand, calling her miss. What the hell was that all about? Why did he opt out of intercourse? It was the closest she would ever come to couples love when two people were heart to heart clinging to each other. She wished for that brief moment of pretend with him and her neediness for it surprised her. She wondered if she had made an enemy tonight. Why did she care? She would never see these people again and if Jamie felt bad about a romp with her that was his problem. She got up and headed for the shower.

Feeling fresh and clean Claire wrapped up in her favorite robe and made Chamomile tea to fight off her anxiety. She opened her book but her thoughts kept going back to the date with Jamie. He was such a gentleman and made sure she was having fun all evening. She told him about following her best friend Joe from post to post with traveling nurses. She watched his eyes get dark and mentioned Joe was a devout gay man. She wondered what his reaction was. The disappointment she was attached or annoyance he was pursuing another man’s woman? She would never know. When she sat on his lap and fed him mandarin delicacies he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. Christ, that’s it! He charmed me and I am feeling the residual of that eye contact and arousal.

“Jesus Christ, it’s one in the morning and I have got to get some sleep.”

Claire laid in her bed and kept her nose to the pillow he used. That amazing scent was with her in her dreams all night and by morning she knew what had to be done.

Jamie dragged himself to the field for the last game of the playoffs. His team was psyched to win and he was yawning. Not a great start and he shook his head to clear it. With the game underway and a very skilled opposing team, he was struggling to stay motivated.

Jamie jumped up when his team took the ball and ran it toward the goal. They needed a goal and he held his breath. As he watched every player move the ball down the field he heard a familiar whistle and voice shouting “go wolverines!” He looked in the stands and there she was, his almost perfect date. He smiled at her and felt his heart ramming in his chest. What is wrong with you Fraser, he thought. She will rip your heart out and jump on a plane.

Claire watched his eyes and saw his interest so he didn’t hate her completely. What she was doing there was anyone’s guess as she didn’t know herself. Looking online earlier she saw the playoff schedule and just showed up to cheer them on. The Wolverines scored and Claire launched to her feet calling out the player numbers that rocked. The average age of the team was fourteen and there was enough testosterone flowing through them to notice her short skirt and pretty legs. Normally Jamie would notice a shift in the energy of his team but he was under her spell as well.

When he couldn’t stand the distance anymore Jamie climbed the stands and she offered her hand. He looked at the eyes he had missed all night.

“Nice surprise Sassenach.”

“Well, you did ask me to cheer for your team and I love the little buggers, playing so good tonight.”

“I appreciate the support. I wish I could sit up here with you but I can’t.”

“What would happen if I sat down there with you?”

He held out his hand and walked her down the stands to sit on the field with him. He gave her tidbits of history on the prominent players and noticed she never took her eyes off the kids. It honestly looked like she was enjoying the game instead of waiting for a chance to have his attention.

Claire could not read Jamie’s energy and wanted to ask if he was happy she came. What do I friggin care, she wondered. Get your head on straight with mister gorgeous. You are here to exorcise him from your head and that is it. Tomorrow, Honduras, and two years of hard work with Joe, I can’t wait, so why am I here again?

The game ended, Jamie’s team won with one game left to play for the state championship. The kids were so excited and blushed fiercely when Claire mentioned how well they played. She gave out smiles like they were free and the kids were eating them up. Jamie noticed many of the parents watching her as well. He felt a moment of pride that she was with him and then mentally kicked himself for thinking that. By the time they could extract themselves he was mentally exhausted.

“What time is yer flight tomorrow?”

“Not until two in the afternoon.”

Jamie looked at her skirt and remembered running his hand under a similar garment and touching her round ass and flat stomach. Her lovely core was shaved clean and glistened with interest. He shook his head again.

“Well, what would you like to do Sassenach. Since ye didna run to an UBER after the game I ken you need my attention. How can I help ye?”

Jamie cringed at the harsh sound of his statement and noticed a flicker of insecurity in her eyes. He wanted to take her places she would never forget but he couldn’t and being this close to her was making him a little crazy.

“To be honest, I don’t know. Can I fix you dinner and just talk to you for a while?”

“Home cooking?”

“Oh, yea, I gave my entire kitchen to charity so we have to do it at your house. That is if you want me to cook for you.”

As wonderful as she was, Jamie was not in the mood for another sexual encounter that would make him feel like shit all day tomorrow. He looked at her beautiful eyes and missed her already.

“I am big on honesty Sassenach. Tell me what ye want from me tonight.”

When he saw her blush his heart melted right in his chest.

“I’m rather good at forgetting people but it didn’t work this time. To be honest, I don’t want to take my infatuation to Honduras, I fear it would be very hard to live that way, missing you. I am poison to relationships, that’s why I don’t have them anymore, so this will be a favor to you as well.”

“Like a dual exorcism ye mean.” Jamie held her soft hand and looked up at the sky. “I would be happy to help but I have no food to cook.”

“I will pick up some groceries while you take a shower. It won’t take me any time at all.” She ordered an UBER and kissed his cheek.

Jamie laid on the couch for ten minutes to rest and question his motives in allowing this tonight. She seemed so genuine and her honesty impressed him. She wanted to learn enough to forget him after tonight and resume her heartless life. Well, he could say the same about her, he decided, so stop thinking and get in the shower!

Claire let herself in and admired the trendy apartment once more. It was the perfect bachelor pad for a young, single, handsome doctor. She rolled her eyes at the thought of how much action he got here followed by the same argument she had with herself all day. What do you care, he probably gets a lot of pussy and more power to him.

Jamie emerged from his shower letting the aromas of food fill his lungs. It was not something that happened often and he enjoyed knowing she was here in his kitchen. He opened his mouth to say something and realized she was dancing with her earbuds in. She held a large salmon to her chest and slow danced with it, her head back, eyes closed, having a moment with the fish. Jamie felt a scary shift in his existence wishing he had not seen it. Then she freaked out and dropped the fish.

“Sorry, when I turned around and saw you it shocked me. Good thing I hadn’t taken the fish out of the package. See, floor is still clean.”

“What are ye makin Sassenach?”

“Your favorite, Salmon, with asparagus and baby red potatoes, which doesn’t sound Scottish by the way.”

“I spent a year at Columbia during my medical training and learned to enjoy the healthy foods they eat. Of course, nothin can replace bangers and mash but it will put ye in an early grave.”

Jamie pulled out two glasses and filled them with a very special whisky. He watched Claire’s face as she rolled it in her mouth and swallowed with a smile.

“I better get the fish ready before I start dancing with it again.” Another blush.

They talked about their lives, growing up, college and working in their chosen career. She told Jamie about her parent's death at age five, growing up with Uncle lamb in the farthest reaches of the globe and coming back to civilization at sixteen years old.

“I didn’t fit in very well at first. When I started nursing school I met my friend Joe Abernathy and we have been joined at the hip ever since.”

“What would happen if Joe settled somewhere and quit traveling?”

“Then I would work there and probably start being responsible. Saving money and stuff like that. “If you own an estate in the country why do you live here?”

“My sister Jenny lives there with her husband. It’s too far away to be called to the hospital in the middle of the night to deliver a baby.”

“You have been practicing medicine for three years and you are thirty-three? Did you want to be an astronaut but couldn’t make the cut? Seriously, what were you doing from eighteen to thirty-three?”

“Seven years of university and medical school. The rest of the time I was earning money for my education.”

Jamie thought about telling her the truth. It was something he would do if she were not leaving the next day forever. He ached to tell her everything but that was absolute folly. Even if she were madly in love and camped out on his doorstep, the odds she would accept who he was during those missing years were stacked against him.

The conversation continued through dinner and dishes, each taking turns describing their lives up to this point. Jamie poured two Drambuie over crushed ice and invited her to sit on the sofa.

“That was a delicious dinner Sassenach, thank you so much.”

“My pleasure. I love this drink, what is it?”

Jamie watched her amazing eyes as he described the drink is made from Highland Heather honey and scotch. Very sweet and perfect after dinner. She watched him talk and her face revealed her inner struggle to get past this infatuation with him.

“How are you doing Claire? Are ye feeling better? Ready to get to Honduras tomorrow?”

She walked on her knees across the couch and pushed her face into his. Jamie breathed her in wanting so badly to touch her but he couldn’t. Claire held his cheeks and looked into his eyes.

“I’m a hopeless mess, it’s not better, I don’t know why I am crushing on you so badly. If I wasn’t leaving tomorrow I would ruin this relationship in a couple of months because that’s what I do.”

Her mouth was so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips. She wasn’t letting go of his face so he kissed her. It was enough to touch her lips with his so he kept it light and struggled not to crush her to him.

Claire was feeling the energy from his kiss. He moved them into a comfortable kissing position and they just kissed and enjoyed the close proximity.

“This reminds me of high school when we would kiss for an entire afternoon,” she giggled.

“Is this helping Sassenach?”

“I don’t know because I can’t remember what we ...”

She kissed him halfway through the sentence so it took some time for her to say it. Jamie could feel his resolve slipping and he held her tighter as he deepened the kiss. Sending them both into the higher plane of arousal.

“Sassenach.” He held her cheek and brushed his thumb across her lips. It is borderline torture at this point. Are ye feelin better?”

He watched her deer-in-the-headlights look and he loved her vulnerability. She was soft and sensual, giving into her crush and delighting him with every kiss. Jamie took a deep breath and pulled himself off the couch. He took a long sip of his drink and watched her fuss with her clothing that had shifted with their kissing.

“Well, I should go.”

“Thank ye for makin dinner Sassenach.”

She stopped and looked up at him. “Why do you call me that?”

“It’s… yer British accent. Sassenach means outsider.”

“I see.” Her wide eyes were telling him a story of her fear that she would miss him and that it would hurt. Her vulnerability was killing him and he threw caution to the wind and kissed her again. No more push back, his hands explored her body again until he picked her up and carried her to his bed. His kisses were intense and she was panting his name while pushing his shirt up. Jamie shook his head hard and stayed her hands.

“I will see ye to your car or ye can stay all night with me, it’s yer choice mo chridhe.”

She pulled her shirt off and pulled his head to her. She hated sleeping with other people in the bed but sacrifices had to be made and she believed this would solve her problem.

Jamie took his time. Removing each piece of clothing followed by kissing and tasting the newly exposed skin. He pulled his shirt off and felt her nakedness against him, and kissed her some more, wanting this to last as long as possible. When he entered her they both groaned with the exquisite feeling. He watched her eyes and kept his strokes slow and deep. She arched her back and ground her pelvis into his thrusts, pushing her legs farther apart. “Harder Jamie, right now.” Jamie picked up his speed and felt a pleasant bump in his arousal. Claire grabbed his face and pulled it within an inch of hers. She was panting and looked him straight in the eye.

“I know what you want, I want it to. I say we exit Sunday school and fuck like champions. Let it go, baby. If I say, uncle, I stay for another month. Jamie was too close to his orgasm and this opportunity would not be wasted. He got up and ordered her to stay as she was. He dropped his body within an inch of hers and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’m takin a shower so we can start over lass. You can opt-out of this and just turn on yer side and I will spoon ye to sleep. It’s a wise choice. Stay in this position and I will rock your world.”

Jamie grabbed a tie on his way back to the bed. He was smiling and excited she had not opted for sleep. Once the blindfold was on he spun her into an erotic tornado with his tongue, and fingers, pulling her so high and placing light kisses on her breasts and stomach while she floated back. Jamie twisted her beautiful body into positions of extreme pleasure and brutal penetration making her come again. Just before his release, he spun her back to face him and removed the blindfold. He kissed her deeply and watched her eyes as he thrust into her soft wetness before going rigid in his release.

“My God yer fun. No ‘uncle’ so ye must sleep mo chridhe, yer plane leaves in twelve hours.” He pulled her into his chest and pulled the quilt over them. Ordinarily, this position would shoot Claire right out of bed and out the door, no matter what she promised. Tonight, she felt comfortable and drifted off to sleep. Throughout the night, Jamie would reach for her and pull her back to him, running his hand up her leg or down her arm before falling asleep again.

Jamie’s eyes opened at five in the morning, his automatic wake up before his rounds started at six. He tried to pull his arm out from under Claire without waking her but she moved into him and threw her leg around him. Not a word was spoken. He pushed into her body and savored every moment, knowing he was falling in love, and she would never come back. When he emerged from the shower, she was gone.

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curlyhairallday · 4 years

Text

Bump and Dumps - Part 7

She spent the whole flight passed out in front of the toilet or with her head down it being sick. She was convinced this baby hated her.

Hattie could not have been in more of a rush to get to Harry’s car. Her whole plane journey had her being sick and she had even spotted a girl in a TPWK hoodie who was trying to sneakily video her. She loved Harry’s fans they gave her best friend the opportunities and she understood why all these people were in love with him because she was as well. However, she hated when fans would video or take photos without asking she knew they would think it’s weird if someone did it to them, especially when she had her head in one of the silly paper bags they give you to be sick in. She was well aware that this girl was adding fuel to the fire, especially when she was flying out to the same city as Harry.

She grabbed her sun glasses out her bag and popped them on hoping this and the messy bun would help prevent anymore people from noticing her. She saw Harry’s body guard Flynn waiting holding a sign for her.

“Hey dude, long time no see.” She quickly hugged the 6’4 man who looked more like a rock.

“Hello Harriet.” He quickly grabbed her bag and she began to follow him, Flynn was a quiet man he had two young daughters and a lovely wife he helped protect Harry whenever he was in the US and her and Harry had been to dinner with him and his family a few times. Although, Flynn and Hattie were friends she knew he was very serious in public places. He liked his job and he saw Hattie as the only possibility of him getting fired, especially after Harry’s warning to hime today. Even though Hattie had been upset about the article in England there weren’t really paps everyone left her alone and she was only photographed by fans. But Harry knew the US was different they had not stopped running stories about Harry and Hattie ever since she had first come on the scene and he was worried for her and the baby.

“So is Harry in the car?”

“Umm have you checked your phone?”

“Nope I haven’t turned it on yet, I am the only passenger who still turns there phone of I think it must be a childhood fear.” She giggled quickly turning it on only to see a text which she guess she should have expected.

Harold: I am so sorry I have to get ready for an interview. I will make it up to you later.

“Should have guessed. Oh well so I am guessing you know?” Hattie asked Flynn as they got in the car.

“He told me for your protection. Congratulations Emmie and Faye will love having a new friend.”

When Flynn pulled up he noticed Hattie was fast asleep he wasn’t surprised as she had explained her severe morning sickness. He had promised to bring ginger biscuits which his wife had sworn by through both her pregnancies. He quickly scooped her up and layed her down on the sofa. He sent a quick text to Harry letting him know she was there safe and went home.

“Hatters.” A voice gently stirred her while rubbing gentle circles onto her forehead.

“Hey baby I missed you.” Harry kissed her forehead knowing that kissing her was a step to far.

“My penguin.” She sleepily muttered, while sitting and rubbing her awake trying to rub away her tiredness and failing miserably.

“Your penguin.” Harry chuckled.

“You didn’t get me.” Harry smirked he didn’t realise how much he missed clingy Hattie but he was loving it.

“I am sorry bubba, I had to do some work so I could spend tonight with you.” He kissed her forhead again as she nuzzled into him.

“Flynn, told me how bad you have been making you mummy feel so be a nice hey Baby we treat our mummy’s nicely.” he gently stroked her tiny bump for the first time it wouldn’t be noticeable unless like Harry you knew her body well.

“Our baby doesn’t like me Harry it makes me sick all the time. We can’t even agree on coffee.” She had kola herself to him so her words were muffled by his chest.

“This baby must be brave denying you coffee.” She smacked him stomach but she knew it was true she was evil without her coffee.

“I have an interview soon here at the house. I know you’re jet lagged but I would really like you to sit in on it if you feel up to it. After we will get take out and can just watch movies and fall asleep.” She nodded her head against his chest, he would really love to stay here as this is the most love he had got from her in two months but he needed to get ready as the crew would be here in a minute

“I am sorry bub, I need to get ready.” Hattie felt disappointment go through her as she missed him as soon as he left she was not sure whether it was the tiredness or hormones but she wanted him.

Her mouth began to water as he came back in a shirt, she was having the symptom that Rachel had in friends all she could think about was jumping his bones.

“Harry picked this out for me to wear, does it look alright love?”

“Umm yeah it does.” She tried to stop herself from phyiscally dribbling at him she loved laid back Harry look and this was doing things to her.

“I better go change it was a long flight, can I shower in your room?”

“I was hoping as we are getting on maybe you could stay with me. Only of course if you’re comfortable? I mean I just want to spend quality time together and I need my big spoon.” He nervously rubbed his neck.

“I am not sure if you want to do that I haven’t been sleeping great lately. I am sick a lot sometimes I just spend time gagging as there is nothing in my stomach.”

Harry face immediately turned to a frown.

“You should call the midwife or the doctors, When was the last time you ate?”

“Hey calm it. It is completely normal loads of women actually lose weight in the first trimester. I am going to go shower.”

“You shower and I will get you something to eat. What do you fancy?”

“Honestly, I want a water and maybe quavers. Do they even sell those here?”

“I will sort it. Go shower I will ask my assistant to grab them.”

She left to also go and quickly change realising she probably had the smell of vomit on her. She looked at herself and felt tears filled her eyes as she realised she looked ugly as hell her hair was a mess she had no makeup on and she was gaining weight it was going to her thighs and boobs her stomach was no longer flat even though these changes were slight realising how perfect he was made her cry. She had never been one to be self conscious before she wasn’t in love with herself but she was happy with herself she had always had stretch marks on her boobs and legs and she was proud of them as she knew it was just a sign of growth much like the lines on tree trunks. Her pregnancy hormones were sending her wild also the consistent hunger and sickness was getting to her. However she was ready now all she could think about was what the little baby would look like and it’s little chubby cheeks. She quickly grabbed Harry’s calvin Klein Jumper and some leggings.

When she walked out she could hear Harry on the phone.

“Alexa, can you please get me some water and ginger biscuits also quavers. I need you to find some. No of course I don't care if you’re late I just really need them. Thank you.”

She smirked she knew he was really trying.

“You look cute. I brought that jumper with me because it smells of you with how often you steal it.”

“It’s so cosy though.” She hugged him today she felt like kola she was so sleepy and poorly. She realised that she wasn’t going to glow through pregnancy and if she was it would be from the swear.

“I am loving your mood today bub but I am worried you’re not normally like this.”

“I just feel so sick and I’ve missed comfort.”

“I promise cuddles after this. Everyone came when you were in the shower they are setting up outside. Jeff is out there and Mitch if you wanna hang with them while we record.”

“Yeah sounds good.”

“You really have lost weight though I will arrange a meeting with a doctor tomorrow, can’t have you two ill.” He kissed her forehead, Hattie quickly raised her head pecking his lips.

They walked out and there was about ten people outside setting everything up, she smiled when she saw Mitch and Jeff in the corner.

“Zane this is Hattie. Is it alright if she sits in she has just come over from the Uk?”

“Hi nice to meet you.”

“You to.” Hattoe gave him a quick hug she wasn’t ever nervous until she was in Harry’s world she never knew how to act with his people.

“I saw you when I was doing some quick research for this interview, looked like a fun night the other night.” He laughed she knew he was just breaking the tension but it threw her off guard.

“Something like that. Urrmm I am going to stand over there. Good luck with the interview.” She whispered the last bit to Harry while giving him a quick hug. She was convinced this Baby loved Harry as he was the first person she had been able to handles scent everyone else's made her stomach churn.

“Hey guys, how have you been?” Hattie gave them a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Better than you. Harry messaged me earlier about quavers I hear my future God child is messing you around.”

“You could say that again, I haven’t been able to eat anything the only thing this baby likes is water.”

“Everyone please be quiet recording is about to start.”

Hattie sat herself down on the lawn as she knew she was already tired and the standing was not going to help. Harry interview was good until he asked about Cherry. Her heart broke a bit knowing that Camille voice was at the end she had heard bits of the album but this was new news it felt like another stab as to why she was not perfect. Especially now with her body about to change and the mood swings she was going to become Harry’s worse nightmare.

Everyone packed up and left Hattie spoke with Mitch while Harry thanked everyone. She questioned him on tour and stuff wanting to know she realised her and Harry hadn’t spoken about him being away but he had just annouced a tour right on the due date.

“I am pretty excited to travel again, you will have to fly out when you can we need more adventures like last time. Tokyo that was the best one you disappeared for two hours and we found you in the bathroom Harry shat himself.”

“I won’t be able to fly out much I am pretty sure you can’t fly after seven or eight months.”

“Oh my gosh I forgot when are you due?”

“13th July.”

“But we are away?”

“Me and Harry haven’t discussed the baby much at the moment Mitch. We are only just talking again.”

“He will sort it like Harry would skip the birth of his child.” He seemed so certain but Hattie didn��t want to demand he was there she wanted him to be there if he wanted to.

“It’s a new thing men in delivery rooms and anyway I am trying to forget that bit of my pregnancy. Delivery should be thought about like ten minutes before I go into labour and not a second sooner.” They both laughed the truth was she was petrified to be on her own in the delivery room.

“Um Mitch please can you tell me what Camille says in Cherry?”

“I think you should ask H that not me.”

“You’re right thanks Mitch.”

“I think you guys should talk though, knowing Harry he has forgotten the dates and he will want to be there trust me.” She just nodded as she turned to him he was shaking everyone's hand as they left the house.

“Finally they are gone and I have quavers.” She grabbed the bag of him and ran to the sofa.

Bump and Dumps Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

#one direction #one direction fanfiction #Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfction

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stripestheboar · 6 years

Text

Stagnant Decay: Chapter 8

<<- First

<- Previous

Summary: Papyrus and Dust can’t sleep, so instead they talk about how they can’t sleep.

Don’t want to read it here? Here it is on Ao3.

Dust watched the movie with Papyrus, silent the entire time. As usual, Papyrus didn’t mind, being the one to make most of the side comments about the performance and getting excited during certain scenes of Mettaton showing off his acting chops.

“Oh I love this part,” he grinned happily, resting his skull in his gloved hands while he watched the fabulous robot on screen. Dust listened and nodded along, seemingly more interested in Papyrus than Mettaton. Sans never quite had a liking for robot, but the younger skeleton knew from experience that he wasn’t going to keep him from watching it. Sans was fine with him watching practically anything as long as he got to control the parental lock.

The MTT network always had Papyrus’ favorite shows on, all starring that amazing robot on screen. Miss Toriel and Sans were always a tad judgmental, but what was there to be critical about? He was human-fighting robot/ghost with amazing cooking skills. How could anyone not love Mettaton? He loved his fans almost as much as he loved himself. Ahem, almost. That level of confidence and self-esteem was something the skeleton found himself relating to on a daily basis. Why people didn’t love themselves more always seemed to stump him.

Papyrus hummed along softly to songs and grinned a little wider when the climax of the episode appeared. Occasionally his sockets would turn to peer at the other occupant, whose tired grin didn’t fade as he watched the episode along with him.

“I know him, did you know?” he grinned, looking over at Dust. The sudden comment seemed to surprise the smaller skeleton, who blinked and looked over at him with a furrowed brow. He paused for a minute, tilting his skull slightly from left to right as he thought, and gave a nod. “Yeah, I know that,” he rasped, looking back down at the lap top. “You don’t know him very well, though.” Papyrus was almost offended by that idea, until he thought about it a bit more. “Well, we don’t really hang out anymore. Nor did we ever hang out, to be honest,” he replied, his legs tucking in more as he adjusted the screen. “I see him occasionally, however. Mostly when Frisk enjoys bringing him around whenever he’s on his breaks. We don’t really talk.”

“You wish you were closer, huh?” Dust prodded, no longer looking at the screen, which Papyrus had paused so they could continue to talk. While Papyrus didn’t exactly have a whisper voice, he had turned down the volume significantly so they could chat without waking his brother; if he was in there, of course.

Papyrus gave a slight nod, a gloved hand coming to his face as he nodded slowly. It was almost like he was embarrassed about it. “While I certainly think it as a dream come true,” he hummed, “I have far to busy a schedule to arrange another friendship, especially after all the friends I already have on social media.”

Dust raised he tops of his sockets questioningly. “All twenty-five of them?” he mumbled, to which Papyrus gave him a quick blank stare. No real humor was detected in that statement, but it pestered him all the same. Papyrus crossed his arms in a classic grumpy manner; if he had lips, you could be sure they would be curled right about now. “You ability to know specifically private things is now becoming an annoyance,” he huffed. “How am I supposed to surprise you if I ever gave you a friendship hug from behind?”

Dust didn’t answer the question, knowing it was rhetorical anyways. “So why don’t you talk to him more?” he asked, continuing to pry about Mettaton. A flicker of minor disappointment hit Papyrus, seeing his attempt to divert the conversation had failed. Nonetheless, he responded accordingly. “Mettaton’s always busy,” he shrugged, fiddling with his red gloves. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt his highly involved schedule.” He moved to play the rest of the episode, but the not-Sans seemed to have more to say. “Well he’s in town this month isn’t he?” he pointed out, resting his hands in his own lap. “Why not talk to him the next time you see Frisk. I’m sure he’ll be there.” This suggestion only received a passing glance. “Wowie, all this pre-destined knowledge you’ve attained is making me wish I could see into the future, too,” Papyrus pouted, but his spirits soon lifted back to their usual jovial ways. “But if you insist, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind striking up a chat with someone as great as me!” He looked over at his smaller companion with a fond grin as he began to play the rest of the episode. “You’re quite the motivator, did you know that? You’re so very helpful, kind of like that phone Frisk has that stores up all those items. Alphys is currently making a few for all of us, so I’m excited for mine.”

Upon the episode ending, he shut the laptop and put it to the side. “You’re also a good chat! I enjoy talking to you.”

Dust’s faded grin twitched upwards slightly, letting out a small chuckle. “Thanks, Paps.” His eyelights shifted, focusing back up on him. “So can talk about why you’re in the closet?” He had a quick look around the closed space. “Any skeletons in your closet?”

Papyrus put a hand proudly to his chest, closing his sockets. “The Great Papyrus never has any skeletons in his closet!” He paused, looking to the side. “Well, except me, sometimes. And I suppose you now, too! Welcome to the great closet of Papyrus, then.”

Dust didn’t reply, awaiting his response. He didn’t seem impatient, however. Like everything about him, he just took it slow, as if he had all the time in the world to just sit there and wait for something that could possibly never come his way. Even Sans wasn’t ever this sedated. At least Sans had this small bounce to him that kept him on his toes to tell a pun or time a joke just right. Dust wasn’t like that. Everything about him was slowed down by a good hundred percent; even the way he blinked was sluggish.

Papyrus didn’t realize he hadn’t answered the question until the silence became more than apparent. Sans would have filled the void with a joke, but Dust seemed contempt to let it be.

“I’m not a big fan of naps,” Papyrus decided on, clasping his fingers together. “You may see others take hours and hours of naps as night, but I enjoy putting my time into better use.”

Dust looked down at the laptop, but seemed to think of a better comment than the obvious. “Why don’t you like to sleep, Papyrus?” he asked.

Papyrus watched him for a moment, deciding whether or not to actually answer such personal questions. He still valued his privacy, after all.

“Well, have you seen those lasers in Hotland? The lasers and conveyor belts?” he asked back, though he didn’t pause for an answer. “Those are my least favorite kinds of nightmares.”

Silence once again reigned, only interrupted by a soft chuckle from Dust, who seemed to find some humor in his comment. “Yeah. Nightmares. I get you. You had those a lot growing up, huh?” There was another chuckle, this time louder as he put a hand to his chest, rubbing at his sternum over his coat that Sans had (unknowingly) lent to him. Papyrus opened his mandible to possibly say something to him, but was soon interrupted when Dust looked up into his sockets, his grin spreading with a slight tremble. “D-do… do you think you’d sleep better if you had a bedtime story?” he whispered, his eyelights seeming to grow in brightness as he asked the question. This took the other by surprise, as he wasn’t expecting such a question. “A bedtime story?” he scoffed. “The Great Papyrus is in no need for a bedtime story. He can get himself to sleep whenever he wants to.”

“But you’ll have nightmares again,” Dust pointed out, “like you always used to.” Papyrus paused, having to take his question into deep consideration, but ultimately shook his head. “No thank you,” he declined. “As much as I appreciate it, I’m past that. I haven’t had a bedtime story read to me since-“

“Since the Underground,” Dust finished for him, visibly shivering in the darkness of the closet. “Yeah… I understand.”

“You’re cold again,” Papyrus noted, taking hold of the skeleton’s humerus, causing him to jolt in surprise at the touch. Papyrus didn’t flinch, however, almost expecting this out of him every time. He took Dust’s trembling hand in his, covering it with his firm gloves, watching him lower his head and hug himself with his other arm until the shaking was reduced back to its minimum. Papyrus gently squeezed his hand, a comforting gesture to let him know he was going to be alright. “Why don’t we talk about you instead?” he offered. “After all, you woke up fairly quickly from your sleep. Why can’t you sleep? You always look tired after all, what with your shoulders all slumped and how slow you are. It’s like you’ve become lazier… but not really at the same time.”

Dust blinked, lowering his skull slightly as his eyelights seemed to dull slightly. “I just have too much to think about,” he murmured, bringing a hand back to bring his hood back up over his skull. “Too much for sleep, anyways. They like to keep me awake when I need rest, so I tend to skip sleep altogether.”

“‘They’? Who’s that?” Papyrus inquired, now curious as to who was keeping Dust awake. “If they are disturbing you from your busy schedule, you must tell them to politely back off of your beeswax.”

Dust couldn’t seem to help but chuckle at this, shaking his head as he rose a hand and placed it on his own sternum. “No one. Just my thoughts. They keep me up at night.” Papyrus slowly let go of his hand, but was surprised to find him still holding on tightly after he let go. He didn’t mind, however, instead using it as an opportunity to pull his friend towards him and into his lap, taking the surprised and stiffening Dust and wrapping his arms around him in a small hug. The smaller skeleton was slow to react, but soon responded by doing the same, resting his head against the other’s ribcage in a noticeably exhausted fashion.

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?” Papyrus asked softly, keeping him close as he lessened the usually loud tone of his voice. To this, he didn’t receive an answer for several minutes, to which he was happy to wait for. It had to be no more than a couple of days. After all, he was almost an exact copy of Sans, and if he knew anything about copies of Sanses, it was that they liked to sleep. Sure, it was a bit of an annoyance, but it was Sans they were talking about. Papyrus had learned to accept it overtime, knowing his brother wouldn’t ever change unless the world might be ending. Even then, he might be too lazy to really do anything about it.

“I don’t know.”

Papyrus paused, taken aback by the answer. “Excuse me?” he replied, to which he got the same answer. “I don’t know.”

It took Papyrus a few seconds to respond, unsure of how to even go about it.

“You… you don’t know the last time you slept?” he asked carefully, unsure of himself now. He felt his soul ache when Dust slowly nodded against his chest.

“I can’t remember,” he rasped, closing his sockets as he spoke. “I… just don’t know.”

Papyrus didn’t speak. Memories of the dust pile and the bones flashed through his skull as he suddenly felt as weak as Dust right about then. An empathetic sadness filled his soul as his arms wrapped tighter around the smaller skeleton.

“Would… a bedtime story help you rest easier?” he asked, pulling himself away some to look down at him properly. Dust visibly tensed, clearly surprised by the proposal. Nonetheless, he gave a slow nod, his lights of his sockets beginning to glow brighter once again. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he murmured, releasing his arms from Papyrus. However, it was Papyrus who refused to let go this time, taking a curt stand with Dust almost cradled in his arms as he made an exit out of the closet.

Setting Dust gently on the edge of the bed, Papyrus looked over the bookshelf, before picking out a large, thin book and handing it over to his companion. “I would like this one, please,” he requested, before snuggling under the bedsheets with a small grin. “You can start at the beginning, or else it won’t make sense.”

Dust looked down at the thin book, his sockets able to read the large, colorful title, even in the dark. However, he turned on the lamp on the nightstand, just so Papyrus could see the pictures. Papyrus always loved seeing the pictures. His grin widened as he turned the cover to the title page for the pajama-clad skeleton to properly see it’s imaginative colors.

“Peek-a-Boo with Fluffy Bunny,” he read aloud. He stopped for a moment, lowering his skull as if to take a deep breath. Papyrus waited with anticipation, no longer feeling the embarrassment he once had whenever thinking of this exact situation. He leaned forward, giving Dust a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, one hat was rewarded with a soft grin. Then, he began to read the book to Papyrus softly under the dull light of the shaded lamp.

Papyrus had to admit: that ending got him.

#Stagnant Decay #Dusttale #dust!Sans #Dusttale Sans #Papyrus #Undertale #Coonfics

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midsummervixen · 7 years

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Hideaway, Chapter 3

Here you are my lovelies! Chapter 1

Chapter 2 The next chapter is already completed. I plan on posting it Wed. But if I get lots of love in form of Loves, reblogs and Anons, I might feel inclined to post it sooner. ;)

I was laying out on my blanket under my normal tree waiting for Harry to join me. We decided to meet today at “our” beach, as he called it, to start picking adventures together. I don’t know why I trusted Harry so quickly but there was just something about him. He knew who I was and was a fan of my books but didn’t act any different around me. It was as if he was completely unfazed by me. It was a rare thing these days and I was enjoying it. Not to mention that he was very easy on the eyes. I’m not looking for any sort of romantic involvement but it doesn’t hurt to enjoy the view.

I had my headphones in and my iPad out in front of me. I was humming along to some Taylor Swift, my guilty pleasure, as I brainstormed yet again. Harry plopped down next to me and scared me. I let out a yelp and jumped, pulling out my headphones.

“Harry! You startled me!” I squeaked. He chuckled and dropped his bag next to us.

“Well, if you weren't so involved in your Taylor Swift you would have heard me greet you as I was walking up.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I was quickly learning to be a bit of a nervous habit of his. I wondered what he was nervous about. He was the one who had suggested this meeting.

“You knew what I was listening to Swift just by my humming a few lines?” I asked, wondering if he was a big fan of her’s too. He started to turn red. I grinned, realizing I had embarrassed him. “Oh my gosh. Harry. Don’t tell me you are a secret fan.” I giggled.

“I’m just particularly aware of that song and a few others as well.” He mumbled. I cocked my eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Why are you so, as you put it, ‘particularly aware’, of that song, Harry.” I teased when he failed to say more. I could tell this was getting a rise out of him and I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. He let out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead before meeting my eyes.

“Liv, I’ve been…there is something…” He stuttered. “Liv I need to tell you something. You might get mad at me but I need to tell you before we start our adventures together.” He rushed out.

“What is it Harry? What could possibly make me mad? I’ve only known you a few days.” I was concerned. I knew I trusted him too easily. The possibilities quickly danced through my mind. Was he paparazzi, befriending me for the inside story? Maybe that's why he wasn’t fazed by me. He approached me first. He suggested hanging out again. Was I suckered into this? But is that was it, then why would he confess now when he was just starting to get closer to me? I gazed at him, waiting for him to explain further and save me from my negative thoughts. “It's just… I know those songs, Taylor’s songs, really well because quite a few of them were written about me.” He said in one big breath. I just sat staring at him, my jaw slightly hanging open. Now I was starting to question his sanity. Oh My God. What if he was a crazy stalker and he stalked Swift and really believed that she wrote a bunch of her songs about him and now he was stalking me. Did he somehow track me down here? What did I get myself into?

“So, what? You are saying is that you dated Taylor Swift and she wrote a bunch of songs about you?” He nodded. “I… Harry, I don’t understand. I don’t really follow celebrity gossip but I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever seen Taylor linked to other celebrities.” I am confused and growing more concerned.

“That's exactly it, Liv. I am, for lack of a better word, famous. Although I’ve always hated that term, I don’t know how else to put it for understanding’s sake.” He almost whispered. Wait… What? My thoughts halted as I studied his face. I didn’t recognize him. His face was not familiar to me beyond the guy I met a few short weeks ago at the coffee shop. I mean, yeah, I listen to mostly old rock and stuff, but I keep up enough with the modern music and I’m a pretty big movie buff and I’ve never seen him in anything before. Who was this curly haired boy?

“I don’t understand?” I rasp.

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the ground. After taking another deep breath, he met my eyes.

“I didn’t say anything right away because I wasn’t sure if you recognized who I was or not. I didn’t want to sound pompous and ask if you knew who I was. Not to sound egotistical, but it's rare these days that I go unrecognized. When I saw you at the farmer’s market and you had to clarify my name, I knew you didn’t know who I was. It was such a nice moment, and I didn’t know how to bring up, so I didn’t. But it isn’t fair to you not to be fully honest with you. Somehow we both wanted to get away from Hollywood and wound up on the same beach.” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry… I’m still not really grasping this. What do you do? who are you? Your name is Harry right?” I wasn’t even sure if he had given me his real name.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m Harry. Harry Styles. I sing in a band called One Direction. Or sang in, as it were. We are on an extended, maybe indefinite, break at the moment.” He clarified. One Direction… That name sounded familiar. I think I remember my little sister like them and had a poster on her wall. Styles also sounded familiar. If this is true, then, Holy.Shit. He dated Taylor Swift? Wow. I processed all this for a few moments before looking up at him. His lips were pulled in a tight line and his forehead was furrowed. I could tell he was worried I was taking this badly.

“I am processing this. But you being a singer is better then the crazy stalker ideas that shot through my head when you first mentioned Taylor’s songs being written about you.” I laughed. Harry relaxed a little when I laughed and chuckled a little along with me. “So the snap backs and the big glasses you are always wearing? It's your disguise?” I ask. He nods. “Well I guess it worked because I have no idea who you are.” I laughed. “Not that I probably would have anyway.” He grinned widely at my words.

“I have to admit, this is a weird situation for me to be in. I can’t remember the last time I recognized someone and geeked out a bit over their work and not been recognized myself.” He confessed.

“Did I knock your ego down a few pegs, Harry?” I teased. I found it fun to poke at him a little bit. He was easy to fluster.

“Shush you. It's actually a breath of fresh air. I like it.” He rubbed his hand along his neck once more. “So, you’re really not angry at me for not telling you?” He asked.

“Of course not, Harry. Honestly, if you had just befriended me and not recognized me, I would have never told you who I was.” I pulled my iPad out and typed “Harry Styles” in the search bar.

“Wait, you’re googling me?” He yelped. “What are you doing that for?” He peered over my shoulder at the results.

“Well, since I have absolutely know idea what this Harry Styles bloak looks like I’ve just got to make sure you’re not yanking my chain.” I joke. But my words soon fade and disappear as my browser is suddenly filled with dozens of news articles, pictures and links. Wow. He is like Really Really famous. All the pictures are of him in various ages. From the looks of it, he started out really young.

I quickly close the browsing window and clear my throat. “Congratulations Harry, you are, in fact, who you say you are. I’m thoroughly impressed.” He laughs a little at that and lays back on the blanket. “So you and Swifty, huh?” At this, he busts up laughing and shakes his head.

“Don’t even go there.” He snickers. I lay next to him and giggle as well. I can’t help but think us meeting was meant to be.

“So, you asked before, so now it’s my turn. Why Kauai?” He takes a deep breath and sits quietly for a few moments.

“I really wanted to disappear for awhile. I spent holidays down in St Barts but the trip wasn’t what I expected. Kauai is quiet. I needed a break from the public eye. I can hide here for a while. I needed a hideaway, I guess.” He explains. I just quietly nod, completely understanding him. The paps were what drove me away from LA. I was glad we both found this little slice of heaven that seemed to be completely free of them.

“I needed a hideaway too. Kauai is a great escape.” I breathed.

“I knew the moment I saw you that you were hiding too.” Harry whispered. “You changed your hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture or interview of yours that you are not accompanied by your hot pink hair.” He reached up and ran one finger through my dark brown mane. He was right. I have been dying my hair an ombre pink for years.

“The point of coming here was to blend in. So, I called my hairdresser and had a good cry with him as we chopped nearly 12 inches of pink off and dyed the rest back to my natural dark brown. It’s weird to not have the pink anymore, but I guess it was time to grow up.” I ran my hand through my shoulder length brown hair. It was such a change from the vibrant pink that I have been sporting, but for some reason this felt like the right change.

“I like the brown. It suits you, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss seeing the pink.” He winked at me. “Do you think you will go back to the pink once you are done hiding out?” He asked.

“I’m not sure. Probably. I loved the pink and I miss it a lot. But I think I like this length a bit more. It's more manageable, I guess.” I started to giggle. “You are just full of surprised, Mr. Styles. Here we are, laying on the most beautiful beach in the world, if you ask my opinion, and we are discussing hair.” I chuckled.

Silence seeps between us. I find myself really struck with the fact that he told me who he was without any hesitation, but I was hiding behind my pen name still. To be fair, very few people knew my real name. Outside of my family and a few close friends from growing up, no one knew my real name. I have been Liv Constantine for so long that I often forget about the other side of me. Harry takes notice of my furrowed eyebrows.

“You’ve gone quiet on me.” He murmured, poking my cheek.

“It’s Olivia.” I all but whispered.

“What?” Harry asks. He rolled on his side and propped his head up on his elbow facing me.

“My name is Olivia Costantini. Not Liv Constantine. That’s a pen name.” I admit. “Although, sometimes I feel like Liv has taken over and Olivia is nowhere to be found.” I sighed. “Almost no one in my everyday life knows my real name.” I paused and fought back tears I didn’t know I had. “That’s really sad isn’t it. All these people I call friends and co-workers. Hell, even my ex-boyfriend. They don’t really know me at all. They don’t even know something as simple as my real name.” I spilled out.

I closed my eyes, waiting for him to respond. I don’t know what made me speak so openly with him. I don’t know him, not really, anyway, but here I am spilling my heart out to him about things I didn’t even realize were bothering me.

“Olivia.” Harry said softly.

I felt a tear slip out. I moved my hand to wipe it away but felt a soft touch gently wipe across my cheek before I could. I opened my eyes and met Harry’s piercing green ones.

“I’m so thankful you deemed me worthy to know something about you so few people do.” He spoke softly.

“I want to just be Olivia here. I’m leaving Liv in LA for a while.” I said softly.

“Well, Harry Styles is definitely my real name, not a stage name. I got blessed with damn cool name.” Harry joked. I laughed and pushed his shoulder until he fell back onto his back.

I grabbed my tablet and pulled up Youtube and typed in One Direction into the search bar.

“What are you doing now?” he huffed, trying to steal my tablet away.

“It's only fair, Harry. You are intimately aware of my work and I don’t know yours at all.” I insisted, pulling the tablet back. “But to be fair, I will let you pick what video I watch.” I turn the screen towards him. He pinched his bottom lip between his finger and thumb as we scanned through the listed videos together. After a few minutes of debating, he pulled up a group of videos.

“I want something you wrote, Harry.” I said. He nodded and selected a video titled “Perfect the London Session”. We shared my headphones as we watched. He was acting nervous. I wondered what it would be like to lay next to someone as they read my books for the first time. Fairly unnerving, I imagine.

The song ended and I was very impressed with his raspy voice. It was deep and rich. I found myself wishing he had more solos throughout the song. As the video ended, the next one started, “Drag Me Down, London Session”. Harry started to sit up, but I insisted on watching. “You got three books out of me, Mister, I get three songs.” He just shook his head and laid back down. Harry started this song started and had more lines to himself. It was even better than perfect. As the song came to an end, he started to belt out some crazy notes. I felt my eyebrows shoot practically to my hairline. He was damn good. Way better than I expected. The song ended and i cleared my throat and looked over at Harry. His cheeks were tinted pink.

“This is a little embarrassing.” He mumbled. I just grinned at him.

“Harry! You’re like, really good.” I exclaimed. He just chuckled. “I mean, I know you are a world famous singer, but… I don’t know what my point is other than I’m completely impressed and I’m going to make it my mission to get you to sing as often as possible on our adventures.” I rambled. He laughed and picked a different video then the cued one as my last song.

“This one is one of my favorites on our last album.” He said softly, laying his arm back down and letting me listen to Infinity. It was just as amazing as the other two. Harry had some big vocals in this one as well. I just shook my head and couldn’t stop grinning. I can’t believe I didn’t listen to them before. They were really good.

“So, now that you know all about me…” Harry trailed off.

“There is no way I could know all about you from three songs, Harry.” I replied.

“Yeah, I mean, like, who I am.” He stumbled over his words a bit. “Anyway. What adventure did you want to do first?” He changed the subject so well that I decided to let him for now.

“I was thinking we could do this hike in the Waimea Canyon. Its suppose to be tough but you end up on top of a waterfall at the end. It looks amazing.” I pulled up a few hiking guides with pictures and reviews. We soon lost any awkwardness that had snuck up between us and fell into easy conversation about our first outing together

#Hideaway #Hideaway chapter 3 #Harry styles #Harry Styles One Shot #Harry Styles Imagine #Harry Styles Fanfiction #Harry styles Fan Fiction #Imagine Harry Styles #One Direction #one direction fanfiction

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