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curlyhairedhoseok · 4 years

Text

my patient

requested by @z-stitch

word count: 6.4k

pairing: psychiatrist!reader x patient!namjoon

warnings: mentions of murder, schizophrenia, mental illnesses, smut, fingering, spanking, creampie, unprotected sex (use protection), vaginal sex, oral sex, fluffish

author’s note: I am sorry if this sucks. also the smut is at the end cause i am lame. also i didn’t proof read. sorry. its like 1am here and i am tired.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim, I hope you slept well,” You said through the door’s grated window. The patient just smirked as he stood by the window, waiting for his morning medications to come through the small slot in the door. “As you know, I had to up the dosage on your Clozapine. Nothing big, but a little more should help with the things that you explained to me during our last two sessions.” You explained while sorting his various medications.

“Let’s be real, you're just drugging me up so that you can sneak into my room and steal me away.” Namjoon teased. You cracked a small smile before pushing the small tray into the slot.

“With the increased dosage there are some side effects that can occur; dry mouth, headaches, dizziness, and fatigue. So please make sure you are telling the guards so that I can make any adjustments that might be needed,” You finished before leaving the door.

There were very few patients that you delivered their medications to but Namjoon was one of them. You and he had built a somewhat pleasant relationship, which came as a surprise to you. In the beginning, Namjoon was set on making your job as difficult as possible. You were no therapist but you did like to have more personal conversations with your clients since being in such a barren environment was not always easy.

You knew that on certain days Namjoon was restrained and thrown into a solitary cell, those were his bad days. On his good days, he seemed fine, good enough to interact with others at the hospital. You liked to forget his bad days and only liked to pay attention to his good days but it was hard to ignore the fact that he was sick and needed help. After all, he was put into a mental hospital for a reason. This fact helped to bring you back when you found yourself lingering too much on Mr. Kim.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Namjoon was sitting in his cell, attempting to read one of the books you had given to him when he heard your voice from down the hall. He set the book down and had quietly crept towards the door to listen in on the conversation. He could tell by your tone that whatever you were hearing you were not pleased with.

“I think that would be a terrible idea. He is improving here, I see it every time we meet. When was the last time he was put in The Hole? Exactly. Other patients will benefit from a transfer to such a facility. He doesn’t need punishment anymore, what he needs is rehabilitation.” He heard you exclaim. A quiet moment went by before he heard your soft knock on the door and the guard’s keys jiggling. He shot up from his spot on the floor and sat down on his bed with his book.

“What have I done now?” Namjoon teased after his door opened. You smiled and shook your head before closing the door behind you. Namjoon always found it interesting that you chose to close his door but yet you would keep other patient’s doors open during their sessions.

“I came to check up on you,” You explained while pulling his small desk chair out, to sit on.

“Well, I’m bored,” He began. He was scooching up the bed until he could rest against the metal headboard so that he could get a good look at you. “I’m feeling a little...frustrated.” He admitted, his eyes burning into yours.

“Bored? I’m afraid there is not much I can do about that although I could get you another book even though you are supposed to be here as a punishment. Now, what do you mean, frustrated?”

“Do you believe that it was me?” He asked, disregarding your question.

“Believe what?”

“That I tried to kill him? My father.” He clarified. His eyes were staring at your form, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what is going through your mind.

“I believe that we all have done things that we are not proud of. But the only thing that matters is getting better and that's where I come in.” You attempted to redirect the conversation. His mind was working against his better judgment when he attacked his father and he just couldn’t handle it anymore. You also believed that his father might have deserved the attempted attack “Now, tell me about being frustrated.”

“I’m frustrated that I am still stuck here. Just imagine the fun we could have” He described with a small chuckle at the end.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” You asked as you took notes. Some of the comments you found hard not to crack a smile at. You had a small smile painted on and so, of course, Namjoon had to point it out.

“What are you smiling for? If I am stuck in here that means no fun for us.”

“Okay, enough,” You muttered while giving him a pointed look. “If there is nothing else you would like to tell me then I must be going because much to your dismay, I have other patients.” You made your way to the door before Namjoon called your name.

“Dr. (Y/L/N)? Am I being transferred to another facility?” He asked. You could hear the concern in his voice and you found it hard to try and lie to him.

“No, you are staying here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a quiet day at the institution, you had no sessions today so your entire day was supposed to be dedicated to reviewing patients’ files and deciding who was allowed to be integrated with the other patients.

That changed when you received a phone call from the lead security guard.

You all but sprinted down the hall to The Hole. Three security guards were outside of the secluded cell, talking amongst themselves.

“Excuse me, I need to speak with Mr. Kim.”

“Listen, I know he is your patient but right now he is solitary which means no one gets in to talk to him.” The guard explained.

“I know what that means but I need to speak to him. I am his doctor and right now I need to talk to my patient so that this all can be avoided in the future.” You persisted. The guard sighed before unlocking the door. The heavy metal door creaked open to reveal Namjoon sitting on a bed, his hands were strapped into the jacket. He had his back to you and was facing out the single window. He didn’t say anything which you found unusual.

“Mr. Kim,” You started. His head turned slightly as if to show that he was listening. “Can you tell me why you are here?”

You were only met with silence, he turned to face the window once again. You sat on the bed with the intention of not leaving until he answered. Even in the beginning when he was dead set on making your job difficult he still said something.

“Namjoon, you can be honest with me. What happened?” You asked once more.

“Are you asking as my doctor?” He whispered. “I attacked a guard. He was talking about you. I could hear him from my room. When he came in-,” He cut himself off quickly when he heard the door opening. The head of the institute, Mr. Choi, was standing in the doorway, motioning for you to go into the hall.

“Mr. Kim, your next session is in two days. I hope that we can make progress.” You said before leaving. You followed the head into the hallway, but you refused to talk to him. You made it into your office when he finally started talking.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), I need to discuss your status at this institution.”

“My status?” You all but snapped at Mr. Choi. “Is there something wrong?”

“Since the last psychiatrist left, it has just been you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re great at your job but there is just not enough of you for all the patients. A new psychiatrist is coming in, as the head of the psychiatric unit.”

“Very well, I can’t wait to meet them. When will they be joining me?” You asked with a tight-lipped smile. It took everything in yourself to not flip out at the man in front of you. You were the best psychiatrist that the institute had seen in years, and now they were degrading your work but you had to respect their decision no matter what since you were never hired as a solo working doctor.

“They will be starting next week. Once they arrive some of the patients you once had will go to the other doctor, Dr. Jung.” Mr. Choi had explained. You nodded and began gathering another patient’s file as Mr. Choi continued to explain the upcoming changes.

“Thank you, Mr. Choi, but I have to go check up on the rest of my patients. Please email me if there will be more accommodations that have to be made.” You curtly thanked him. Mr. Choi quietly shut the door on his way out and it wasn’t until you heard the door ‘click’ did you finally let out a groan of frustration.

A new doctor would complicate things but you knew that you needed help with the amount of work around the institution, it was never your job to run the mental health ward all alone. You silently prayed that the new doctor would make gradual adjustments, not only for the patients’ sake but also for your own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the week passed by relatively quickly for you, so when Monday came around you felt like you could take on any problems presented to you. However, that was before you stepped foot into what used to be just your office.

Your desk had been moved to one side which mirrored another desk across the room. The new doctor was here and it felt bittersweet. His side of the room was plain so far while your side was filled with various filing cabinets and bookshelves. As you set your bag on your chair you noticed two filing cabinet drawers that were wide open and empty.

A knock on the door startled you but you were met with a handsome cheery face.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), right? It’s nice to meet you, I am Dr. Jung, but you can call me Hoseok,” He introduced. You smiled back at him and told him your name too. “I hope it is okay that I took some of the patient files. Mr. Choi was the one who opened them.”

You quickly nodded in assurance, “It’s completely fine. If you ever have questions about certain patients don’t be afraid to ask. Sometimes it takes them a while to trust you since you are not a nurse or their typical therapist but most of them warm up pretty quickly.”

He thanked and took a seat at his desk before you unloaded your bag. You walked over to the filing cabinet ready to get started for the day when you noticed a few typical patients of yours were missing. You figured that they were now Hoseok’s patients since they were all known to need more attention and observation, and as the head psychiatrist, it was his job to deal with the more extreme cases.

As you made your way through the institute and down your patient list, you were surprised by how quickly the morning medication distributing was going. You were done before ten in the morning which rarely ever happened before.

Perhaps Hoseok being here isn’t that bad after all, you thought to yourself.

As the week progressed, you were quick to notice how Namjoon was no longer on your patient list. It wasn’t until you walked past his assigned room that you noticed he wasn’t in there and neither were any of his books.

You rushed off to your shared office and began searching his name up in the system. Thankfully, he was just relocated but he was relocated to the isolation wing. The isolation wing was different from The Hole in the sense that The Hole was for patients to be separated from everyone for a short period of time, typically while the patient calmed down. The isolation wing, on the other hand, meant that the patient was too dangerous for other patients to interact with as well as doctors, guards, and visitors.

Why he was moved seemed beyond you since Namjoon had never had an issue with other patients since he was put on medication, which was over five year years ago. All patients started there but he was quickly moved once he showed progress. He only had issues with guards but the guards were not always the kindest to the residents.

“Excuse me, Dr. Jung, I was curious as to why one of my previous patients, Mr. Kim Namjoon, was moved to the isolation wing?”

“Please, call me Hoseok,” He started and you nodded while muttering a quick ‘Of course’. “Mr. Kim was relocated after he attacked his brother Kim Taehyung while he was visiting and another patient by the name of Park Jimin. All parties were okay but these were not isolated incidents. His previous attack on the guard a week ago indicates that his behavior is growing more erratic with time. Given his violent history with his father, Mr. Choi and I decided that it was appropriate to move him to the isolation wing.”

The news baffled you since Kim Taehyung was a pretty regular visitor and Park Jimin was one of the few residents Namjoon actually enjoyed interacting with. “Thank you, I was just surprised that’s all.” You explained.

“I have been a doctor for a few years now and the one thing I noticed is that people like him are unpredictable, they change at a moment's notice. It is our job to help them.”

“I am well aware, thank you.” You practically sneered. You did not appreciate the way Dr. Jung referred to Namjoon and others like him. While you were sure he meant no harm, it just rubbed you the wrong way.

That night you decided to stay longer, just to organize some files and try to get things ready for the upcoming weekend. Hoseok had left a few hours ago, and the clock was nearing nine o'clock at night. Most residents were in bed by now or doing their nightly routine. You found yourself quietly walking towards the isolation wing, with Namjoon’s room number and key in hand.

12...13...14...15, you counted in your head as you stopped at the fifteenth door.

There were no guards in the wing right now since the shift change was about to happen. Night crew was going to be here soon which meant you had little time to get in and out. Doctors were not permitted on this side of the hospital unless granted authorization by Mr. Choi and now, Dr. Jung since he was head of the psychiatric unit

You released a breath you were holding as you quietly turned the key and opened the door. You shut it behind you as you looked at Namjoon, who was lying there staring at the ceiling. His foot was handcuffed to the footboard and all his books were gone.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), you finally visited me after banishing me here. I wondered how long it would take.” He said, sarcastically.

“Namjoon, please explain to me what happened.”

“Ask the new doctor.” Was all he replied with. You tried to tell him that you did but Namjoon refused to elaborate.

“Very well, I am sorry that you are here. Just know, this was not my decision as you are no longer my patient.” You whispered before leaving his room. The lights in the hall flickered as you locked the door behind you. There was still no sign of the guards so you slipped out undetected.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month and a half had passed since the night you visited Kim Namjoon for the first time. You tried to make sure he was okay a few times after that but you knew you had to stop when you almost got caught the last time.

“I won’t be able to come to see you anymore. I think they know someone has been getting in, I don’t need them checking the cameras and seeing me sneaking around.” You mentioned. As usual, it was pretty silent on Namjoon’s end. He talked much less these days and just listened.

“I must be going, hopefully, I can convince Dr. Jung to move you back into your old room. I think it would help you.” You quietly said.

“Help me or help you?” He finally broke his silence and just stared at you. It had been almost three weeks since he had last spoken to you. You felt like he was angry with you.

“Help us.” You confessed. Your treatment and favoritism went beyond just being his old doctor, and you both knew that. “I am trying to help you which in turn will give me peace of mind.” You closed the door after that and you felt like you just revealed to him a huge secret. In part, it was big since you finally admitted that you worried about him daily.

As you were heading back to your office to pick up your bag and laptop before you left, you were surprised to see the office light shining from under the closed door since you could definitely recall turning it off before you went to visit Namjoon. As you opened the door, you saw Hoseok, who you thought had left an hour ago.

“(y/n),” He began and motioned for you to sit at your own desk. “It has come to my attention that you have been staying longer but I don’t know what for. Would you care to fill me in on that?” He sat down at the chair on the other side of your desk.

“Dr. Jung,” You said pointedly, “I have been just studying each of my new patient’s records and trying to figure out the best way to help them. I like to know these things off the top of my head, I don’t want to have to rely on a folder each time I see them.”

“You care deeply about those assigned to you?”

“Of course, that is why I became a doctor.” You said, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Is that why you have been sneaking off to the isolation wing for weeks now?” He asked bluntly.

“You have no proof that I have been doing such a thing. Besides, any well-trained doctor knows that those patients need more stimulation than they are currently getting. I don’t care if they don’t do well with others, they deserve some sort of fulfillment beyond what we are currently providing.” You defended. You did not take well to being accused of things, even if they were true.

“That’s not why you are going, Dr. (y/l/n). You’re going because your favorite patient got sent there.” He smirked and got up from his seat, walking towards the door.

“I don’t have favorites.” You told him. He raised an eyebrow but continued for the door.

“Well, then I guess you will be pleased to hear that Mr. Kim Namjoon will be moved to another facility, out of the city. One that is more, equipt to deal with his very violent outbursts.” Dr. Jung let slip.

“He is many things but I refuse to believe that he is still a violent man. The only time he has been violent is when he was provoked and off his medications. Yes, he is affected by schizophrenia but that does not make him inherently violent. Besides, you need both of our signatures to send him away and I refuse to sign something that will hurt him.” You argued.

“No, I don’t, not when Mr. Choi already signed for you. Mr. Kim Namjoon will be leaving this institute this Friday. So I suggest that you find someone else to baby.” Hoseok said harshly before slamming the office door.

Your mind began going into overdrive as you began thinking of ways to help him. The only way for him to be released was if a doctor discharged him or he was checked out by his brother, Taehyung.

Your fingers typed furiously fast as you pulled up Namjoon’s records. His younger brother’s number was in his file and you quickly dialed it.

“Hello?” You heard his brother’s voice almost immediately after dialing.

“Hi, I am sorry to bother you at this hour but I am Dr. (Y/L/N), your brother Namjoon’s previous doctor.” You explained. “I was calling about an incident that supposedly happened about two months ago. On file, it says that your brother had a violent outburst while you were visiting him but you never filed a report on the incident.”

“Because there was nothing to file. He didn’t have an outburst, we got into an argument but nothing major. The argument was simply about our mother who recently fell ill.” Taehyung explained. “He was just upset that I didn’t tell him that she fell ill sooner. She is better now but I haven’t had the chance to tell him. They won’t even let me send him a letter.”

“They recently moved him to another wing which does not really allow mail,” You carefully explained. “However if you send me a letter written to him I can try and have it delivered to him.” You offered. As the call ended, you felt like Dr. Jung was doing more harm than good. He was proving to be a thorn in your side and a damn good liar.

You looked over to your clock and you realized that right about now all the night time guards typically took a break, leaving one in charge of watching the cameras and making sure no one did anything out of the ordinary.

You knew right now was the only time to get Namjoon out without anyone suspecting something. You pulled up a release slip and printed it out before forging Dr. Jung’s signature. You knew if there was a release slip in Namjoon’s file then when they found the empty cell they would not think much of it and just assume that it was a mistake. You scanned the slip onto the computer and put in the information to make it seem like his release date was yesterday.

When you finished, you grabbed a patient’s profile that needed to be filed while also stealing a hat from your desk and one of Dr. Jung’s white coats before picking up your bag. You locked the office door behind you.

As you made your way to the surveillance room, you took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The night time surveillance guard was a very young man but he was nice. He always helped you in the past if you needed to see some footage, and right now he was the only one with a master key for the handcuffs that held Namjoon to his bed.

“Hey, Jungkook, I had a favor to ask of you before I head out.” You said politely and he nodded for you to come in. “I was wondering if you could go put this patient folder on Mr. Choi’s desk? All the other guards are on break and I know you always have a key.” He smiled and scratched the back of his head but he soon gave in.

“Yeah, what’s so important about it though?” Jungkook asked as he took the folder from you.

“Oh, it’s just Jimin’s folder. I am switching him to a different medication since he isn’t responding to this one well and I need Dr. Choi’s signature since all medication changes need to be run by him, especially after the last doctor started stealing all sorts of medications.” You explained and he nodded in understanding.

“Okay, sure. Can you just stay here and watch the cameras though? I am sure nothing will happen but I can’t be too sure.” You nodded and sat down in the chair that he was previously sitting in.

You watched him through the cameras and waited until he got onto the elevator to position all the cameras away from the stairwells and to turn off the parking lot camera. You looked to the camera that pointed towards Dr. Choi’s office and you saw Jungkook unlocking the door. You replaced the cameras’ image from the isolation wing to live feedback from your office and live feedback from the rowdy group of guards on break.

You heard the elevator ding which meant that Jungkook was just about to come back. You quickly swiped the master key from his desk drawer and slipped it in your white coat pocket. You gathered the extra coat and your bag and stood up while waiting for Jungkook to return.

“Thank you so much Jungkook, you’re a lifesaver. Have a nice night!” You said when he finally came back. Jungkook was not dumb by any means so you had to rush to the isolation wing, which was a floor below you, before he fixed the cameras. When you finally reached Namjoon’s door you quietly stuck the key in and slowly opened the door to avoid any creaking.

“Who is it?” Namjoon asked, it was dark and he couldn’t tell who it was until he heard your voice.

“It’s me. I need you to be quiet. Don’t ask questions.” You said as you grabbed the handcuff master key from your pocket. You unlocked his ankle and handed him the hat and white doctor’s coat. He slipped his laceless shoes on while putting everything else on. You gave him a face mask to wear as you fixed his hat to cover his hair. You hopped when you passed the guards outside they would just assume it was Dr. Jung since that is what Namjoon’s coat said.

“Why are you doing this?” He questioned.

“Because everyone is right. You are my favorite patient and I made a promise that you wouldn’t move facilities. I intend to keep that promise.”

“I didn’t know that you heard,” Namjoon muttered as you made your way out of his room. You left his door wide open before ushering him to the stairwell. You told him to stay quiet in the stairwell as you went back upstairs to Jungkook’s surveillance.

You softly knocked on the door which startled him. He was trying to fix the cameras when he finally looked over his shoulder. “Oh, Dr. (Y/L/N), I’m sorry I didn’t notice you. I was trying to fix the cameras. They must have reset. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I just wanted you to know that there was a door open in the isolation wing. I don’t know who’s room it was but I noticed it when I was leaving. I could have sworn there was a noise coming from down that hall.” You lied and Jungkook sprung into action, heading for the elevator. You could hear him call for the other guards over his walkie talkie. You quickly slipped the master key back into the drawer before running off to the stairwell. You could hear yelling coming from below you which meant the guards from break were taking the stairs.

“Keep your head down and follow my lead,” You whispered to Namjoon as you took his hand and started taking the stairs downstairs. A group of guards rushed past you and Namjoon without even giving both of you a second glance.

As you made it to the parking lot you rushed Namjoon to your car. You could hardly breathe. You and Namjoon got in quickly and it wasn’t until you were driving away did you realize what you had truly done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive to your apartment was silent. Your uneven breathing was the only noise. You had just ruined your entire career for one man, a man you barely knew beyond his mental health issues.

“Dr. (Y/L/N),” Namjoon started as you pulled into your parking complex.

“It’s (Y/N),” You cut him off. You shut the car off and leaned your head against the steering wheel. “We can talk once we get to my apartment.”

The elevator ride to your apartment was also silent. You quickly unlocked the door and rushed him inside. When the door was closed you let out a deep sigh. Namjoon took off the doctor’s coat, the hat, and the mask which left him in his clothes from the institute.

You wandered into your bedroom and pulled some of your ex’s old clothes out for Namjoon.

“This is all I have, I hope it fits.” You muttered before heading into the bathroom. “I’m going to clean up and we can talk when I come out.” You shut the door to the en suite bathroom and turned the shower on.

Your mind flooded with the reality of what you had done. You stripped your clothes off and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt good against your skin and helped calm you down. You were so enraptured in the feeling of the water that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open nor did you sense the presence of another person.

It wasn’t until you heard the glass door slide open did you finally see Namjoon. His body was rid of anything clothing and you tried to keep your eyes focused on his face.

“Namjoon, what are you doing?” You meekly asked. He motioned to the shower and moved to step under the showerhead. As his back was to you, you admired his back. His smooth skin seemed so inviting. He turned to face you and you finally allowed yourself to look down. His cock stood hard and proud, his tip was so pink and he was very thick.

“You risked it all for me. Let me repay you.” He explained before smashing his lips against yours. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer. He pushed your body against the shower wall and he let his hand trail down.

His fingers dipped down and you felt him brush over your clit. It had been a while since you had been with anyone, so you could already tell that you were going to be wet. His lips broke from yours as he attached them to your neck. He was leaving kisses all over until he found your sweet spot.

You gave a light moan as he sucked, surely leaving a mark. His fingers played with your clit slightly before Namjoon sunk a finger into you. Your hands that were once caught up in Namjoon’s hair were now on his chest and on his wrist to prevent him from pulling out. He added another finger which made another moan emit from you.

“Oh fuck, Joon,” You let out as his fingered worked in and out. He smirked against your skin before going faster. “Please, don’t stop.” You practically begged. Every word you spoke was like music to his ears. Never in a million years did he imagine he would be with you like this but here you were begging him to keep finger fucking you.

He quickly pulled his hand away and brought one to your throat. “As much as I loved hearing you beg for me to continue, I want to fuck you properly.” He said before he stepped out of the shower. You hated that he left you hanging but you quickly turned off the shower. You wrapped yourself in a towel after drying your hair. When you walked into your bedroom you saw Namjoon in boxers, waiting for you on the bed.

You let the towel fall and you saw Namjoon’s eyes trail up and down your body. He walked over to you and grabbed your face before roughly kissing you. His hands moved to the back of your thighs so you jumped to wrap your thighs around his waist. He practically threw you onto the soft bed.

His lips attached to your nipples and you threw your head back in bliss. His sweet mouth trailed down your stomach, leaving kisses and stopped between your legs. Your lower half was practically hanging off the edge of the bed, and Namjoon was knelt down before you. You became bashful for a moment and attempted to close your legs but Namjoon forced them open.

“Don’t hide from me.” He growled. He ran his tongue between your slit before paying attention to your clit. Your hands pulled at his hair as he relentlessly tongue fucked you but you finally let out a moan when he stuck two fingers in you as he sucked on your sensitive bud.

“Shit, baby,” you whimpered as you felt an orgasm approaching. “Please, I’m close,” you confessed. Your legs were closing around his head while a wave of pleasure washed over you. “Ah, Joon, fuck, I’m cumming.” You loudly moaned. He continued to lick and suck throughout your orgasm before he stopped. He crawled up towards you and kissed you deeply.

You could taste yourself on him and moaned when you felt his member press into your thigh. Namjoon was an incredibly patient man but all you wanted after that was him inside of you.

“Namjoon, I want you to fuck me.” You said. He let out a small chuckle and went to peel the boxers off. His cock was rock hard and he had beads of precum spilling from his tip. He pushed your legs open and put one over his shoulder.

“Fuck baby, you’re perfect,” He admitted while giving his cock a few strokes. He eased into you and he threw his head back in absolute pleasure. “Ah shit, your feel so fucking good.”

“Joon, please just,” You were cut off as he began to thrust into you. “Ah fuck, yes, fuck me harder.” Namjoon couldn’t help but smirk as he fucked into you harder. “Oh my god, yes, just like that. Fuck!” You moaned. You were slightly aware of the fact that your moans only rivaled that of a porn star’s but you didn’t care.

“This pussy is mine, got it?” He growled as his finger played with your clit. You only moaned in response which made him stop his movement.

“Joon, please,” You begged. You tried to move your hips but that only made him pull out. He flipped you over so you were on your stomach. He pulled your hips, forcing your face into the mattress.

“I said, your pussy is mine,” He groaned as he sunk into you again. “Now, who does this cunt belong to?” He slowly asked.

“Fuck, you Joon. I am yours. Now please, use me. Fill me with your cum,” You begged. He began to roughly pound into you after you said that and you muffled your screams with the sheets.

“You’re my slut got it. I’m gonna fuck you so good that this cock is all you think about it.” His hand struck your ass and left a red mark as he continued to fuck into you. Your lust-filled screams flooded the bedroom, and you knew for a fact that your neighbors could hear.

As he fucked into you, he reached down to get a grip on your hair. He pulled you up and brought his mouth to your ear while holding your hands behind your back. “Fuck baby girl, you’re pussy is so tight. Like it was made for me.” He grunted.

“It was, fuck Joon, I was made for you.” You moaned. He let go of your hair and slapped your ass again. “I’m close.” You said.

“Cum for me, baby, let go,” Namjoon encouraged. Your walls spasmed around his cock and a loud grunt came from him.

“Joon please, cum inside me.” You begged and that was all it took before he covered your walls in white. “Yes, fill me up.” You said innocently with a smile. His thrusts slowed before he pulled out. His cum was dripping from you and you could just tell how full you were.

“Damn baby, you look so good with my cum dripping from you. Just how I like it.” He kissed down your back before getting off the bed. He went into the bathroom and found a rag folded upon some bigger towels.

“Joon, where are you?” You called. He gave a low chuckle before you felt a damp cloth wipe his cum from your thigh.

“I am right here,” He said as he stuck a finger inside of you. “Just so you know, I am far from done with you.” He took it out soon though and laid down next to you once he was done cleaning you up.

You cuddled up next to him and ran your fingers through his hair. He was so handsome and part of you thinks that's why you were able to be swept off your feet by him.

“You know that you can’t go back to work.” He whispered as he kissed the top of your head. You nodded but didn’t say anything. You knew things changed but you were okay with it. “Why did you do it?” You took a second to answer before you got up and straddled him.

“I did it because I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing you again. I didn’t want you to go somewhere without me. I would have missed you too much.” You shyly confessed.

He smiled and nodded as you leaned over to kiss him passionately. Kissing him and being here with him made you feel complete.

“You’re the only person to understand me. I couldn’t ask for anything more,” He told you in between kisses.

“I signed a release form. So even if someone does find you, the form says you were released at the permission of Dr. Jung.” You finally let it slip. He grabbed your face and looked you dead in the eye.

“Never say his name again. I don’t even want you to think about that scumbag. Not while you're with me.” He commanded.

“How about you help me forget about him?” You taunted.

“Gladly.”

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #rm smut #rm au #namjoon au #bts one shot #namjoon one shot #bts requests #bts smut #kim namjoon #kim namjoon smut #namjoon dirty imagine #bts dirty imagine

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

intermission • v | moonshine

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. jihope + seokjin) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: homoerotic tension (?), delulu shippers, seokjin is a nosy motherfucker (as per usual) → words: 7.3K → a/n: it’s been,, ten million years,, sorry to my fox rain readers but let’s just say my brain has been a smoothie for a while but now!! it is still a smoothie but perhaps a little chunkier ;w; anyway, we love jihope in this household,, and seokjin,, is seokjin,, we love him too

— • masterlist | prev | intermission v | next • —

In a small studio apartment somewhere close to your university campus, notoriously handsome and oh-so-talented Kim Seokjin wakes up in cold sweat, his heart beating a mile a second and a chill running down his spine. “There’s been a disturbance in the force,” he mutters lowly to himself, a drop of sweat making its way down his razor-sharp jaw.

He had been in the midst of a wondrous dream wherein he, the universe’s protagonist, was being showered with praise and adoration after the sensational debut of his autobiographical documentary. Men and women alike were at his feet, peppering his heaven-sent toesies with the worship that he deserves. Everyone was there, even you had been there, his self-declared rival! But just as you were about to reach the head of the line, lips puckered and ready to go, Seokjin was ripped away from his kissies without warning.

You, of course, were not the reason for his mind-bending, earth-shattering, cock-jizzing premature arousal from his slumber. No –– Kim Seokjin does not wake up prematurely, for every moment of his life is a beacon of perfection. Only events of the most catastrophic order were able to wake him up from his slumber, so whatever cosmic force caused him to awaken must’ve been no joke. He had to take this seriously, as it might mean thousands of lives were at stake.

Seokjin jumps to his feet with a flourish, his entire body oozing grace, so much so that it would make any grown ballerina cry. He rushes to unplug his phone from its charger, unlocking it and immediately going to search through his social media accounts. As he scans through the tweets and posts, his well-trained eye sifts through the dreary and the mundane, his only intent to find whatever it is that might forewarn him of a natural disaster.

His follower count is stable. His engagement graphs show that his posts are at an all-time high. To any other novice, this might have been a sign that his gut feeling had been nothing but a fluke. Surely, nothing is wrong in the universe? But no, Seokjin is not some mere amateur! He wouldn’t be as successful at being a prick celebrity social media influencer if he didn’t have the reflexes that he did. He has to keep searching and pick out any little thing that might indicate that something was amiss.

It takes a hot minute (three hours to be exact) for Seokjin to find it, but he does. And oh, his intuition had been right: this was a level nine catastrophe. To give you an understanding of what that might mean, then here’s some context to scale: a level eight catastrophe would be if you ever found that he might have had a crush on you when you first met each other; a level ten catastrophe would be if Kim Seokjin lost all his followers overnight and was forced to relinquish his title as an Instagram baddie. So yes, level nine was dire, if not almost life-threatening.

The evidence?

...

To the untrained eye, it might look like nothing. But to a delulu devoted JiHope stan? This was a living nightmare.

Oh god, the signs are all there! The context, the timestamps, the emojis… They all made sense in Seokjin’s complicated maze of a mind. Like a seasoned detective, he’s able to connect all the dots to make a valid hypothesis that yes, JiHope is in danger of breaking up*.

[Addendum: Please note that JiHope has never dated before. Kim Seokjin is a lunatic and the constraints of reality do not apply to those of his kind. Please read the rest of this report with that in mind. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

“FUCK!” he exclaims (with feeling), dropping to his knees as he cries (with feeling). The signs are all there: something is causing a rift between his two favorite homos* from staying together and he, as the chosen one, must do something to save them before it’s too late.

[Addendum: Well, technically he’s right, but Jimin is bisexual at the very least, but that’s a matter of semantics… But that’s pretty much as “factual” as Kim Seokjin is ever going to get, so let’s take that as a blessing. Noted by: Min Yoongi (again).]

He can’t jump headfirst into this madness, however. He needs a plan; not only did it need to be foolproof, but it also had to be undeniably fabulous and downright heinous. Seokjin never did see himself as the morally right hero from those dreary Marvel comic books despite the allure of their skintight spandex and ostentatious capes. No–– Seokjin is of a higher calling, one where the hero needs to pull his dirtiest tricks in order to save the day.

Which is why Seokjin finds no error in his ways when he decides to stalk Jimin and Hoseok throughout their day, trying to pinpoint which clogs in his JiHope machine need oiling and lubing.

Nothing is ever too much for Kim Seokjin. In fact, he’ll go out of his way to follow them to their homes if he has to, but luckily (for Jimin and Hoseok), he doesn’t need to go that far. In fact, it’s a downright fucking miracle that his intuition from this morning had been correct, made apparent by hour ten (10) of his stalking misadventures:

It’s nearing five in the afternoon. Kim Seokjin’s patience and determination has been put to the test before, but never like this. He could never ever imagine himself setting foot in this damned place, what with its overflowing abundance of knowledge, nerds, and public displays of integrity. He nearly gagged the moment he took one step in the library, and not even the thought of seeing Jimin and Hoseok together was enough to settle the bile climbing up his throat.

To make matters worse, you were there too. Not that Seokjin particularly cares (he does) that you are, but there is something… annoying about seeing you just sitting there, teaching Hoseok like it was normal*.

[Addendum: It is fucking normal. As per usual, Kim Seokjin is a dipshit who has never worked a day in his life and does not understand the notion of helping others study for their courses. To this day, I can’t understand how he’s passing his classes, though I’m kind of afraid of finding out how. Some things are better left… unsolved. Noted by: Min “I’m-not-paid-enough-for-this” Yoongi.]

He had been busy following Jimin around before this, but he was forced to change targets when one of his adoring fans had distracted him while asking for an autograph, causing him to lose track of Jimin entirely. It was of little consequence, however, given that he knows that Jimin was also going to be tutored by you later on anyway, so he just hopes that Jimin doesn’t do something stupid while he’s out of sight for the time being.

Normally, he’d try to find out where Jimin was going next, but the hardest part about following Jimin is that he didn’t have a fixed schedule like Hoseok did. Even Seokjin didn’t quite understand what Jimin was majoring in, and he prides himself in knowing every single detail of both their lives. But for now, it didn’t matter; at least Seokjin was left with one schedule to follow, so it made sense to just let Jimin be and go to wherever Hoseok was probably at the moment.

When Seokjin had finally located him walking out of his last class, Hoseok hadn’t appeared all that different from his usual demeanor. A bit dazed maybe, but that could be brushed off due to the essay he had to cram for that morning (a fact that Seokjin had learned through various connections). He walks lazily to the nearby library where he would be meeting you, and with a heavy heart, Seokjin follows suit.

You were already there when the two of them arrive. Seokjin is lucky when your eyes train automatically on Hoseok, ignoring him completely. In any other scenario, Seokjin would’ve felt incredibly scorned by this. He would’ve immediately stomped over to where you sat, making sure to announce his presence to you and everyone else within a fifty-foot radius. But today was not an ordinary day, so Seokjin is forced to hold his tongue and save his bitchin’ for another day. And so, he quietly slinks away to a seat a few tables away, his contemptuous aura causing all the previously seated students to vacate the table in a rush.

Much to his chagrin, it feels like Seokjin has just wasted an hour as he watches the two of you being productive (Seokjin lets out a shudder), not even bothering to film your tutoring session due to how little information he was getting. The only point of interest is how pissed off you seem, though it’s not like Seokjin has ever witnessed you in any other state anyway. He watches as Hoseok’s sunny disposition slowly chips away at your foul mood, and to his awe and surprise, sees you crack a smile just as the hour was about to pass.

It isn’t like that was important to Seokjin, though. So what if he noticed that you were happier with Hoseok around? It’s not every day that Seokjin catches you in a good mood (and he reluctantly admits that it’s always nice to see you smiling, even if his presence unfailingly causes a deep-set frown to appear on your lips.)

That was of little importance, he told himself.

Seokjin had hoped that when Hoseok’s tutoring session would end that he might manage to see him and Jimin cross paths. Unfortunately, it seems like Hoseok has other plans as he quickly shuffles his things into his bag, looking apologetic as he waves a hasty goodbye to you. You and Seokjin gaze at the empty spot he has left in his wake, both of you knowing even without Hoseok’s admittance that this rift between him and Jimin was far deeper than either of you had imagined.

Seeing Hoseok so skittish has a terrible effect on one’s psyche, and Seokjin feels despair growing in the pit of his stomach at what might be an unsalvageable situation for the JiHope community.

“Nonsense!” his inner-voice (that suspiciously sounds like you) chastises, whacking him with a proverbial rolled-up newspaper. “There is no such thing as unsalvageable when it comes to the magnificent Kim Seokjin!”

“You’re right,” Seokjin says (out loud), slamming his fists on the table. The jittery librarian’s assistant by the front desk jumps up in surprise, but Seokjin pays him no mind.

Seokjin is so immersed by his own internal monologue that he doesn’t notice the aforementioned librarian’s assistant leave his station with a small handwritten note clutched tightly in his hand. Seokjin also doesn’t notice when he speaks to you with pink dusting the apples of his cheeks before returning to his desk, sans note*.

[Addendum: I’M SO MAD WHY DOESN’T ANYONE NOTICE FUCKING JUNGKOOK??? NEXT TIME I SEE SEOKJIN IT’S ON FUCKING SIGHT HOW DARE HE NOT SEE MY LIL BABY WALK TO HIS ***** AND FULFIL ALL MY HOPES AND DREAMS? I’M GONNA KILL YOU KIM SEOKJIN! (Angrily) Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

It doesn’t take long for Jimin to arrive, and he’s kind of hard to miss with how loud his entrance is. Seokjin nods in approval as the younger enters the drab library with an astounding flourish, complete with his hair gently flowing in the (nonexistent) wind and hips swaying to the (nonexistent) beat.

None of this out of the ordinary, especially with how unfazed the general library populace was to Jimin’s commotion. What is a little different, however, is the beaming, oversaturated, downright diabetic smile on his face, complete with his signature eyes creased into their cute little crescents.

It isn’t that Jimin wasn’t a naturally sunny person; on the contrary, his kind and gregarious personality is what drew Seokjin into shipping him with Hoseok in the first place. But there was something about this level of overflowing giddiness that is a bit… disconcerting, for lack of a better word.

Even you appeared to be dumbstruck by Jimin’s odd mood. You squint curiously at Jimin, taking his worksheets from his hands without another word. Seokjin covertly takes out his phone to pretend to take a selfie, but proceeds to tape the whole tutoring session for him to review later that night. He strains his ears to try and catch the bits and pieces of your conversation with Jimin, but he’s left high and dry when he realizes that you were the type who actually liked to whisper at the library, further foiling his plans.

“Dammit,” he mutters to himself, hastily shoving his “textbooks” into his sling bag as he moves to a table slightly closer to the two of you. He doesn’t bother unpacking them again on the table, foregoing the pretense that he was actually there to “study” when in fact he had goals much loftier than those of an ordinary university student.

He carefully adjusts his camera, trying his best to stay out of your and Jimin’s view. He cranes his head forward as far as he can, face crumpling (handsomely) from the strain.

Seokjin had missed it when he was busy relocating to his better position, but it seems like you had finally gotten fed up with Jimin’s strange behavior. He only sees Jimin look shocked by your irritability, but that quickly fades away as his previously dopey smile comes back at full force. Knowing you, your eye is probably twitching right now, but Seokjin attributes that to the stick permanently stuck up your ass.

“It’s, umm…” Jimin looks extremely bashful all of a sudden, and Seokjin makes sure to zoom in on his face for better analysis later. There’s a slight pause, and both you and Seokjin wait for Jimin to continue. “Do you know… uh…” He takes a deep breath, blushing all the while. “Y/N, you know Lee Sera, right?”

Since you’re faced away from Seokjin, he doesn’t get to see what type of reaction you might be sporting on your face. He has a guess though, and that’s mostly because he already knows what Lee Sera means to you.

Seokjin only just saw the forum post this morning when he was going through his social media. Since he was one of the only people who actually knew you were the author, he’d known from the get-go that Lee Sera had probably written that post revealing herself as the author as a way to get easy clout. Nothing annoyed Seokjin more than people getting more famous than him, so he was honestly a strongly-worded call-out post away from revealing the truth to the masses, but was eventually stopped by the thought of your desperate face from days ago.

As much as Seokjin was a slut for drama, even he isn’t that mean. He can be mean in other ways, such as by putting an ugly filter on your face as he continues to videotape you without your consent. Case in point:

“What?” you say, almost shouting. Unbeknownst to you, there is a pooping baby currently superimposed on your forehead. The film looks shaky at best, but that’s all because of how hard Seokjin is shaking from trying not to laugh.

“Do you know if she likes anyone?” he replies, still dreamy. The AR pooping baby is also on his head, but Jimin manages to pull the look off.

Seokjin waits for your explosion to come, but he underestimates your self-control because he completely misses the next few words you say from how calmly and quietly you speak, though he only imagines that you must be on the way to a mental breakdown soon enough.

The calm before the storm, Seokjin thinks giddily to himself. He could always post your mental breakdown on Youtube for a couple thousand views. C’mon… let’s go viral, baby!

Jimin watches you eagerly from the sides and waits for your response, but you’re too busy short-circuiting right in front of him to give one. Seokjin almost feels sorry for you, but he’s too busy trying not to burst into laughter as it is. God, you’re such a fucking sad mess.

Lucky for you, your timer goes off to signal the end of your tutoring session, and Seokjin notices the way your shoulders slacken with relief. And Jimin seems to have forgotten all about his query because he’s started to pack his things already, humming softly to himself. Once he finishes, he pulls out his phone to read something on his screen, tapping away through his social media as he waits for you to say goodbye.

You’re too busy packing away your own things that you don’t notice when Jimin’s eyes begin to bug out, his mouth dropping and his nostrils flaring with the intensity of his breathing. When he scrolls a little bit further down, he lets out a sharp gasp, catching you and Seokjin off guard.

Jimin has just seen the post, didn’t he? Either that, or he saw porn on his timeline, though Seokjin doesn’t think that would excite Jimin as much as the former would. You seem to guess the same, judging by how stiff you become at his exclamation.

“Y/N! Y/N, she–– she’s––!”

Your fight or flight instincts activate, and Seokjin has to scramble after you as you powerwalk out of the library, desperate to get away from Jimin and his revelation. Unfortunately, you’re not entirely in your best shape right now, so it would be an absolute miracle if you were ever to outpace Park “abs of steel” Jimin. Jimin continues to titter beside you, unaware of the waves of tension running rivers down your form.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she? And she’s so humble to have kept quiet about the whole thing, too. Wah, she’s so…” Seokjin hears Jimin say, and he has to stop himself from snorting at how blatantly love blind Jimin seems to be. Seokjin isn’t anywhere near as good as you when it comes to writing (though he hates to admit it), but even he knows that Lee Sera isn’t as capable as you are. Jimin must really be a sucker for bitches in tight skirts and basic nude pumps because honestly… Why have the knock-off when you can have real Gucci?*

[Addendum: Hey it’s me again… Just wanted to say… Why is Seokjin lowkey kinda making me wanna ship him with Y/N… This is for real weird… Stop this… I’m scared… Noted by: Confused Min Yoongi.]

“I never really paid it much attention, but now that I’m rereading the poem… she’s so talented.” Jimin continues to gush, and you look half a second away from painting the walls with your vomit. Your head is bowed, so you don’t notice when the library doors open and a student in a loose white shirt and flowy black pants enters, looking as far removed from the environment as Seokjin did. “It’s no wonder it blew up so much, she’s such a gifted––”

“Who’s such a gifted what?” the new intruder asks. Kim Taehyung stops right in front of you in all his indie glory, and the sudden apparition of another of one of your “muses” must have frayed your unraveling mind even further. Seokjin is already turning his camera to your face with a dramatic pan left zoom, the pooping baby filter still on your head. It slips a turd onto your grimacing face.

Jimin, ever the sweet himbo, has already forgotten about you and instead rushes over to Taehyung with the news. “Tae! The author of that poem you’re always raging about––”

Seokjin watches with interest as Taehyung elbows Jimin strongly in the gut, a strong blush coating his cheeks.

Jimin continues, undeterred. “The author of the poem, it’s Lee Sera! I know I always ignored you when you talked about it, but now…” Seokjin has already stopped listening in favor of watching the way Taehyung’s expression slowly morphs from bashful embarrassment to careful indifference. His eyebrows raise even further when Taehyung’s gaze sweeps towards you, unwavering despite the animated prattlings of his best friend beside him.

Inch-resting… Inch-resting indeed…

Seokjin leaves then, not wanting to be caught by any of you as he slinks away unseen. He stops his recording, an array of thoughts swimming through his head as he tries to piece together the puzzle in front of him. He’ll need to follow you, Jimin, and Hoseok again, and he knows in the pit of his stomach that the tsunami is fast approaching.

x x x x x

And so, Seokjin follows the three of you around like a parasite, waiting for any of you to drop the ball on him. It’s the next Monday now, and he’s still not any closer to witnessing the “climax” of his JiHope prophecy. While he is aware that Lee Sera is undoubtedly going to be the catalyst for breaking his ult ship, he can’t exactly fix the problem unless something wrong happens first.

Of course, he could always slip a laxative into Sera’s disgusting tummy tea when she isn’t looking, but Seokjin finished using all of them up when he slipped them into your breakfast a few weeks ago. Plus, drinking tummy tea is punishment enough, so he’ll hold his punches for now.

Seokjin has a strong feeling that today is going to be the day where something finally shifts. He doesn’t know why he thinks this, though he likes to tell himself it’s a God-given gift of JiHope senses, but he digresses.

He’s starting to lose hope in his trusty JiHope senses, however, when he watches another fruitless tutoring session between you and Hoseok. Man, if not for the fact that Seokjin was a delulu JiHope shipper, he’d totally be the type to shove Hoseok down the toilet in middle school. That dude… he’s too smart and studious for him, and Seokjin is always threatened by anyone who can get a score above 4 in an exam.

Hoseok leaves in a rush as per usual, and Seokjin has since figured out that it wasn’t because the English major was keen on rushing back home to jack off. Hoseok’s eyes search around frantically as he exits the library, like he’s afraid of running into a certain someone. It causes Seokjin’s grip on his pencil prop to tighten, so much so that he snaps it in half when he sees it happen for the third session in a row.

The situation in the JiHope fandom is much worse than he can ever imagine, and Seokjin resolves himself to fix it no matter what. He’ll even ask you for help, if worst comes to worst.

Hoseok practically leaves a dust trail in his wake, hurriedly vacating the premises just as you say goodbye. Just as Hoseok leaves, Jimin enters the scene with his signature bubbly laughter echoing through the rows of shelves. Seokjin turns his head towards the sound, but he can feel something is amiss already. There’s… someone with him.

I can smell the cheap drug store perfume all the way from here. Seokjin sneers to himself, crinkling his nose as the sound of another pair of footfalls confirms his suspicions right away. When he turns to look at you, the look of utter rage and disbelief on your face is almost enough to make him forget about the horrendous stench of Lee Sera.

Sera tears herself away from Jimin when she catches sight of you, and Seokjin’s heart clenches when he sees the utter look of confusion replacing the grin on Jimin’s face. She was just draped over Jimin’s arm a few seconds ago, but the complete 180 definitely must have bewildered the poor lovesick fool.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lee Sera craved the attention she was being given after coming out as the “author” of the poem, though Seokjin finds her neediness distasteful. As someone who loved being in the limelight, Seokjin didn’t go around taking other people’s credit for his success! Clearly, he was the better one (as he always is in any situation).

Anyway, point stands: you look like you’re about to shit yourself from anger. Seokjin isn’t really listening to the conversation between the two of you, instead focusing on both of your body languages. Sera is playing the role of the remorseful peasant, begging for reconciliation from you, the ireful landlady who refuses to watch another second of her quivering lip.

It’s all very dramatic. Even though Seokjin is mostly recording the fight for analysis purposes, he’s probably going to keep the video for archival purposes as well. The rage, the hurt, the chaos… Seokjin could turn this entire narrative into its own wildly popular musical! He would obviously play himself as the omnipotent, all-seeing jack-of-all-trades, and you’d probably be played by some hag he can cast from the street. Seokjin can almost feel the Tony award jutting up his ass.

Slap! Seokjin jerks to attention and his dreams of his musical fade as he watches, slack-jawed, at the aftermath of your rage. The sound reverberates so loudly that Seokjin feels his ears ringing. In his surprise, he instinctively turns off his camera, ready to go and join stop the fight. Before he can take a step forward, however, a whirlwind shoves past him in a blur, but Seokjin already knows from his lean form that Hoseok had come to intervene. Seokjin hadn’t even noticed the lilac-haired boy was still around the library, but it doesn’t matter now that he’s here to save the day like the bishounen protagonist that he is.

Hoseok holds you back, but it does nothing to quell your anger. “How could you say that to him!” you cry, arms struggling to free themselves from Hoseok to throttle Sera. You look a bit like a rabid animal, teeth bared as you squirm in Hoseok’s hold.

To the side, Jimin chokes up in silence. He’s begun to regain his senses, limbs shifting as he prepares to escape. Seokjin doesn’t miss the shine in his eyes, tears forming and threatening to fall. He turns on his feel, high-tailing out of there without another word.

Hoseok says something into your ear and you nod mindlessly in response. He lets you go, watches as you chase after Jimin. His jaw is set, fists clenched by his sides, but he doesn’t make a move to follow. He takes one last look at Sera’s bamboozled expression, tuts angrily to himself, and walks away in the opposite direction.

Seokjin is speechless.

What the fuck was that? Seokjin isn’t a stranger to the current happenings of your sad love heptagon, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. It probably could have been solved much sooner if you just confessed to him already, but he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the drama*.

[Addendum: She literally does not have a crush on Seokjin. If she did, I’d block her immediately. I didn’t raise Y/N for her to fall in love with this psychopath. PLEASE. Signed: Min Yoongi.]

No, Seokjin isn’t confused about the whole Sera thing. What he’s more confused about is why Hoseok isn’t going to comfort his boyfriend lover homie like he’s supposed to! Something must have caused a rift in their friendship, and Seokjin is determined to find out and fix this mess once and for all! There’s no need to fear for Seokjin is here!*

[Addendum: “Hallelujah!” said no one ever. I hate this dude. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

x x x x x

After spending an inexcusable amount of time planning and plotting later that night, Seokjin comes to campus early the next day to put his incredibly profound plan into motion. Lucky for Seokjin, he’s equipped with a myriad of skills that go beyond that of acting and being a nuisance, so it comes as no surprise that he’s quite handy with Photoshop. He uses his Amazing Incredible Fantastic Photoshop skillz to their limits to print out a dozen or so fake posters for a new dance exhibition on Saturday.

Why? Because Seokjin is a genius of course! He knows for certain that Jimin will want to attend the exhibition to cheer himself up after the whole Sera debacle. He always did like watching the university’s dance club from the windows, always wistfully looking but never joining even though he COULD dance if he WANTED to but of course he wouldn’t! Because his beloved Hoseokie-hyung wouldn’t be there to be his partner and it’s all very sad and romantic, yadayadayada… Long story short, Seokjin is whipped for this BL trope and he will die on this hill if he has to!

However, Hoseok is going to be a bit harder to bait... He’d never be caught dead attending a dance exhibition, so Seokjin has to scavenge the last remaining brain cells he has to think of an event that Hoseok would want to go to. He settles on making a fake poster for a book signing by Pi Ness Hughman that is “mandatory” for all English Literature majors to attend. He even goes the whole way and makes a spoof e-mail to send to Hoseok, and no, Seokjin will not be explaining how he did that because he might be bordering on being a criminal, but that doesn’t mean he wants other people to be criminals too. That’s just how great of a person he is!

And what does any of this have to do with anything? Well… He’s going to lock them together inside a classroom and hope that they solve their differences there. Is Seokjin certain that his plan is going to work? Not at all. Is it more likely to use this as an excuse to get inspiration for his upcoming 100K slow burn enemies to lover fic that he’s been planning on starting? Absolutely.

Point of the matter is that Team Kim Seokjin never loses, and he’ll still end up on top even if everything goes to shit, and that is honestly all that matters.

Seokjin proceeds with his plan, going as smoothly as he can. He places the posters around areas that he is sure the duo would pass by. He also makes sure to accidentally “misplace” other posters and advertisements on the cork board that might serve as distractions, but you didn’t hear that from him. He watches stealthily from the shadows, carefully keeping track of their movements to make sure that they see the posters and that everything goes according to keikaku*.

[Addendum: Hey, it’s Yoongi again. I just wanted to say that I saw Seokjin when he was doing this because I caught him taking down some of the ads near my residence, and let me just say that his version of “making sure they see his fake posters” is literally just shoving the papers in their faces and then running away as soon as he can. So, I guess he did succeed on what he aimed to do, but was it moral? Was it just? Well, dear reader… I’m leaving that judgment up to you. (Tiredly) Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

It’s Saturday afternoon and Seokjin has just finished setting up his “trap” when he hears footsteps approaching where he was. He quickly jumps inside a nearby utility closet, keeping the door ajar to observe the upcoming interaction. Seokjin doesn’t even need to look to know that it’s Hoseok who has arrived first, always notoriously strict when it comes to scheduled meetings. He begins to worry, realizing belatedly that Jimin is the exact opposite of Hoseok when it comes to things like this, and while that makes for a good fanfic couple trope, it doesn’t really help Seokjin in this case.

He watches Hoseok peek into the classroom, brows scrunched in confusion as he must wonder why nobody seems to be at the supposed book signing. He snatches the poster from inside his satchel, squinting at the meeting details that should say that his class was supposed to meet at this very much abandoned classroom in the Law building. For how smart Hoseok is, he certainly didn’t question the sketchiness of the venue that Seokjin had chosen.

Hoseok taps his shoes against the linoleum floor, lips pursed as he debates on what to do. Just as Seokjin is about to blow his cover and just shove Hoseok into the classroom himself, a loud bang resounds from the end of the hall. They both flinch, looking over to see a head of red hair zooming towards them.

Jimin is dressed haphazardly in a ripped jean jacket and comically short shorts – you wouldn’t be able to tell what season it was based on his clothes alone. He looks like he’d just jumped out of bed, what with the noticeable drool stain still caked around his chin. He grinds to a halt in front of the classroom, breathing heavily through his mouth and still not yet aware of the company he has found himself with.

“Jimin? What the fuck?” Hoseok exclaims, staring incredulously at him. Jimin finally looks up, pausing in his heavy breathing to stare back.

He straightens up, pointing an accusing finger at the elder. “GASP! What are you doing here?”

Hoseok points his own finger. “Did you just say ‘gasp’ in real life?”

“I asked you first!”

“I asked you second!”

“Well,” Hoseok coughs awkwardly, gesturing to the empty classroom mindlessly. “I’m supposed to be here for a book signing, but I feel like I got a fake ad by accident.”

“Hah! Foolish of you,” Jimin snorts, nose high in the air. He procures his own fake poster from his short pockets, presenting it to Hoseok. “You must be Miss Steak Anne, because this classroom is supposed to be where a dance exhibition is being held. I knew you wanted to watch them dance! You’re just trying to cover up your embarrassment!”

“What?” Hoseok splutters, snatching the poster from his hands. He reads it, narrowing his eyes at Seokjin’s masterpiece of deception. “Dude. The poster is fake too. They spelled ‘dance’ like ‘dunce.’”

Jimin takes it back, slack-jawed when he sees that Hoseok was right. “What the fuck,” he says. He groans, smacking himself in the face. “I’m the foolish one now!”

Before Hoseok can retort, Seokjin chooses that moment to burst forth from his hiding place. “Hello, boys!” he greets, not waiting for a response. The two boys jump in surprise, but they don’t even have time to scream before Seokjin promptly shoves them into the classroom. He clicks the lock in place, grateful that he scouted this place during his first year in case he’d ever need somewhere to lock his unsuspecting classmates in*.

[Addendum: Me. It was me. He locked me in there when I told him JiHope was the worst ship on campus. Y/NKook for life! Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

“Hey! Let us out!” Jimin yells from behind the door, his tiny fists banging uselessly against the door. Seokjin cackles maniacally from the outside, doing a funny dance through the frosted glass window.

“Not until you guys fix whatever angst bullshit you have going on! I’ll be back in an hour. Until then, homos!” Seokjin singsongs, skipping away from the mess he created. But not to worry, dear readers, for Seokjin had planted microphones all over the classroom in advance so that we may all be privy to the ensuing drama/hotness courtesy of JiHope! Oh, how incredibly big-brained of him! The following is a transcript of the aforementioned recording because, as you know, Seokjin always wins.

Transcript by Min Yoongi:*

[Addendum: Paid-slash-blackmailed, by the way. I would never do this willingly. He knows too much about me… It’s sickening but also he offered to buy me chicken nuggets and I’d be an idiot to decline that. Anyway, here’s this pile of shit. Noted by: Min Yoongi.]

[0:00] *heavy banging from Jimin’s tiny baby fists*

[0:10] Jimin: Ugh, this shit BLOWS! *proceeds to stomp around like a baby before sliding to the ground with a thud*

[0:20] Hoseok: Well, it could be worse. We could have been kidnapped by a serial killer.

[0:25] Jimin: I’m pretty sure Kim Seokjin categorizes as one, but go off.

[0:30] Hoseok: *grumbling* I’m just trying to lighten the mood.

[0:35] Jimin: Oh wow, thanks soooo much. This is all your fault, by the way. Can’t believe your dumbass got bamboozled by Seokjin.

[0:40] Hoseok: How the fuck is this my fault? You were fooled too! And will you stop sitting like that? I can see everything with how short your shorts are.

[0:45] Jimin: Oh, and now you’re going to police how I dress? Bitch, people would be honored to see my nuts! They’re prized nuts!

[0:50] Hoseok: *snorts* Sure, if you say so.

[0:55] *there is a short pause and you can hear Jimin’s heavy breathing* Jimin, mumbling: Taehyung says my nuts are great…

[1:00] Hoseok: Well, Taehyung is an idiot. He probably says that shit to everybody.

[1:05] Jimin: *gasps* TAKE THAT BACK! HE’S MY FUCKING SOULMATE!”

[1:10] Hoseok: Oh, he’s your soulmate, is he? Guess you like throwing that word around to just about anybody, huh? Because last time, I remember you calling me your soulmate!”

[1:15-6:15] *literally just five minutes of silence* *you can hear Jimin crying a little bit but it’s obvious he’s trying to hold it in* *Hoseok (?) or maybe Jimin is pacing around*

[6:20] Hoseok: I, uhh... *hesitates some more* I didn’t... Mean to say that.

[6:25] Jimin: *starts to laugh hysterically* Fuck…

[6:30] Jimin: *slams his tiny baby hand against the wall again* Fuck!

[6:35] Jimin, choking up: You didn’t mean to say what? That we really were soulmates? That we used to be best friends?

[6:40] Hoseok, quietly: Jimin... No, I meant––

[6:45] Jimin: What do you mean, huh? I can never understand you. You never explain yourself. It’s always a guessing game with you and I just end up getting my feelings hurt because I always make the wrong assumptions, isn’t that right?

[7:00] Hoseok, choking up: Of course not. You’re right, I’m stupid and––

[7:05] Jimin, yelling: That’s right! You are fucking stupid! You’ve been stupid since day one and I can’t believe I wanted to be friends with you! *sniffles loudly* And I’m even stupider for still wanting to be friends with you.

[7:20-7:30] *there is a long silence except for the sound of Jimin’s heavy sniffling*

[7:35] Hoseok, sighing: I know that I don’t deserve to be your friend. I’m ashamed. I’m so fucking ashamed. There isn’t a day where I don’t regret not telling you about giving up dance all those years ago. I should’ve been more open with you.

[7:50] *Jimin stops sniffling* Jimin: Yeah. You should’ve. You should be. Asshole.

[8:00] Hoseok: And every time I try telling myself that I should apologize, I’d just get cold feet. It got even worse when you started hanging around Taehyung more... And I just... Lost it.

[8:10] Jimin, laughing harshly: Oh? So you were fucking jealous? Please.

[8:15] Hoseok: It sounds childish, but yea. I was.

[8:20] Jimin, quietly: Oh.

[8:30] Hoseok: And then when I saw you hanging off of Sera’s stupid little finger like a lovesick fool, it... It really fucking messed me up.

[8:40] Jimin: Oh my god. Was that why you’ve been so moody these past few days? Holy shit.

[8:45] Hoseok: When you put it that way... Ugh, this is so embarrassing. I’m really not a feelings guy, you know? I’m always just supposed to be the happy-go-lucky sunshine guy.

[9:00] Jimin: You’re allowed to feel, you know? Get rid of that toxic masculinity bullshit you have going on. This is why we fucking drifted in the first place!

[9:10] Hoseok, laughing hoarsely: Yeah... You’re right. *sound of a body sliding down to the floor... Hoseok must have sat beside Jimin*

[9:30] Jimin: We are literally so stupid. Do you realize how dumb our arguments sound? We’re being so childish, and for what?

[9:40] Hoseok: *sighing* I know… I’m the asshole here. I know what I did and I’m the reason why our friendship shifted. I’ve never been considerate to you and now…

[9:50] Hoseok: You probably hate me. And I used to tell myself that it’s better that you moved on but I know the reason why you never applied for the dance program is because of me.

[10:00] Jimin: I mean, yeah. That’s true.

[10:05] Hoseok: Wait, the asshole part or…

[10:10] Jimin: Pretty much everything. Yes, you’re the asshole. Yes, you ruined our friendship. Yes, I didn’t apply for the dance program because of you.

[10:15] Hoseok: *sighing* And you probably hate me, right?

[10:20] Jimin, softer: No, of course not. I could never hate you, hyung. Hell, I thought you hated me! You never hang out with me anymore! I literally only started taking those tutoring lessons from Y/N so that I would have an excuse to see you sometimes.

[10:35] Hoseok: ...oh. I didn’t know… I guess I’ve been a little bit too self-absorbed.

[10:45] Jimin: Understatement of the century, hyung. I just fucking miss you, okay? *sniffles loudly* God, I am so sick of crying all the time! First that shit with Sera, and now this…

[10:55] Hoseok: *panicking* Shit! Jimin-ah, please don’t cry… I’m such a fuck up! Why do you even want to hang around me?

[11:05] Jimin: Don’t you get it? You’re my best friend! How could I just erase years of friendship over what? Just because you don’t wanna dance anymore? Listen, I know I always pester you to go dance with me again, but I’d be more than happy just having you as my friend. I don’t care about that shit anymore! I just want you to look at me without looking so fucking guilty all the time.

[11:35] Hoseok: Well… I still want to dance. All the time, believe me. But… I can’t go around wasting my time when I made a promise to my dad.

[11:45] Jimin, hesitantly: Your… your dad?

[11:50] Hoseok: Yeah. He told me it was his greatest wish if I followed in his footsteps and became a teacher… I’m sorry, Jimin. I couldn’t just let my old man down like that. I…

[12:00] Jimin: Oh my god. You idiot. You fucking dunce. You dick for brains.

[12:05] Hoseok: What the fuck? What did I do now?

[12:10] Jimin: Have you ever considered… that you could teach shit other than English? Huh?

[12:15] *Hoseok.exe has stopped working*

[12:20] Jimin: Oh my god! I have a fucking feeling your dad meant he just wanted to see you teach kids, not necessarily become an English teacher like he was! You fucking stupid piece of shit!

[12:30] Hoseok: I… literally didn’t think. How the fuck..?

[12:35] Jimin: Are you literally just telling me right now that we could’ve escaped 3 years of stupid misunderstanding if you just hadn’t been an idiot? Give me a break! How the hell do you think you’d ever become a teacher?!

[12:50] *there is a pause before the two of them start laughing loudly*

[13:00] Hoseok: Jesus. Guess I really am the asshole, huh?

[13:05] Jimin: You think? Ugh, maybe getting locked in a classroom with you isn’t so bad after all…

[13:10] Hoseok: Speaking of… When do you think Seokjin is gonna let us out of here? I kinda need to piss and as happy as I am to be your friend again, I don’t think I wanna relive our toddler years together either.

[13:20] Jimin: *snorts* Gross. *shuffling* Hyung! Stand here! I’m gonna climb you and try to open the latch to the window over there. Shouldn’t be that far of a jump. Then I’ll just open the door for you.

[13:40] Hoseok: Jimin, are you insane? That could be dangerous! Let me do it.

[13:50] Jimin: You and what? Your skinny ass? Please! Do you see the gloriousness of this ass? I can get us out of here in no time.

[14:00] Hoseok, whispering: Assuming you can even squeeze through the window…

[14:05] Jimin, yelling: EXCUSE ME? I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT THIS ASS HAS WON ME MANY FREE MCDONALD’S HAPPY MEALS IN MY DAY––

End of Audio

x x x x x

Yoongi pauses from his typing to recheck the file, making sure he hadn’t accidentally paused the recording. When he sees that the audio does end there, he leans back into his chair, letting his headphones fall back to settle around his neck. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, sending a quick text to Seokjin to ask what happened to the two stupid lovebirds.

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drreidfics · 4 years

Text

Dr. Reid and the Broken Girl pt1.

DR. REID AND THE BROKEN GIRL (Working Title)

Characters : SpencerReid x FemReader

Warnings : Abuse, Hints of Self Harm.

CAUTION // TW // THIS BOOK DEALS WITH MATURE CONTENT SUCH AS PROFESSOR AND STUDENT RELATIONSHIP, SEXUAL ASSULT, SELF HARM, MENTAL ILLNESS AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE. IT ALSO INCLUDES A LOT OF RATED-R MATERIAL. IF THIS IS TRIGGERING OR MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE THEN PLEASE DON’T READ.

Here I am again, on the floor, begging him to stop. There he is again, laughing at my pleas and forcing himself inside of me. Almost every night he climbs into my bed, then in the morning, he pretends everything is normal. When anyone is around, he acts charming. He is able to trick everyone into thinking everything is fine. Well, it's not.

My phone buzzed to life at the side of me. The alarm was going off but I had been up for hours, staring at the flecks of dust dancing around the air. The sunlight streamed in through my thin, white drapes. It was beautiful out. It was the middle of May and bound to be hot out in Arizona. I could feel the warmth on my skin already. I needed to shower and get all this sticky sweat off my skin. It wasn't even mine. I felt disgusting. His touch lingered everywhere on me. The bruises he gave me stained my skin more than the self inflicted cuts.

'Morning Ms. y/l/n. Last night was lovely. See you at lunch?'. It was a text from Mr Reid. He was my psychology professor. Older than me, at thirty, he had long dark hair and deep brown eyes. His hair curled slightly at the end. He was tall and slim. Smart and nerdy, having two degrees and a doctorate, he left his job at the FBI for something less mentally draining. He had worked there since he was twenty-two. I was twenty-one making our age gap quite small. Look at me, trying to convince myself that it even mattered. He was a lovely guy. Friendly, and handsome. He wouldn't fall in love with a student, and if he did, that student would never be me. He was too smart for that.

"Morning Dr. Reid. Thank-you for taking me. It was a fun eve! Yes, see you at lunch. We can have a chat about the stuff we saw yesterday =)". I read the message over and over again before hitting send. I was nervous as I usually always say stupid things. My low self esteem affected me very much. I was twenty-one, already with one degree and going back to do another. I was still living at Sharon's and I haven't had a boyfriend. He texted me back instantly.

"Can't wait! Need a lift to school? =)" I smiled down at my battered iPhone 6. I couldn't afford a brand new phone. I was lucky in that I only had to work a few hours a week at the local book store and that it was something I enjoyed doing. Sharon was good to me. She helped me pay for and make my way through college. I don't know what or where I would be without her. On the other hand, she brought the human spawn of the devil into my life.

"No thnx, Luna is picking me up =)" I sent but then instantly regretted it. I love my best friend but I would have preferred a ride with Dr. Reid. Our conversations were always interesting and insightful. We could talk about a wide range of subjects for hours and it would only feel like minutes passed.

"Ok, see u soon Y/N"

I smiled, almost forgetting my problems before catching glimpse of myself in the mirror. My fragile, battered body stared back. I sighed. He could never find a girl like me attractive. Not that it mattered anyway. Silly little girl crush.

After debating whether it was best to just find the nearest bridge in town and throw my self off or get ready for school (I am very mentally unwell), I decided on the latter. Luna had already texted me to inform me that she was about to set off. Knowing Luna, which I have had the pleasure of knowing for fifteen years (no sarcasm in there), ten minutes would be ten years.

I staggered down the dreaded stairs, almost losing my footing a few times, feeling light headed. I entered the brightly lit kitchen. It was so bright that I could feel an aching behind my eyes. The decor was simplistic, all white with gold features. Classic business mom who is never home asthetic going on.

Sharon sat at the island, face absorbed in her laptop. She was in her late forties with short, mousey hair. I believe she would be referred to as a 'Karen'. She looked nothing like Dom. She was short, like me, and fairly slim. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders. Quarterback star player with the strength to show for it. He could snap us both in half. Dominic is Sharon's only child. Yes, that is correct. She is not my mum. I lost her.

Sharon looked up at me, flashing me a warm smile, still bashing the keys to her MacBook. She took a sip of her black coffee, nibbling on some cold toast. "You look like shit" she stated; matter of factly, her face blank. '"Thanks?'" I answered with a raised eyebrow. I walked over to the coffee machine and put in a pod, sticking my travel cup underneath. 77Kcals of goodness. All the fuel I will need this morning. "Sweetheart, don't act like that. You know I'm just saying. You need to sleep more" '"I know" I sighed. It was true... "But that makes two of us" I retorted cheekily with a grin. "Oh sweetheart, don't I know it" she raised her cup as if toasting the comment before gulping the last bit of coffee.

Sharon was my guardian, though not anymore as I was an adult and of drinking age. She still cared for me though as if I were her own. My mom died when I was seven and my dad had a breakdown. He couldn't cope. One day I came home from school and he was gone. He didn't say a word to anyone. He packed up his stuff and left me. I hated him for a while. The anger within me burned to my core. After a while I felt sympathy. He didn't get the help that he needed. If he did then we both wouldn't be in this mess. We'd be happy - together. I doubt he would know how to contact me now.

Aunt Sharon took me in. She wasn't really my aunt, she was my mom's best friend. She was the only connection to my mother that I had left besides her wedding ring. She loved her dearly and I believe she loves me dearly too. It's not her fault she can't protect me. She works herself to death trying to help me live my dreams. Dom wasn't the child that she had always wanted. He is doing nothing with his life. That is something I will alway's respect of her, single mom raising her child and somebody else's.

I loved her, though she did have the tendency to dish out tough love which often was way - way too harsh. And she was always away leaving me with him. I knew that if I'd only just tell her what he was capable of... What he would do to me when she left... She'd have murdered him herself with her bare hands. But it would kill her. I couldn't do that to her. He was the only thing she had who was blood. Me, I had no-one.

"shit! Is that the time? I'm going to be late. I gotta go, honey. Say bye to Dom for me." she pleaded as she stuffed the last slice of toast in her mouth and gathered her briefcase and her keys. " ...And make sure you have something to eat. You're wasting away!" "Have a good day at work Shaz" I shouted after her. I doubt that she heard me. She was out the door in seconds, jangling her keys and fighting between speaking with me and the ringtone on her work mobile. I heard her professional, scripted 'Hello, Sharon Cormack speaking' as the door slammed behind her.

I made my way through the spotless kitchen Gina, Sharon's housekeeper, always did a good job. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the integrated refrigerator. I also grabbed my iced latte from the coffee machine. It was almost half eight. My first classes start at nine and Luna still wasn't anywhere in sight. I scrambled through my purse for my phone, ready to give her a piece of my mind. That girl would be late to her own funeral.

"You're up early" a voice from behind me sneered. It took all my might to not to curl up in a ball, trembling.

"I... I have school"

No reply. I felt him creeping up behind me, felt his breath against my neck.

"I can think of something much better to do with the day baby" he whispered as he planted acid kisses on my neck. It burned. I squeezed my eyes shut, putting my hands up defensively. He pushed my back into the counter. A sharp pain ran though me.

"Please stop. I have to go" I whispered as his hand snaked its way up my neck, fist knotting tightly in my hair.

'"Why do you think a whore like you has the right to tell me what to do, hm?"

'- Hello? Katy?' Luna's smooth voice called out in sing song.

Oh, thank god for her and her timing. He released me from his grasp and increased the distance between us. His eyes were clouded. I could tell he was pissed. I brushed passed him, running towards Luna, who was standing by the open door. I ran straight into her arms hugging her tightly.

"I thought you'd never show." I whispered. She rested her chin on my shoulder, stroking my hair. I could tell that she was staring daggers at Dom and I could tell he didn't care. Like I said, the same routine. Every morning.

By the time lunch rolled around I had had enough. had gotten into a lot of trouble with Ms. Hallows over an overdue assignment and I had spilt water all down the front of my jeans. It looked like I had pissed myself. My saving grace is that they were dark jeans and so it wasn't too noticable. That didn't stop Georgie from laughing and calling me pissy pants for half the day.

Georgie was the kind of girl that you would avoid in high school. Everybody wanted to be her but everyone hated her so bad. She had golden brunette locks, a slim face and a petite nose. Her friends Nova and Ari were just as bad. Everyone used to tell you that when you left high school things would be different. I am sorry to inform you that they don't. Bullies stay bullies forever.

I forced my way through the groups of students, crowded together in the corridors. The last thing I wanted was to be late for my chat with Mr. Reid

"Y/N" I heard Luna calling after me. I could tell that she was chasing me through the crowd of students. "Y/N. Look, Y/N stop." I rolled my eyes.

"What?" I snapped. I could see the hurt in her eyes. She leaned on the wall, panting. I sighed. "I'm sorry. What's wrong?" I asked. I felt bad for snapping at her. All she wanted was answers, like anyone would have after walking in on what she did. But I don't give answers. I shut down. I don't tell anyone anything. She tried talking once we got in the car. I ignored her and I ran once we'd arrived at school. She didn't even need to speak. I could just tell what she wanted to talk about from the look on her face. I sighed again.

"Luna, I can't talk about this right now." I saw the hurt in her eyes. If I kept pushing her away then eventually she wouldn't fight to stay. 'Good', a small voice whispered in my head. Maybe that would be for the best. She deserves better. Everyone does. I could just end my life today and nobody would care. I used to fight hard against the suicidal ideations that entered my mind but now I didn't see the point.

"I have my meeting and I can't be late. Taco Bell after classes?" I asked. To my relief, she smiled and nodded, that beautiful smile that I loved so much. She was so easy to please. I smiled and walked away towards room 1980. Dr. Reid's office.

"I love you!" she shouted after me smiling.

"I love you more!"

"Lesbians" Georgie mocked. She was stood near the bathrooms. I rolled my eyes.

"Grow up"

Luna was gay but we weren't together. We had been intimate a few times but nothing had come of it. But so what if it had? We both agreed it felt weird as we had known each other as friends for so long. We didn't want to ruin anything. Luna and I had been friends ever since she opened up my juice box for me in kindergarten and then hit the girl who had stolen my straw. We had been inseparable ever since. She's been with me through thick and thin. I'd hate to think where I'd have been if she hadn't been there when my mom had died. We are and will alway's be the best of friends. In another life I could see us growing old together, adopting puppies and children but sometimes, it doesn't work out. And if you love someone, you have to let them go.

I opened the door to 1980 and as soon as I did my heart fluttered in my chest. There he was, as beautiful as ever. He looked up from the book he was reading, glasses perched on his nose and smiled, he seemed glad to see me.

"Sweetie!" he said, a smile spreading across his gorgeous lips. He's the only person who calls me that.

"Dr. Reid" I smiled back. My smile was huge and I probably looked so dorky but I don't care. My day just got brighter. I pulled up a chair next to him and kicked my feet up onto his lap. He rested his hand on my calf.

"So what did you think to the book?"

#drreid #spencer x reader #spencerreid #spencer reid #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid story #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #mature #fic #reader x spencer reid #wattpad #wattpad fanfic #teacher x student #college professor smut #professor x student #professor x reader #teacher x reader

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the-moon-prince · 3 years

Text

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter X

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

I’m sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for your patience and support! I’m here with the new chapter! I jope you will enjoy.

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story. (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV ) (Chapter V) (Chapter VI) (Chapter VII)(Chapter VIII)(Chapter IX) (Chapter XI coming soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 652

TW: Mentions of Hospital ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The swings.

(Y/n) loved swings. So charming and amusing.

Even if they couldn't play like the other children, they could always go to the swings. Waving forward and then backward. Heights frightened them and even now terrified them. But with the swings, it was not like that. They felt brave and free. They had visited many. However, they remembered one in particular: the one that his grandfather gave them. The one in the garden of the house where they grew. When they swung, they could see the clouds and the sky. Knowing that their family saw the same azure as they did. They remembered the wildflowers that flourished at the end of the tubes that held it. They had quite a few memories of that swing. That also took place in that location. Their mami's face of horror at seeing them on the ground coughing blood tormented them for a while.

They were back in the hospital. They knew that they would return. The lonely hours where no visits were allowed seemed long, even reading.

The moments when they were able to be with their grandparents were joyous. Perpetually trying to smile so they wouldn't worry about them.

"(Y/n)!"- a voice cried their name.

They lifted as fast as they could, responding as well as the tubes in their throats allowed.

"Julian!"- They felt so relieved to see him. Each night they spent awake, believing that they would never see him again. The boy, despite being simply 2 years older, was much taller than them. He ran to them sobbing and held them as if they were going to vaporize.

Because that's what they believed.

"(Y/n)!"-he sobbed their name again-"I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry; I shouldn't have left you alone that day. Not because you can't play ball with me, I want you to leave me."-his grip tightened.

They were weak, and their arms were shaking. Yet, that did not prevent them from returning the hug with all the strength that their small body had.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm not upset right now."- they consoled.

If they were in his village, the two of them would look more like animals. Julian's tail would surely shake restlessly, and (Y/n) would rub their cheeks into him. They would be cat and dog, but they loved each other so much. Regularly playing clapping games, going for walks, reading together, or playing video games together. It's not like (Y/n) had someone else. From an early age, they had had difficulties relating to other cubs, including adults.

"Julian, watch out for running! They are going to scold us!"- a sweet voice called. Immediately two elders entered, their hands full of bags and gifts.

"Mami, Papi! Hi!"-they greeted, already smiling.

It was an afternoon full of laughter, cake, sweets, and gifts. They played cards and chess - matches (Y/n) won- watched movies, read new books, and hugged stuffed animals. Except it was not (Y/n)'s birthday.

Only visiting hours end sooner or later. And their company had to withdraw. The only difference was that the man stayed a while longer. Opposing hospital rules, which, as a doctor, he had never done previously. (Y/n) stared at him for a moment, not delivering eye contact, until they looked up.

"Papi, I'm going to die?"-they were looking directly in his eyes, searching for a response.

They had a particular method of expressing their feelings, but that didn't mean they did not feel-they possibly felt with more intensity than the majority. Most would expect a kid their age to cry in that situation, but they did not cry. They were smiling.

"(Y/n)..."-the old man whispered and sat near them. He hadn't the courage to say it.

"I can't tell you that. However, if I can tell you one thing."-he took out a small case from the pocket of his trousers. He held their hand and placed the present in their palm-"Whatever happens, I'll be with you. Wherever you go, you will not be alone. And if so, you have nothing to fear."

When they parted the lid of the box, in its inside covered in red velvet, laid a pair of earrings. They were drop-shaped pearl pendants. A peculiar gift for a kid their age. Most would give jewelry like this to someone older.

"My grandfather gave them to my mother, she gave them to me, and today I give them to you."-he continued-"When you have them on, I will accompany you wherever you go. Since our auras live in flowers, a part of mine lives in those earrings. I'll be reminding you who you are and where you come from. So don't forget that you have a home to go to. Don't be afraid (Y/n)..."

The room's door was locked, and the curtains were down. The old man did not own the same appearance as moments ago; he resembled a massive wolf. Intense but soft fur and a spot on the right ear. He knelt to be at the child's height. They looked into each other's eyes, which some say are the door to the soul, for a long time. Without vociferating a word.

"I love you (Y/n)."-he wept, holding his tears.

The mentioned one offered him a smile.

"I love you, Papi."-they mumbled. They leaned forward to hug him, taking the opportunity to snuggle in the older's neck fluff.-"But I am not afraid. Not at all."

The man hugged them back. His paws were so big that they would definitely fit them into just one of them.

After that, he left, promising that they would return the next day.

What they told was a lie, they were afraid. They sobbed enormously that night, except they didn't want their family to see them that way.

Kurapika opened one of his drowsy eyes, not feeling the embrace anymore. For a moment he was scared of being alone, that it was all a dream. Though (Y/n) was right next to him. Sitting on the mattress, their backs on the bed frame. They were not sleeping, just staring at the emptiness.

"(Y/n)?"-he groaned, the voice hoarse from sleep.

The appointed blink, as if dispersing the spirits that had them trapped.

They turned their heads to detect where the voice was originating from.

"Kurapika?"-they whispered, the speech clear.-"My apologies, did I wake you?"

"No. Rather, what are you doing awake?"-he was already awaiting the worst.

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. Don't trouble yourself, please."-they quietly answers with a smile.

How could they request him not worry for them? You can't stop caring about what you love.

"What hour is it?"- he inquired, a bit bothered about the fatigue they might receive in the morning. At least it was Sunday, meaning neither of them had to labor. They would have the possibility of recovering hours of rest if they required it.

After a few seconds of silence, they answered-"4:37."

Kurapika knew the hard nights when attaining rest in a lonely bed seemed tedious. The difference is that they were not abandoned. He was there for them and wasn't intending on leaving anywhere anytime shortly.

At least they hadn't had a nightmare, if so they would have told him so, right?

He lifted the blankets as a symbol for them to lie down next to him over. He didn't know if they would. Simply with them reclined anew, he would be satisfied. They paid obeisance to him, approaching and lying down nearby him. They came face to face. Kurapika enveloped his arm over their body, they did not hug him back. Yet, they pressed their forehead on his chest.

The morning was peaceful and pleasant. Kurapika and (Y/n) were sipping coffee and eating leftover cake from the night earlier in the salon. A disk was playing on the record player. The melody was smooth, the saxophone and the lyrics combined quite well. The silence among the two was charming. From time to time, they were silent, in the same room, just savoring the existence of the separate person. Not because they had nothing to tell. Rather, it was a matter of having their own spaces without isolating themselves.

Except, the silence always finished up breaking.

"I suggest we watch a film tonight. Today you can choose it if you'd like."- Kurapika enunciated, happy to spend quiet time with his lover. Having relaxing nights was rare.

"I...I deem the most convenient thing is for you to come home."-they hesitated, to resume right away-"Not that I don't want to be with you. I'm pretty occupied tonight, and I don't wish for you to miss a night of rest."

The answer surprised him at first.

"Are you going to cover someone in the unit anew?"-he questioned fully of irritant. They were profiteers with (Y/n). His companions rested on their professional integrity and goodness. Kurapika got tired of seeing his lover could stay awake nights in a row to cover night shifts or take care of delegated documents. He knew they would not leave a patient to their own fate; although he foresaw to have a discussion concerning it with them.

"No, not this time."-(Y/n) disclosed. If it was simple paperwork, they did it often with him, as long as he did not interrupt them.

"What will you do?"-he scoffed this time, no commitment had been mentioned to him. Although they had a poor mania to omit some points, not maliciously; globally they were details. That was not a detail.

They resembled uncomfortable. Kurapika already recognized their body language, and despite their perpetual smile, he could read them.

Their gaze was downcast, shoulders hunched, and they played with the edges of their sweater sleeves.

"I'm going to reclaim someone from my clan..."-they wept after a moment of the uncertain reserve.

From the beginning, (Y/n) had helped him regain scarlet eyes. Getting information and accompanying him. Nonetheless, they hadn't mentioned anything about getting their clan back. No contact, no remains, no meeting. Until today. Why? They were trying to preserve him? Did they want to avoid him at a distressing moment? Kurapika believed that retaining such secrets had ended since their discussion. That stubborn part of them that dedicated obstinately to secrecy frustrated him.

"(Y/n)."-he scolded once more.

They narrowed more as if craving to hide from his gaze. He wasn't mad at them. But it frustrated him that he was powerless to help them.

"(Y/n), I'm not angry."-his tone softened-"I desire to accompany you."

Their posture decompressed, though they started to fidget more.

"It will be a rather longspun night. It will be tiresome."-they maintained.

"I do not tend."- He would stand firm with this.-"I am here to assist you."

They suspired-"Thank you, Kurapika."-They had communication difficulties to solve, and weren't oblivious.

"What time will it occur, where and with whom?"-he hinted, making sure to know the circumstances.

"The event will be held with a private collector. At his residence at 8:40 pm."-they specified-"Only that there is a relevant detail."-they added with a cautioned voice.-"The collector is another hunter."

The collector is another hunter. Not for lack of ability, but for the votes that restrained their children. It would be necessary to rely upon the strategy to evade some violent confrontation. On top of that, their identities could be in check.

"As it is clearly practically impossible to hide the fact that I am a hunter, I presented myself as a mere fellow hunter fond of oddities."-as suspected they already had a method.

"Regarding your company, we can pivot on my weak appearance."-they continued with the strategy-" He will never believe that a hunter would require a bodyguard, but an assistant is plausible. He told me that the "merchandise"- saying that last word with disgust-"will be weighty."

"I perceive that you had the strategy ready. That's why I don't worry. I'll stick with it."-regarding the tactical abilities of (Y/n), Kurapika did not waver. Their experience was remarkable.-"Still, you must tell me these genera of things."

"Reasonable, my apologies."-they bawled.

Kurapika wasn't going to reprimand them. He was aware that they were not doing it maliciously, the communication obstacles were rather difficulties. He could never get mad at them for having some kind of challenge.

The place concluded up being in an upper-class suburb of YorkNew. For the other hunter to live there, it had to be wealthy. And to be wealthy he had to be skillful. For this occasion, (Y/n) did not use its own vehicle. They rented a truck with a roomy hood. Once the house was spotted, they parked the truck far enough away for the details not to be well distinguished -being black it was conveniently camouflaged with the darkness of the night-but close sufficient to get there quick running.

Before going down, (Y/n) was silent for a short moment. Without moving from the driver's seat. Their pupils would look very dilated if it weren't for the contacts they were wearing. They both wore, so as not to give any kind of clue about their origins. Followed by that silence, they closed their eyes and pronounced a rhyme while poking their chests with two fingers, in a language that Kurapika did not understand. A mantra for good luck, perhaps.

There was no security of any kind seen from the facade. They walked to the front door, which was quite high and made of black wood. Shortly after the bell rang, the door opened. Revealing a man, about 31 years old, but he looked younger. It couldn't be said that he had good taste in dressing, but the clothes they wore were of great quality. His hair was somewhat lengthy yet shorter than Kurapika's and ash-black in color. His aura felt dense and heavy. It was easily deduced that he had no intention of hiding it.

The man, like his aura, was imposing. He made them notice it as if testing their courage and challenging them to enter. Almost as if they were unworthy.

"I presume you are (Y/n)."-he said, waiting. His voice was considerably gruff. The kind of speech that tilts in your eardrums.

"Precisely, a pleasure."-(Y/n) greeted, pulling their hunter license out of their wallet and showing it.

"Good, and he?"-the man pointed at Kurapika.

"Kurapika is here to assist me. I remember listening to you specify that the object was going to be substantial."-they reported hurriedly. Their tone of speech did not denote fear or insecurity. They weren't happy with the rudeness of pointing their lover

"I see. To be a hunter you look frail."-he expressed-"Come in, come in." The walls of the house were wide and the ceiling high. The interior was mostly light gray. The decor had a pretentious modernist tendency. A large number of objects stood out. Of all kinds, but all rare and peculiar. Shelves placed well in sight, figures, frames, vanities. They followed the man through corridors to a small bar, its wall full of bizarre exoticisms.

If it weren't for the assiduousness they were displayed in, one would say that the person was an accumulator. The idea that the person had become a hunter just to gain privileges and the ability to purchase ostentatious exclusive treasures was more and more evident.

"Let's sit down and have a drink."-the man bossed.

"Oh, don't bother. We-"-they got interrupted by the man. It was clear he was vulgar despite his money.

"I don't bother. I want to make sure that I'm not selling one of my prized items to anyone."

#kurapika kurta x reader #kurapika x reader #hxh scenarios #hxh x reader #hxh #kurapika hxh #kurapika kurta #hunter x hunter #kurapika imagine #kurapika x (y/n)#kurapika

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valkyrieofsmut · 4 years

Text

At Your Service, Alpha 6

Alpha!Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler) x omega!Reader

Descriptions: Kurt is apartment sitting for his friend and the last thing he expected to find was his one true omega, but there she was. Except she can’t seem to tell they belong together. (Y/n) has dreamed about the day she would meet her one true alpha her whole life. A new, blue, alpha comes to see her every day, and she hates him! Until she starts thinking about him all the time. Her allergies make it so she can’t smell anything, but she knows that her alpha will let her know when he finds her. Won’t he?

A/n- Our lady waitress has a heat, poor Kurt is sent into a rut... and relationship development!

Masterlist

Story!

She’s not even sure when she got comfortable with him, but a week later, they’ve become friendly.

Kurt smiled as (Y/n) wiped a table next to him. “How was your free day, Liebling?”

(Y/n) look over at him, finishing the table. She’d had the day off the day before, and hadn’t seen him. “Fine.” She answered. “Just cleaned and read.” She didn’t want to mention that she was preparing for the heat that was due in a few weeks; not only was it none of his business, she didn’t want him to go all alpha like before and follow her around to take advantage.

They started talking about books, and movies, tv shows that they both liked, and one morning, (Y/n) found herself delivering a plate with a large cinnamon roll on it with his coffee.

He took a deep breath in and smiled. “You certainly are missing out on an integral part of eating, you know, (Y/n)?” He commented, gently, almost teasing.

(Y/n) didn’t comment, but told him, “I caught an episode of that show you were telling me about, and I don’t know how I hadn’t heard of it before. It’s really interesting. It helps that the episodes are contained, too, so that I’m not missing too much, no matter where I come in to the show.”

He nodded. “It is underrated. No one knew about it where I normally stay until I found it, and now, I like to think that I introduced them to a new passion,” he said with a near chuckle.

“You mean they’re addicted,” (Y/n) joked.

“To say it another way,” he agreed carelessly.

Somehow, they’d become friends, she realized as they said goodbye after he paid his check.

“You’re smiling,” Alex commented, standing close to her and bumping her with her shoulder.

(Y/n) quickly turned it to a frown, but overdid it on purpose, looking silly instead.

Alex bumped her again. “So… What’s the story now?” She pressed teasingly.

“Nothing,” (Y/n) protested. “He’s just turning out to be a nicer guy than I thought he was.”

“Ooo, Nice, huh? Guess I don’t have to worry, but maybe I should warn him that he’s been friendzoned?” Alex giggled.

“I think he friendzoned me first,” (Y/n) defended. “That’s probably what made him calm down.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “It’s not impossible for men and women to be friends, or for alphas and omegas to be friends, but it’s still a friendship that still has that hope- most of the time,” she qualified.

“Most of the time,” (Y/n) agreed.

But, whether or not (Y/n) noticed, or refused to admit, they were friends, faster than she had thought possible, especially with how much she had disliked him at first, and how short a time had passed since that time.

By the end of the next week, (Y/n) was sitting at his table, smiling and laughing as the two of them talked about everything and nothing, warmth filling her whenever he had a smile for her, which was most of the time.

(Y/n) checked the time on her phone, standing and brushing herself off. “Back to work I go,” she told him as she excused herself.

Kurt couldn’t help the gnawing feeling chewing at his belly despite his smile.

He wanted her to be his.

He needed her to be his, but this was taking forever.

How long did it take to get a girl to fall in love with you, anyway?

After all of the research he’d been doing, he now knew that the feeling that ate at him was lovesickness, but that didn’t help him cure it, the only thing that would do that would be to have (Y/n) with him.

She was stubborn, and he was beginning to see that he’d never make her do something she didn’t want to, which meant that she’d never take her allergy meds and smell him to know that they belonged together. His only other option was to tell her that she was his, but this long after meeting her and knowing, he was worried that she would be angry at him for not telling her sooner, keeping it from her and lying to her in a sense; though extremely rare, it was not impossible for an omega to refuse their alpha, especially if the scent bonding didn't take place.

She was a rare woman to be sure, she likely could do that, and he didn't think he'd be able to survive if she did.

Kurt spent the day (Y/n) had off taking care of errands, though he didn’t particularly have the need buy more food, since he ate most of his meals at the cafe, but he took care of the bills that came in for Scott from the account he’d left information for, and looked around the few stores in town, hoping to find something that would at least temporarily take away the discomfort and restlessness he felt.

The sun was rising in the sky, washing the horizon with soft colors that reminded of butter, pooling across the sky and meeting robin egg blue that darkened across the sky where the edge of night still reigned.

Kurt sat at his usual table, and (Y/n) brought him a menu, even though he would probably order the same thing he usually did.

When she got close to him, his nostrils and pupils dilated.

That sweet, savory, pungent, delicate, heady aroma met him, and it was all he could do to keep from leaping from the table and knocking her down to start grinding against her desperately.

She was about to start a heat, within the next two or three days.

He licked his lips and willed his testosterone to get back to a relatively normal level.

(Y/n) walked back through the seats, getting to her destination and setting the plate of breakfast rolls on the table.

A breeze blew past (Y/n), and she blushed as the warm wind brushed past her thighs.

An alpha at a table downwind, and next to her, growled, turning to look at her. (Y/n) looked away to the ground, trying not to offend him.

All of the alphas had been looking at her a bit strangely this morning, except for Kurt, who had been glaring at the other alphas.

(Y/n) backed away from the alpha and started to move toward the cafe, but the alpha stood suddenly, in her path. He licked his lips and took a step towards her.

Kurt was suddenly at (Y/n)'s back, growling over her shoulder at the other alpha. The other alpha, who she thought she remembered had been called Dustin by his companion, growled, and stepped forward, glaring at Kurt.

Kurt bared his teeth, showing his fangs, as his tail lashed, his voice lowering to darkly tell him, “Back off.”

The deep tones of his voice, still velvetly coated in his accent, made her belly quiver.

Not in desire- (Y/n) quickly affirmed- just that- damn her heat was coming on quick, it wasn’t even due until next week.

Dustin caught the scent of Kurt and backed away, turning and leaving.

Kurt glared around at the rest of the patrons to make sure they understood to stay away as well before sitting back in his chair.

Luckily, it was close to the end of her shift, and (Y/n) would soon be safe at home.

The next morning, though, (Y/n) awoke feeling like she had a fever. “I’m sorry,” she told Alex again over the phone. “I don’t know what happened, it’s so weird- it’s not even time, yet!”

Alex sighed. “It’s weird, but I’ve heard of it happening,” she told her. “Just, stay at home, stay safe. I’ll see you when it’s over.”

(Y/n) hung up, putting her phone down on the dresser and opening the drawer. Inside is her toy, and she stared at it for a moment before pulling it out.

She’d never really thought about it before, the color was just the luck of the draw, not planned out, but it was blue. Not the same color as Kurt’s skin, more of a teal blue, but at that moment with her fingers brushing along its length, she thought of him.

(Y/n) shook her head and went to the bathroom to fill the tub with water.

Kurt arrived at the cafe, sitting in his usual spot, looking around, very sure that he was going to need to stay close to (Y/n) to make sure nothing happened to her, since her delicious smell was sure to be strong again.

A server with blond pigtails walked over to him and handed him a menu. “Welcome! Please look over the menu.”

“Where is (Y/n)?” he asked.

“(Y/n)? She called in sick, but I’ll be glad to serve you,” she bowed.

Kurt stood and walked away.

He teleported away as soon as he reached the trees and wouldn’t surprise or scare anyone, appearing instantly at the front doors of the apartments. He hurried into the building and up to the floor, going to (Y/n)’s door.

He sniffed, smelling himself from his markings, and her from under the door. Her scent seemed to be washing his mark away. Kurt’s hands unbuttoned his jeans before he had realized it, the only thought running through his mind that he needed to mark stronger. He aimed at the sides of the door, making small puddles on either side before sniffing. He only smelled himself, strong and overpowering. He then quickly went back into Scott’s apartment, closing the door behind him and rushing to the bathroom and into the shower.

He was stiff, so stiff it was probably causing problems with his circulation.

He was going into a rut, he knew, brought on by (Y/n)’s delicious heat scent. “Scheisse,” he growled, his hand reaching down to himself.

He came quick, having not been with anyone for a while, and squeezed his hand around his knot when it finished growing.

From experience, he knew that now would be when (Y/n) would be calm, having her wits back about her, and able to have coherent talk for a bit, until her body heated up again and started melting her mind away.

The thought of being able to lay next to her and kiss her and talk to her about everything and nothing, plan for their future, think about the possibility of having pups, or when would be a good time to for the next fifteen to thirty minutes until he deflated just made him wish to storm her apartment more.

Then, she’d start begging again, a moan, a plea, a taunt, sometimes omegas tried to wile their way into another round immediately, and sometimes they tried to rile their alphas up into a frenzy to make them rough with them.

The thought of those possibilities made Kurt jerk against his hand again, giving an extra squirt in excitement.

(Y/n) laid back on the bed, panting and humming in discontent. Her hand was pumping the toy, digging just a little, needing to get that itch deep inside.

Why was it she couldn’t have an alpha?

The world was madness!

Who would care?!

Deep down she had a fear she’d regret it, but she couldn’t quite remember why at the moment.

(Y/n)'s nipples tightened, frustrating her further, and she wasn't quite sure how to treat them if they didn’t like her fingers twisting them. She panted harder, letting out a slightly pitiful whine as her hips arched and she felt her muscles clench.

It was a wave of release, but it left her feeling empty when there was no bulge to fill her up, no alpha to affirm that she was being good, that she’d done everything right and would soon be carrying his pups.

A moment of half clarity met her brain, and she knew, she didn’t want pups right now, that it was the heat talking, but it would still be nice to be with an alpha, she was sure.

At least, Alex said so, and she’d been with a few.

(Y/n) sighed and tried to enjoy the semi-clarity, but soon she was heating back up.

It would be nice to not be at this alone, to have someone with her, but it’s not like she was interested in anyone.

Kurt’s face appeared in her mind.

He was deliciously alpha, and turning out to be very kind. He didn’t get angry at her when she yelled and threw things and generally didn’t act like an omega- in fact, he kinda seemed to like it, if she were completely honest…

(Y/n) shook her head, trying to shake out the thought.

His face stayed with her, though.

She hit the button on the toy again, turning it on and moving it.

The memory of Kurt behind her, his deep velvety voice in her ear filled her mind, and her hands set the toy before sliding up her body.

(Y/n)'s hands took hold of her breasts, cupping and playing with them, flicking her nipples and thinking of hands a little different in their place as her hips moved on their own, thrusting and arching against the toy vibrating in patterns inside her.

The pressure inside built, the need and desire not waning as she came, twice now, then three times, thinking of blue lips brushing her ear and whispering things to her, three fingered hands touching her and trying to fulfill her breasts’ needs and unrelenting desire for something unknown, him, inside her, filling her up-

“Ahhhh!” She cried out as she came, again, her body arching off the bed.

God, Goddess, love, life- she didn’t know what to beg or pray to that she could ever feel that good again.

In that short time of half clarity, she thought that she were being stupid- how could anyone ever touch her the way she needed to be touched, that surely any contact she had with a certain blue someone would not be able to compare to what was building itself up to be high expectations in her mind.

Was it too late to be with an alpha for the first time? Would she ever be satisfied with the craziness and perfection she'd built it up to be?

(Y/n) tried to reassure herself as she felt her body heat up again; with your one true alpha, it would always be amazing.

Kurt laid on Scott's bed, exhausted from his three hour long shower, and nearly frozen from the last hour of frigid water. It had gotten colder and colder, so slowly that when he had finally finished, he was surprised to realize that his skin was cold.

The week was hard, Kurt nearly had to lock himself up; knowing that (Y/n) was so close, in heat, needing him, probably crying out for him, made it hard for him to stay away.

He had no idea how she did this by herself, every month, for however many years. Once was more than enough for him.

Tag List!

@otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @racheo91 @tephi101 @lilypalmer1987 @pingu89 @gifsbysimplysonia @omnomsauruswrites @keldachick @Randomfandompenguin @mannls @screeching-student-unknown @lizfawn @ya-lyublu-tebya @their-bibliophile @the-fifth-marauder03

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scriptaed · 4 years

Text

his side, her side | 5:13 P.M.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; (bold = genre for this particular drabble)

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 2.5k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

a/n: this is not a chronological series; more so, his side her side is a collection of drabbles in which each drabble helps paint the overall picture. each drabble can be read separately without having read the others. // alternatively: his side, her side pt. 3;

her side;

You [5:13 P.M.] hey… you coming?

The peering stares and deafening whispers scream at you in the confined space of your state of mind. Retreating into your seat, crouched and enclosed, you wait for their eyes to find another form of fleeting entertainment, but in reality, no one is staring and no one is whispering. The gossip that flies amongst your colleagues are nothing but your mind casting cruel spells upon your evident insecurity. So, instead, you sit there and you wait, knowing full well you are but an invisible individual with a gaping gap in the seat beside you.

You wait and you wait. Sometimes you even pretend to scan through the room of your paired colleagues hard at work, in a desperate hope that no one would catch glimpsing at a door that just never seems to swing wide open like the way he would always burst through.You can just envision him now with his gray water bottle and his arms bare of sleeves as he comes striding into the room fresh out of the gym, eyes swiftly landing on his target—you—with utter ease, as if it’s an innate reflex akin to that of two magnets. The night would proceed as it always has for the countless past weeks: you would tease him and he would chortle with that swoon-worthy half-grin of his, asking you “do you like teasing me that much?”

Sure, he’s always been fashionably late; but if anything these few months of collaborations have taught you of this peculiar enigma, Jungkook has always been a man of his words… or at least you thought.

Fate seems to have taken a drastic detour tonight in return for one you could not have foreseen with that tunnel vision of yours; because tonight, the absence of his quirky jokes and curt profanities that had you cackling amidst the relatively serious work environment and the rest of your colleagues pondering over your true relations are reverberating in the disappointment that settles in your chest. Have you been too hopeful of things just working themselves out? The worst part of it is, you’ve always been wary of the baring of your heart and boys has never been an exception; but somehow, through the elaborate works of fate that had ensured you of the end game time after time again, you had become reliant on the fragile red string that would bring him to you and you to him.

The both of you have made made it evident just how painful these overtime workshops were, but it was a heavy commitment alleviated by the thought that at least you two had each other in a room full of strangers. It was a mutual sense of relief, right? He was always a hard one to decipher, but you know he wouldn’t leave you here. Not on purpose. Would he…?

And maybe you aren’t the only one noticing the hole in tonight’s workshop, because even your supervisor begins counting every minute that passes by without his and your usual rambunctious chattering.

“Did you text Jungkook yet?” he asks with a pitiful look peering down at you, seeing how the two hours of workshop has nearly made its full course.

Jungkook had never been the type to text, so you two had always kept your messages short and to the point, with him unknowingly leaving you on read and you making sure to repay the favor; so you, being the prideful person yourself, texting Jungkook would have been your last resort.

“I did,” you reply, biting your bottom lip. “He hasn’t replied yet.”

That’s how desperate you are.

And as if on cue, your phone vibrates and your hands scramble for the pocketed device.

Jeon Jungkook [6:59 P.M.] Fuck

Jeon Jungkook [6:59 P.M.] I totally forgot we had workshop today

Jeon Jungkook [6:59 P.M.] I’m sorry

Jeon Jungkook [7:00 P.M.] Are you still there?

Forgot you two had workshop today? The thought strikes you with a breath of disbelief leaving your lips, laughing not at his delayed response and stupid question but rather at you and your pathetic self. You had always looked forward to Tuesday nights with him. It was the highlight of your week. Every night at the strike of 7:00 P.M., after a short albeit electric conversation under the starry night sky and along the lit lamp posts along the brick sidewalks, you would wait longingly for the next excuse of an opportunity to speak with him again.

You had always feared this outcome, but it had never occurred to you until his texts that it must have been one-sided after all.

You had waited an entire two hours for him, pathetically waiting and hoping he would come bursting through the doors and all you receive in return is a lack of an effort to conjure an excuse—because, really, you knew you would have accepted even the most unbelievable of excuses.

He could have said he had overslept, in fact, you would have much rather preferred to believe that; but instead, the sirens that go off as your heart armors itself with a familiar cold sheath tell your very guts to believe otherwise.

Because more likely than not, he’s spent the last two hours on things—or rather, a woman—much higher on his priority than you; and as much as you had braced your heart to face this seemingly inevitable dead end, the thought of him breaking an unspoken albeit undeniable promise in exchange for a woman elsewhere evokes a wrenching pain that far exceeds your estimates.

“What did he say?” your supervisor continues, even as the rest of your colleagues collect their things for the day.

“Oh,” you mutter under your breath as you gather your purse and stand to your feet, lifting your sights off the desk and meeting that of your supervisor’s head-on, “he said he isn’t feeling well and meant to call in sick.”

Why did you lie to cover his irresponsible self that had burdened you so? The answer sits by your chair and in his, abandoned and stilling the air as you left the room along with the night that remains buried into a distant memory with no map for recovery.

Even so, the lie of that one fateful night unravels the red string until the two fated souls were tethered no more and you choose to answer his texts with silence.

his side;

Partner [5:13 P.M.] hey… you coming?

Her text has his eyes popping and heart shooting bullets against his chest with each second that passes in baffled silence; and before he knows it, a string of curses fly through the air at a world record speed that even he could never exceed, kicking the blankets to the floor and nearly rolling off the bed and stumbling onto his feet. His knees almost buckle onto the wooden floor of his apartment, but his legs propel himself forward as he staggers into the jet-black kitchen.

The sun and its golden radiance earlier today had completely set, just like the horrifying realization that dawns upon him. Whirling aimlessly around in his kitchen and finally snapping around to sprint toward the glowing green digits of his microwave that shines through the dark, something drops in him along with his lips.

6:56 P.M.

What the fuck happened to his alarm?

The boy makes a beeline for his bedroom, nearly colliding into his drawer and stubbing a toe on his bed-frame before hastily rummaging through the sheets on the floor. Frantically tossing and turning through the mess, his dart-like eyes somehow manage to spot his treacherous phone through the curly curtains that were his bangs. His hands snatch the phone into a grip that turns his skin pale, as if to accuse the device for his own wrongdoings—because the second he fails to find the alarm he had sworn to have set up before his nap, his knees collapse onto the floor and a petrified look replaces his doe-like eyes akin to that of a deer caught in the headlights.

He would put his life on the line to swear he had set up an alarm. Fuck that, what has his chest stirring in further panic isn’t his lack of care but, rather, his naive belief in himself and his supposed ability to “power nap” just an hour before workshop. And now look at him, he shakes his head in utter disappointment, he had abandoned his partner to fend for herself in the past two hours while he was napping away.

He could just picture it now—her delicate self, cold, crouched and closed off from the rest of her colleagues just as he had found her on the first day of the workshop. Something stirs in him enough for the usually stoic boy to clutch at his chest, wincing at the pain evoked by the thought of her waiting patiently for his arrival, glancing at the doorway every so often only to be met with utter disappointed by now.

How the hell is he supposed to explain to her now?

It doesn’t really matter what she thinks of him at this point, because to the boy who is genuinely remorseful for having broken the unspoken trust between him and her, the first thing he’s set out to do is to let her know she is no longer alone.

You [6:59 P.M.] Fuck

He doesn’t really know how to continue from there. Should he make up some shitty excuse? It’s odd, he’s usually never been the type to contemplate over things like this nor had he ever cared about what others thought of him enough to falter his own integrity… so why is he holding his phone and staring at the glaring screen as if his very life depends on his next text? It isn’t that an excuse is difficult to conjure, but it’s the thought of lying to her that has him scratching his head, especially when he recalls her outspoken annoyance for lazy partners.

You [6:59 P.M.] I totally forgot we had workshop today

Shit, he curses to himself, that’s dumb.

You [6:59 P.M.] I’m sorry

He really is. The gut-wrenching regret is enough proof, even for an apathetic man like him. Now the problem is: what can he do to make it up?

You [7:00 P.M.] Are you still there?

It’s a pathetic question and he knows it. Anyone could tell how he would follow-up such a question, but only a fool would accept his long-expired offer. The workshop had just ended and there was no point in him speeding through the roads just to meet her empty-handed. He has absolutely nothing to offer her. Plus, knowing someone as diligent albeit impatient as Y/N, he knows for certain she would have left at least an hour ago.

She wouldn’t wait for someone like him, would she?

Tossing his arms wide open and collapsing backward onto the floor, he stares blankly upward at his ceiling with a chest heaving and heart racing that gradually settles into the terrifying abyss of the unknown.

What now?

A series of texts interrupts his daze and his once-slowing heart rate skyrockets once again as he clutches his phone and almost pulls a muscle to crane his neck.

Jennie [7:14 P.M.] Hey 😊😊 you free tonight? 💕

He doesn’t care to lie, really.

You [7:14 P.M.] Yeah.

His hands plopped back onto the floor when another vibration sets off in his grip.

Jennie [7:15 P.M.] Wanna come over? My roommate is gone for tonight 😜💦

Strangely, his reply comes to him without hesitation.

You [7:15 P.M.] No. Not really.

Jennie [7:15 P.M.] Why not?😣😣

Jennie [7:15 P.M.] I can come over if you want

Unbeknownst to him, a groan escaped his lips as he sends his final text and tosses his phone to the side before retreating to his lengthy daze.

You [7:16 P.M.] Not feeling it. Sorry.

Strange. Whether it be sex or Fortnite, the boy would usually indulge himself in whatever forms of leisure during stressful moments like these; so why does Jennie’s usually tempting offer irk him tonight? It isn’t her fault, but the constant vibrations of his phone across the floor has him just one text away from blocking her number. He wants to bury his concerns and confusion somewhere far away, yet he just can’t seem to get rid of it… he can’t seem to get rid of these thoughts… he just can’t rid himself of her.

And the dreadful hours that seem to pass by in the blink of an eye are enough proof to him that these thoughts are an irrevocable force that is here to stay; because despite how irritating it was to constantly check his phone every few vibrations and groan at the sight of a name other than the only one on his mind, he still does it in hopes of hearing from her.

But he doesn’t. She never returns his messages, leaving him on read since the very minute he had sent her his apology. Jungkook had become accustomed to the “left on read” pattern between the two, accepting it as something that most normal colleagues would do, but this time things are different. As prompt and to the point her replies have always been, he could always sense the tint of excitement that exudes from her quick responses and occasional emojis. She had never left him hanging on his question, however.

Therefore, this time, Jungkook knows with certainty that her silence is her answer.

Her irritation over his negligence and betrayal of a pact between the girl and boy who had promised to have each other’s backs amidst a room of strangers was radiating from the mere checkmark next to his text. And the worst part of it? He can’t even blame her. This is entirely his fault and he’s never felt so regretful before. In fact, such fervent feelings come so rarely to Jungkook that he doesn’t even know what to do next or how to express himself and this dreadful remorse to his partner.

The two of them had started off on rocky terms, somewhere on the borderline of acquaintances that occasionally acknowledged each other’s existence and strangers that passed by one another without a single glance over the shoulder. Even to Jungkook, a boy completely indifferent to the journeys that life has taken him on, it seemed like fate had planned their pairing at work since the moment they had locked eyes. They were gradually becoming friends that would tease each other’s hobbies, dislikes, and private life—and now, he’s ruined everything.

So, in a desperate attempt to salvage whatever this relationship or friendship—if he can even call it that—he sends a final text that, to him, is a spillage of his heart.

You [11:57 P.M.] Fuck I’m really so sorry I promise it won’t happen again

Her silence that ensues is enough of an answer to him and he can practically see it all falling apart in front of his eyes.

#bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts x you #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts scenario #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bangtan scenarios

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sunflowershouto · 4 years

Text

like this - todoroki x fem!reader // pt. one: begin again

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: This is gonna be a multi-chapter Slow. Burn.TM, so strap in; I am not pulling any punches! Not based off a request, just something I really wanted to do! The story is written in third person, but MC’s name is still Y/N and L/N and such! Hope you enjoy, loves! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates to this story.

Reader’s quirk is ‘Angel,’ the same quirk I used in Shellshocked. She has angel wings and heat-based light blasts, but will get fatigued if she uses too much energy while in her angel form.

I highly recommend using the Interactive Fic Chrome extension for this fic! It essentially replaces Y/N and L/N with whatever name you want! I use it a lot and it’s really great with helping to immerse yourself more in the story.

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Y/N’s relationship with Shouto Todoroki is a long and complicated one. How long can they ignore their history before everything comes back to the surface?

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.1k

𝐥 𝐢 𝐤 𝐞 𝐭 𝐡 𝐢 𝐬

𝐩 𝐚 𝐫 𝐭 𝐨 𝐧 𝐞 : 𝐛 𝐞 𝐠 𝐢 𝐧 𝐚 𝐠 𝐚 𝐢 𝐧

Do you ever feel like you’re drowning when you look someone in the eye? When you can’t find the right words, even after years of searching for them?

“Shouto, I-”

“Don’t, L/N. Just. . . don’t.”

She felt like all of the air had been knocked out of the room as she met his eyes, and for a moment, she was drowning. “How long? How long are we going to do this?” Y/N begged, voice cracked and tired.

“Do what? There’s nothing here.”

Stop. Begin again.

“Ugh. . . I thought that lecture was never gonna end.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Uraraka,” Y/N laughed, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she waited for her friend to finish packing up after class. “We’ve had Aizawa giving us lectures since we were first years, it’s not that bad.”

“You’d think that third year classes would be a little less, you know...”

“Coma inducing?” Y/N suggested, grinning.

Ochako giggled and followed L/N out of the classroom, the two girls making light chatter as they headed to their dorms to change before going out for the afternoon.

In a few minutes, they were back on their way out, dressed casually to spend the rest of the day relaxing and enjoying the city. They were still talking as they headed for the front of the campus, chatting casually while walking against the stream of other students that bustled about.

“I don’t know about that. Most Pro Heroes seem to. . . to, uh. . .” Y/N trailed off mid sentence as she briefly caught sight of a flash of red and white, a glimpse of scarred skin completely derailing her thoughts. It had been so long since she’d associated him with any sense of comfort, and even longer since he had been willing to open up to her. They’d gone through all of high school dodging away from each other, avoiding and evading until they could hardly look at one another. And now. . .

How were things so broken?

“Y/N, you okay?” Uraraka nudged her shoulder gently, looking to her friend in mild concern.

“Hm? Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” L/N replied, her gaze snapping quickly back to Ochako as she returned to reality. “I was just saying that most Pro Heroes like to make a name for themselves, right? Like, being known for something? I just... I really want mine to mean something important to me, you know? What’s the point of being a hero if your heart isn’t all the way in it? Anyways. . . With our last Sports Festival coming up, I guess I’ve just been thinking about it a lot more.”

Uraraka nodded her agreement, thinking on what Y/N had said as they reached the front gate of the school.

When Y/N looked away from her friend and out onto the street, she was met with a sight that brought a smile to her face, her heart skipping a beat. “Takashi!” she cried, beaming as she ran forward and jumped towards him, her worries momentarily forgotten.

Takashi Hirano had been standing at the gate with his arms crossed over his chest, at least until Y/N came running forward; he opened his arms and pulled her into a hug, smiling as he leaned down to place a chaste kiss to her lips. “Hey, angel,” he greeted, giving her a soft smile.

“You said you’d be busy today. I’m not complaining, but I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Y/N confessed, standing on her toes to place a small kiss to his cheek, running her hand gently through his jet-black locks.

Takashi shrugged, flashing a carefree smile before resting his chin on the top of her head. “Just thought I’d come and surprise you. Being graduated has its perks, you know?”

Y/N was still smiling as she pulled away, her face lightly flushed. “Uraraka and I were just heading out for a bite to eat, but if you have the rest of the evening off, maybe we can catch a movie after?”

He nodded, giving his girlfriend another smile before fishing around in his pocket for something. He retrieved what he was looking for and handed it to L/N, a few slightly crumpled bills. “My treat?” he offered. “You guys get dinner on me, I don’t wanna crash your hangout, so I can go get some work done. I’ll be waiting, ‘kay?”

“Thank you, Hirano!” Uraraka nodded her head, giving him a wide smile.

“You’re the best, Takashi!” Y/N chirped, kissing his cheek again before waving goodbye and heading off with Ochako. From across the courtyard, a cold, multicolored gaze observed the scene, seemingly expressionless. Shouto Todoroki drew in a controlled breath and walked away.

“You two are so sweet together,” Uraraka sighed, once Takashi was out of earshot. “What’s it like dating a pro? Especially with such a cool power!”

“Don’t make it sound so weird! He graduated last year, he’s only a year older than us. He’s barely a pro,” Y/N reminded her, waving off the compliment with a small laugh. “But he is really sweet, and his power is pretty cool.”

“I wonder how he gets those force fields so precise,” she continued, tapping the side of her face with her finger.

“I have no idea, but you sound like Izuku right now,” L/N laughed, nudging her friend’s shoulder. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get some food, I’m starving.”

The rest of her evening was split between her time with Uraraka and her time with Takashi, and by the time she had returned to her dorm, she had forgotten all about those blue and grey eyes that had sent chills down her back.

The next morning, the class of 3-A was out on the P.E. courts, waiting for Aizawa to explain the activity. He checked off attendance, and then went into his introduction of the morning’s activities.

“Today is about teamwork,” Aizawa explained, standing at the front of the class with his arms crossed, bloodshot eyes scanning his students’ faces. “You’re all approaching the time when you’re going to have to do hero work on your own, uninstructed. Part of that is being able to work with whoever shows up on the scene, whether you’re friends or not. You’ve all been spoiled; you’ve spent the last three years in the same group, getting to know each other and forming bonds of trust. You won’t always have that luxury in the real world.”

L/N was standing with Yaoyorozu and Ochako, but her gaze drifted to the side, finding that head of read and white hair before she made herself look back at Aizawa. Shouto hadn’t noticed, but she wasn’t surprised; he avoided her like the plague, and she’d learned to do the same. Frankly, she wasn’t sure Todoroki would look at her even if she dropped dead on the spot.

“I’m going to put you in pairs, and you’re not going to complain about who you’re with. The whole point of this is being able to work with anyone.”

The students all nodded, waiting for their instructor to start reading off the list of partners.

“Bakugou and Midoriya. Ochako and Kirishima. Iida and Sero. Ashido and Sato. Todoroki and L/N.”

Y/N froze up, looking over to Todoroki like a deer in the headlights, unsure of what to do. “Ah. . . Aizawa-sama, can-”

“No.”

Great.

Shouto still wouldn’t look at her, even after being assigned a task, so she tried to do something to get him to at least acknowledge her presence. “Shouto, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either, but Aizawa said we need to be able to work with anyone.”

Finally, his gaze met hers, disinterested and apathetic. “It’s not a problem. Let’s just finish this lesson, okay?”

“I. . . Right.”

It was a simple enough task, in theory; the idea was to rescue dummies from a fire while also keeping in mind the structural integrity of the building. There wasn’t much communication, but Y/N and Shouto silently agreed upon their roles.

Todoroki would be using his ice to replace crumbled support beams, and L/N would use her flight to carry the training dummies to safety. It wasn’t ideal; both of them would have rather just had different partners, but they worked quickly and silently, until they were almost done, Y/N flying back into the building for the last few ‘civilians.’

She hoisted the two training dummies onto her back, nestling them between her wings, before heading for an open window.

Todoroki was just a few feet away, holding up pillars of quickly-melting ice to keep the ceiling from caving in and waiting until it was safe for him to exit the building.

Y/N passed by him, and a beam cracked loudly overhead, sending wayward sparks flying down onto her; she used her wings to shield the civilians, not noticing that the ceiling above her was cracking dangerously.

“L/N, move!”

Before she could react, the beam gave way, falling towards her like a massive torch, embers crackling in shards of splintered wood. Something cold wrapped around her arm, and she was pulled away. Y/N had squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them again, her face was against Todoroki’s shoulder, his cold hand still wrapped around her wrist and his other arm hovering over her waist.

“Thank you,” she muttered, glancing away and starting to pull back from him. She felt like she was going to be sick; she hated being vulnerable in front of him while he was so apathetic, while he acted like she didn’t matter.

“Yeah.” He pushed her away just as quickly as he’d pulled her in, and cleared a way for them to exit the building and deliver the training dummies to safety.

The two young heroes returned to Aizawa and the rest of the class, staring straight ahead as if they couldn’t see each other.

Aizawa, as always, looked unimpressed. “L/N, Todoroki, I’m sorry, but you’ve failed the exercise.”

“What?! But we got everyone out in time! There were no casualties!” Y/N argued, face screwing up in confusion.

“It wasn’t about whether or not you could save everyone. It was about communicating with someone in the field. You didn’t say a word to each other, and you missed the point of the activity.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she whined, burying her face in the palm of her hand. Of course she’d be paired with the one person she couldn’t work with, it was just her luck.

“You and Todoroki can come in after school today for a written makeup assignment. Kaminari, Yaoyorozu, you’re up.” Aizawa didn’t waste any more time on the matter, leaving L/N and Todoroki to go steep in defeat.

Just as she was about to head into the girl’s locker room, a tap on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks.

“L/N.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, drawing in a breath at the sound of that voice. “Why are you here, Todoroki?”

“You were cut.”

When she turned, she was met with those eyes, drilling into her as he held out a small bandage. She hadn’t even noticed the scrape across her cheek, but now as he pointed it out, she felt a light sting.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked after a moment, frowning as she returned his stare. “You had every chance to fix this. You’ve had three years to fix this. Why? Why now? I forgave you. I forgave you so long ago, but you just... You just couldn’t let it go, could you?”

Shouto blinked at her, then placed the bandage in his pocket. “I see. So that’s it, then?”

“I don’t want to do this, okay? Not right now. Just. . .” Y/N let out a long sigh, and held her hand out, palm open.

He hesitated for a moment before digging the bandage out of his pocket and placing it in her hand.

“Thank you for the help.” With that, she turned into the locker room and started to change back into her uniform, eyeing her reflection in one of the paneled mirrors that lined the far wall.

Her fingers grazed across a long stretch of skin on her back, an angry scar running from her waist up to her shoulder-blades. The mark spiraled across her back, permanently marring a wide area of skin like oil in an ocean.

Her gaze lingered there for a long moment before she pulled her uniform shirt back on, and placed the bandage over the scrape on her cheek.

All these years later, and now he was trying to make amends? Did he really think that it would be so easy? Did he really think that they could just begin again?

// 𝑬𝒏𝒅 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: I really hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, I’d love to hear feedback! -Xizi <3

#mha imagines #mha x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki imagine #my hero imagines #my hero x reader #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #like this

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comic-brew · 4 years

Text

Pieces

@whumptober2020 days n.4 Running out of time: Buried Alive and n.5 Falling (alt prompt)

Summary: The wet soil doesn’t end, it engulfs him in its cold embrace and doesn’t let him go, no matter how wildly he struggles against the earthly tendrils wrapped securely around his limbs and torso.

Notes: shitty au where basically TV Titans Jason has flashbacks of his comic-life, even though he technically haven’t lived any of them yet. How much this story progresses depends on if I’ll write a second ch. Beware of 2 different writing styles cause I started this way too long ago.

Reading time: 35 mins (4.4k)

Warnings: whump, panic attacks, being buried alive, self deprecating thoughts, angst, oxygen deprivation, PTSD (?), vertigo, falling, perhaps sth else I missed??

or read here on ao3!

ps. reblogs and feedback bring the author great joy uwu

***

“Hey, Jason” Gar greets after knocking and opening the door to Jason’s room just enough to peer his head through.

“How’re you doing?”

The boy waits but Jason doesn’t reply. He’s simply staring out his window, arms falling limply at his side, barely even registering the new presence in the room. Garfield bites his lip and invites himself inside and by Jason’s side. He glances at the boy’s rapidly moving, but hollow eyes, then at the view of the sky they’re aiming at.

“Are you still with us, buddy?” he asks.

He hesitantly runs a hand up and down in front of Jason’s distant gaze and that seems to do the trick.

Jason blinks, then shakes his head to rid himself of whatever thought he was so unnervingly engrosed into. Turning to face the green haired boy, he assumes the most carefree expression he can muster, forcing a halflit smile in a futile attempt to compose himself.

“Yeah, was just.. thinking” he assures, his eyes holding no emotion.

“ ‘Course… You sure you’re okay?” Gar presses, making little effort to conceal the incredulous frown his eyebrows are drawn into.

Jason shifts in his place while his hands clench and unclench, in an attempt to calm his discomfort and aggravation at Gar’s question, because he knows his teammate’s just asking out of honest concern. It’s not his fault Jason hasn’t slept in days and isn’t used to people checking up on him.

“I’m fine, dude, seriously.” Jason insists and Garfield knows better than to further inquire him “Now, did you want something?”

Fuck. Jason almost winces at how aggressive his words have come out. Gar blinks, opening his mouth to say something. Before his thoughts can materialize on the tip on his tongue, he seems to rethink what he wanted to say. That delay of course doesn’t go unnoticed by Jason.

God..Why does he always mess everything up?

As Gar’s about to speak again, the new Robin raises a hand to the green haired boy’s chest, stopping any word before it can reach his ears. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and I’m taking it out on you.” he huffs a bitter laugh “You don’t deserve me being an ass to you too.”

The boy’s brown eyes light up with understanding and relief and his tense shoulders physically relax at the confession. “Hey, it’s cool man. I get it.” he acknowledges, smiling politely and squeezing Jason’s shoulder.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t recoil from the touch, instead reciprocating Gar’s reassuring smile with an exhausted, but genuine and lighthearted smirk.

They both remain in that position for several split seconds, until Garfield finally retracts his hand to clasp his palms together as it dawns on him that he still hasn’t told his teammate the news he came to deliver.

“Actually I did come to tell you something” he announces, grinning widely and slightly fidgeting with his fingers “Rachel and I were thinking of watching a movie, you’re welcome to join us. You know, if you feel up to it.”

Jason takes a spare second to ponder and process Gar’s proposition. He steals a glance at the translucent glass of the window, separating his world from the towering skyscrapers and showering his neatly made bed in the soft gleam of the afternoon.

It would surely be better than staying there alone, falling into the inky depths of his eternal abyss.

Turning to face the boy whose eyes scour him expectantly for any indication of his intentions, he relents with a rather forced shrug.

“Uh, sure, I guess.” Jason says.

Gar’s face lights up and pulls into a joyous grin. “Cool… cool.”

He awkwardly shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants and starts heading towards the door, stopping midway to listen to Jason calling out after him.

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

The green haired boy simply nods and subtly waves his hand goodbye, before he disappears into the hallway.

***

When Jason steps foot into one of the spacious living areas Titans Tower houses, there are three heads turning at the soft sound of his approaching footsteps where he expected to be greeted by two. The platinum curls flowing gracefully with the motion can only belong to one person. Well, at least one person they know.

“Rose” he sighs. “Didn’t expect you to come”

“Didn’t expect to come either” she counters, the corners of her lips twitching upwards in amusement, “But I guess this could be fun after all”

She is comfortably perched on a lovely armchair covered by smooth, pearl fabric, facing the flank of a matching couch. One knee bent and placed securely under her body, the side of her head is doused in the last dull afternoon light seeping into the room through the daffodil curtains keeping the golden sunset rays at bay. Rachel is regarding Jason with a mellow smile, sitting cross legged on the far end of the couch neighbouring Rose’s armchair and Garfield has already started fumbling with a rather ancient DVD player.

It’s a wonder how this thing still exists in a building where interactive holograms are a norm. But then again it wouldn’t be the oddest thing about this place.

“Well,” Gar begins, slightly groaning when the DVD port spitefully refuses to close, “We’re both glad you did join us. Now, take a seat ladies and gentlemen!” he announces with fervor when he finally manages to slam the port close, and gestures towards the unoccupied cushions next to the purple haired girl.

Jason takes the invitation gladly and flops down on the other end of the couch, closer to the hall he was in just a few seconds ago.

“What are we watching?” Jason asks.

Rachel turns her focus to him then, leaning her back on the couch and clutching a decorative pillow to her abdomen. “Gar found this, and I quote, 'apocalyptic masterpiece of censorship’ and insisted we had to watch it.” she grins, rolling her eyes at reciting her friend’s words.

Jason and Rose both snort at that as Garfield reaches the couch in a few quick strides. “Seriously guys, I have only ever heard about this movie from some pretty questionable sources.” he says giddily before sobering up again, clearly fussing over his discovery.

“We’re literally staring an urban legend in the face, guys!”

“Yeah, not like you hang out with the Titans or whatever” Jason quips. Seriously, how can a movie be more exciting than fighting crime alongside heroes? Than being a hero?

“Good point, bro. Good point”

Jason shoulders stiffen at the nickname, but only for a briefly awkward moment which Gar is more than eager to fill with more (unnecessary) information.

“Well, according to those guys the movie was banned shortly after its release and all copies were revoked and ultimately destroyed.”

“Clearly not all copies” Rachel muses before asking why the movie was banned in the first place. Gar mumbles something about it addressing some extremely controversial topics and offending some powerful douchbag before making his way to the middle cushion.

Rachel scoots over without even untangling her legs to make more room for him to sit.

Rose simply raises an eyebrow.

“Where the hell did you even hear about this stuff in the first place?”

Gar suddenly goes stills in his place on the couch. He runs a hand through his messy strands of hair before reluctantly providing an answer. “Uh… Tumblr?” he says while grinning awkwardly.

Rachel nods her head back slack-jawed, brows shooting up in a terrible attempt at showing understanding. Gar frowns as he then glances at Jason who’s staring at him with wide disbelieving eyes, the sound of Rose dramatically smacking her own face enhancing the atmosphere.

“It’s not that surprising guys, come on!” Gar protests, an exasperated sigh emanating from his lips.

At that, the three of them exchange deadpan looks before bursting out laughing. The laughter soon subsides into small giggles and high pitched breaths as the green haired boy smiles with content and leans above the mahogany coffee table to grab the tv remote.

“Well, friends, brace yourselves, for the most epic zombie movie to barely exist” he says, smirking as he plops back down on the leathern cushions.

On the screen, their reflections have given their place to the lean figure of a boy of asian descent in his 16s walking alongside a girl with dark complexion and luscious, auburn hair. A gentle, velvety voice surrounds them from the speakers and integrates them in the world the film is set in.

Time flows pleasantly as the story progresses with no interruption aside from a few enthusiastic inputs from a beaming Garfield.

The rest of the Titans are all gathered together in some other part of the Tower, once again excluding them from whatever plans they might be conjuring.

Because that went so well last time, Jason unwittingly ponders, quick to dismiss the thoughts lest those dreadfully fresh memories resurface.

But perhaps it’s already too late to whisk them away.

Jason gets up out of the blue, eliciting an inquisitive glare from the rest of the kids.

“I’ll just.. go grab some popcorn” he states vacantly, pointing at the hallway with his thumb without breaking eye contact. Truth is he needs a minute to recover from the intrusion of sensations he’d rather forget.

Plus, popcorn sounds nice.

“We can pause the film if you want” Rachel’s soft voice prompts, wording what has likely been dancing around the others’ minds as well.

“Nah, it’s cool. It won’t take long. I’m not going all the way to the Antarctica and back or whatever” he replies, fighting the nagging urge to roll his eyes and let the poison drip onto his voice. The kids nod and in a moment’s notice he’s gone.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Keeping up his pace feels abysmally hard. His head is reeling and his senses are swimming all around the place, reality feels like a fuzzy blanket draped over a newborn’s skin. Jason takes a few more carefully calculated steps before he stumbles on thin air. Careening into the wall he leans against the slick concrete on his flank until the world stops shifting enough for him to continue.

Somehow Jason makes it to the kitchen. He fumbles with the drawers, opening and closing them jerkily.

In just a few seconds the falling has progressed to the point where he can barely stand. He doesn’t think it’s ever been this bad the previous times.

Everything is spinning around. And when it all shifts upside down he’s falling from the marble to the ceiling, and when his skin and the asbestos are inches from colliding, the world tilts again like an hourglass that’s ran out of sand.

Just like that his descend is reset. Over and over.

He finds the popcorn bag in the last one and grabs it hastily. Only after the third attempt, the previous two ending shamefully with his clasp clutching piteously at empty air.

Dropping it of on the countertop it’s more muscle memory than will that redirects him to the sink. His fingers grip the knob, turning the water lukewarm, but as he lets it puddle on his palms he can’t feel it any clearer than a breath of a ghost on the back of his neck.

Jason splashes the water on his face but it ends up mostly on his clothes and on the ground. Gravity works funny when you have no sense of it.

His hands latch onto the edge of the sink and cling for dear life. The ledge, hold on to the ledge. His eyes open wide, they soak up the terror of the height. The terror of death.

The eerie reassurance of death.

The smog dissipates faster this time. But with it the distressing thought that it’s getting worse, that he’s getting worse, finds the chance settle in his gut.

Jason can’t do this anymore.

But he’s already been gone for a conspicuously large amount of time, and the thought of having to explain his reoccurring day-mares can’t even be entertained by his mind. So that makes a problem for another day.

The popcorn is ready in only a few minutes. Jason holds on to the sink for a couple more moments, taking deep breaths in and out, until his heart has stopped beating frenzied.

If they ask, he can always say he had trouble with the 'corn.

He can always say.

“Okay” he breathes out, closing his eyes as he informs nobody in particular.

“Okay I’m ready”

With that Jason grabs the bowl filled to the brim with the snack and disappears out the door. The journey from the kitchen to the smaller living area is nothing compared to the odyssey he went through following his departure from the lounge.

Once he sets foot back inside all heads turn towards him.

“What did I miss?” he asks, ever so cheerfully as he strides closer to the small den of couches.

One of them starts speaking, no doubt filling him in on the events that happened while he wasn’t watching. Whoever it is, Jason can’t concentrate on their voice enough to tell it apart.

On the screen, the boy is desperately gasping for air as he’s emerging from a moonlit grave.

The world spins out of focus, and before any of them know it the bowl has slipped through Jason’s limb fingers.

It has slipped, and it is falling.

***

The splintered wood pricks and stabs the sensitive skin beneath his shattered fingernails and the blood is threatening to leave his hands and drip onto his glacial cold face. His fingers hurt, they weren’t made as a shovel, they weren’t made to be penetrating wood, but they are doing exactly that, and he can’t acknowledge the piercing, burning throbs that travel through his veins to set the rest of his body aflame, because his lungs are burning, they’re flaring up more and more with every broken attempt at filling them up with air-

He has to dig, he has to keep going-

The last layer of polished wood finally relents, small pieces of it falling onto his raggedly, but once expensive, dandy suit. Blood is mixed with sweat on his palms, accelerating the speed with which it runs along his hands, tickling him while he scrambles for a breath of fresh air that never comes.

“N..o…” he croaks out and speaking is hard, his throat feels as the ash coated land left behind the passage of lava, and now he needs to cough, and he needs to breathe but there’s no air coming in, and frankly, he can’t decide whether it’s from the panic that has overcome him or because there simply isn’t enough oxygen in the cramped space he’s trapped in.

It’s not some prank

As if on cue the ground above him slightly shakes as the mud repositions and soil seeps through the open slit of the-

Of the coffin.

I’m buried alive…. I… I…, he realizes, ever so frantically.

And so his thoughts begin to plague him, the next one banging and clawing at the door of his mind before the previous has had the time to be stated, he’s hyperventilating and fairly so, he’s buried underneath 6 feet of soil-

Stop it Jason, get ahold of yourself. You made it this far because you never gave up, you won’t give up now either, a part of himself with a semblance of sanity left scolds him and orders his bloody hands to move, they grip the edge of the broken pine casket and pull with all their might.

The wooden seal cracks and Jason makes a supernatural effort to set it aside as it holds the weight of 6 feet of soil, his atrophied muscles protest by threatening to give out but it’s sheer determination that gets him to move on, he has to make it, he can’t die in there, he can’t leave, can’t leave his family.

Mud now openly drowns him from the huge whole in the lid of the casket, devouring every corner, sticking to every inch of skin and fabric.

He’s still gasping for air, his lungs and throat feel ready to burst and he’s dizzy, everything is spinning, but on the other hand 'everything’ is nothing more but a muddy grave and he’s still inside.

Almost frantically his injured fingers reach for the source of the soil. With jerky movements and all the strength he can muster he forces his hands through the earth. The stiff mud swallows him whole, lets the worms and maggots get tangled in his long strands of hair. Jason keeps his eyes and mouth stubbornly shut as he desperately struggles to propel his flimsy frame through the endless layers of ground.

He can faintly feel the darkness creeping in the corner of his mind, promising relief, promising safety. Those whispers sound tempting to his weak, grazed arms, to his blazing lungs-

The whispers don’t know that it’s not written in his DNA to yield.

His arms hastily swim through the wet mass that’s holding him beneath the surface, he can feel the dirt in his hair, in his ears, in his shirt, his pants, his everything. Maggots and caterpillars are crawling on his convulsed features. His heart is throbbing unnaturally loud, he can hear the thumping in his ears as his marred hands push and dig with painstaking effort.

Better hurry little robin! It ain’t fun if you die now, amiright boy blunder? HahaHA!

He’s digging, he’s trying, dyeing the earth crimson with his blood, please-

The wet soil doesn’t end, it engulfs him in its cold embrace and doesn’t let him go, no matter how wildly he struggles against the earthly tendrils wrapped securely around his limbs and torso.

He’s desperately gasping for a breath, just one breath to keep going, he’s coughing up phlegm and bile while his chest writhes and burns. He can’t help his mouth gaping in a last-gasp search for oxygen but the only thing entering his mouth and traveling towards his pricking trachea is dirt and rocks and… and…

…a feather?

A feather. He can feel it with his tongue, he can taste its sourness and almost hear a soft crunch under his teeth.

A feather. Robin.

He’s Robin, and Robin doesn’t die alone in an empty grave.

Robin fights. Robin protects. Robin wins.

With renewed resoluteness he forges ahead, his hand reaches where he supposes skyward is one more time.

This time, it’s met with the comfort of soft raindrops and the gentle wind blowing against his numb fingertips.

***

“-on? Jason!” Rachel calls at the sound of the metal bowl clattering to the ground, slipping right through the boy’s fingers and letting the freshly baked popcorn scatter all over the marble floor.

The girl exchanges a worried glance with Gar, before Rose gets up and marches furiously towards an exasperatingly unresponsive Robin, the popcorn crunching beneath her feet. She comes to a halt a few inches away from Jason’s hollow eyes and slaps him hard across the cheek.

The other two begin to protest loudly but Rose barely pays them any mind. She watches with pursed lips as Jason’s cloudy eyes regain focus and his hand shoots up to the skin gradually assuming the oh-so-wonderful shade of radish.

“Ow.. what the fuck?” Jason frowns at her while cautiously rubbing his cheek with his right hand. There’s no blood on his fingers, no mud on his skin. He can breathe.

Rose ignores his baffled query and simply turns to the two teens watching the whole scene play out from the safety of the cushions. She beams triumphantly as she announces smugly, “See? It worked.”

Jason, visibly annoyed by his incompetence to understand what the hell is happening traps her wrist in a vice like grip and tugs, forcing her to face him. She squints viciously at the gesture although she effortlessly pulls her hand free.

“Why the fuck did you slap me?”

The girl opens her mouth to respond, putting together a not so composed reply in her head -to put it mildly-, so it’s probably for the best when Rachel interrupts her train of thought.

“What happened, Jason? You completely zoned out”.

“Yeah, dude. What the hell was that all about?” Gar chimes in, nodding at the pile of popcorn by Robin’s feet and at the discarded bowl that has slid all the way to the edge of the couch he and Rachel are perched on.

“Wha..” Jason regards the strewn snacks with a quizzical look, as if he’s waiting for them to answer why they’re spread out all over the floor. Oddly enough, they don’t.

He fixes his still hazy gaze on his calloused hands next, his confusion manifesting in the form of furrowed brow.

He- he was-

no. He was never there. Always here.

His inviolate fingers are proof enough of that. But then.. is he losing his mind? Just like old Bertha, the old lady running around the theater, screaming that she had been kidnapped and experimented on by flying giraffes…. Not that it’s impossible with everything he’s witnessed the past year.

No, that can’t be it. He’s still shaken up from the fall right? It’s logical that he’s hallucinating about graves, he was seconds from ending up in one just a few days ago. It will go away right?

It will, it has to.

They can’t know, the street kid inside of him insists, they’ll throw you away like a broken toy. Broken..

“Jason, talk to us. What’s wrong?” Rachel is still staring at him, they all are. Her voice is laced with pity, they’re sorry for him. They’re pitying him, the bird that broke its wing and they know that now can’t survive on its own.

“What’s wrong with me?!” His head snaps to where her voice is coming from and the girl flinches at the bite behind his words.

“I didn’t mean- I meant you should perhaps tell Dick about it, he might be able to help” she stutters, her face bearing a deer in the headlights expression. Her gaze briefly meets with Garfield’s, perhaps to seek some backup. Somehow that angers Jason even more.

“Tell Dick? Really?” he snorts, “How about we tell Dick about that time you almost fucking choked me, maybe he could help!” he gasps mockingly. He is shouting now and the girl seems taken aback by the progression of his anger, gawking at him with a hint of sorrow tainting the indigo of her irises.

Gar stands up from his seat and approaches him, getting in the way of him and a Rachel fumbling for the right response to Jason’s accusation. The green haired boy extends his hand almost cautiously, it’s a simple gesture meaning nothing else than stop. It’s common sense, he knows he is going too far again but Jason’s common sense has jumped out the window. To him, they’re treating him like a wounded animal.

Perhaps he’s just projecting how cornered he feels.

“Dude, that’s enough”

“I’m sorry to break this to you, ” he points a finger accusingly at Rachel, “but Dick can’t fix everything like some kind of god you’ve made him out to be”

“Buddy-”

“He can’t fix you and your fucking razor blade tornado or whatever…” he keeps holding Rachel’s bleak glare gesturing wildly with his fingers and ignoring Garfield’s feeble attempts at making him stop.

“…and he can’t fix this” Jason concludes by pointing miserably at his head, then the rest of his body, until his hand drops limp at his side in resignation. His newfound rage has dissipated into downright bitterness.

At the far back the movie is still playing, forgotten. In the faint comforting light of the screen the girl with the auburn hair is kneeling in front of a stone cold body, burrowing her face in chestnut locks that would never grow any longer, as her shoulders heave sharply with every wreaked sob.

Grieving. Jason can still feel the three pairs of eyes -one consisting of one blue and an eyepatch- burning holes into the glimmers of tears stubbornly refusing to be spilt from his, even as he averts his stare.

There’s a deep pause after the abrupt revelation and the four kids are encompassed in a veil of tense silence no one seems willing to break.

Rose -who seemed rather amused when the yelling had started- is now solemnly inspecting the intricate patterns on the sheer curtains tucked to the side of the plate-glass window. Garfield is standing with his arms crossed protectively around his torso. Rachel has ceased to stare wide eyed like a freshly caught fish, however she’s keeping her arms close to her body and shifting awkwardly in her place. Her expression remains grim and her eyes dim, bearing an eerily sorrowful glint.

She puts her head down and eventually flies out of the room without another word. Consumed either by irritation or even guilt, if Jason has to guess. Gar spares no more than a defeated glance at her departure, otherwise maintaining his position by the abruptly deserted couch. He simply reaches for the tv remote, cutting off image and sound amidst a heated argument between the two leads. Damn this movie.

Deathstroke’s daughter looks between the two boys expectantly for half a second. None of them pays her any mind, too busy staring at the suddenly immensely intriguing floor.

“Nevermind, I’m out of here” she mutters through gritted teeth before getting down from atop the loveseat she had claimed and heading towards her own room.

Jason stares blankly at the scattered popcorn, but it provides no answer to the million questions dancing around in his mind.

Frankly, he didn’t expect it to.

Gosh. He’s so messed up.

Gar offers to help him clean up. He refuses. Perhaps Jason pushes him away just like everyone else. He’s got his own mess to clean up, first literally.

The metaphorical one might have just stained too deeply to remedy.

The night finds him placing the broom back in it’s place in the supply closet and sitting alone in pitch darkness.

Thinking of a grave that doesn’t belong to him, it never did, but it has his name on it. Thinking of the memories he shouldn’t have, piecing together how his heart only knows more fragments have been prodding at him, more broken pieces he doesn’t know where they fit.

The night finds him sitting alone in pitch darkness. Shivering, shaking with quiet tears.

Knowing he’d be undisturbed, alone, in the grave he’s built for himself.

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irisyorokobiwriter · 4 years

Text

Another Day, Another Bounty Pt. 4

A/N Here with another chapter-not my favorite one that I’ve written (Not sure if it’s because I’ve been staring at this chapter for too long) But more is coming soon! Warning: Abuse, physical harm, violence

Taglist: @angelcvsmic

Read Last Chapter Here, Next Chapter Here

Lowering slowly to the landing dock, noticeable darkness passed over Xola's features as she stoically gripped the arm of the chair. Flipping off the switches, the Mandalorian rose. "Let's go." He said, ignoring the heaviness in the back of his throat. Opening the hangar door, he watched Xola step down, listening to their surroundings, breathing in the dusty air. As her foot caught on the odd ridge between the ship and ground, the Mandalorian caught her arms, steadying her. "Careful." The irony did not escape either of their minds. If she tripped and fell, what would it matter? Her life would be over, come daybreak. Moving away from him, she smoothed out her cloak and begin to walk briskly. Walking through the port, he maneuvered their way through the coming and going jets and planes, Entering into the city, the Mandalorian felt quiet eyes on their backs, a certain glint in a bystander's eye...they knew. Pulling the cloak over her head, his arm went around her shoulder, guiding her forward.

Turning into an alleyway after alleyway, they stood at the back door of the client. Pushing the entry button, he flashed his ID chip at the droid. Apprehensively, Xola's pinky strayed back to the embroidered lily. Door hissing open, the marching of Stormtroopers rang in Xola's ears. Hand remaining on her shoulder, the Mandalorian guided her in, an element of gentleness to his touch. Instinctively leaning closer to the Mandalorian, Xola stiffened as the hand on her shoulder was replaced with a fist around her bicep. "Easy." The Mandalorian spoke tersely. "You take it easy!" He snapped back, jerking her arm for good measure. Rising from his desk, the client held the tracker in front of Xola, who was leaning apprehensively away. "Yes...yes, yes, yes." Gripping her chin, he smiled. Eyes narrowing, the Mandalorian observed the exchange worldlessly. The scientist rushing in, he swallowed nervously, fumbling as he pulled out a red light. Shining it in her eyes, Xola squinted confusedly, arching her neck away.

"Xola." The scientist whispered, reverence in his tone. Lips parting slightly, she struggled and squirmed from the grip on her chin. "Alright...hurry then." The scientist murmured, the stormtroopers marching Xola forward. Brushing past Xola, the Mandalorian stared at the case of Beskar. The last time he'd lain eyes on such an amount was...years ago, it felt. "You really are the best of your kind. Then...your reward. You've earned it." Eyes drifting to Xola, he watched her being marched away, out of his arm's reach. As if she could feel his gaze, she looked his direction, before she disappeared behind the door. "Such a small price, for...such a small package. But, to the winner, the prize goes." "You sent out more than one tracking fob." "It was most crucial that Xola arrived. Alive or...otherwise." Taking the case, he paused. "The girl. What are you going to do?"

Smiling humorlessly, he clicked his tongue as he slid him the case pointedly. "How most peculiar for one of your kind. May I remind you, that our contract has now ended. No questions asked. Is that not the code of your guild?" Resisting the urge to look at the door once more, he found himself escorted out by the Stormtroopers. The Armorer didn't ask questions, like usual, just wanting the vertebrae of an issue. Thanks to her interference, and fighting a natural beast, his armor had lost its integrity. "The enemy helped you? Why?" "I...she didn't...fully realize." He found himself saying. But she had. Xola had known from the start. Then why the bandage, staying beside him after the Jawa attack? Why did she save him? "Then, whistling birds." His armorer said after a pause. "That will do nicely." ***

Finding himself sitting across from Greef, he felt the eyes of every bounty hunter digging into his back. "How many had tracking fobs?" "All of them!" Greef boomed. "All of them, and yet, you were the one to bring her in!" "Her?" He echoed. "Word travels fast, Mando. Now, what can I do for my most valued partner? There are some fine medicinal baths to attend, which I'm sure you'd enjoy." "I'd like my next job." "You-Mando, come now! You've earned time off. Enjoy your earnings, you've certainly worked enough for at least a few days rest!" "I want...my next...job." The Mandalorian reiterated. "Right. You, bounty hunters, enjoy keeping busy. Well, take your pick, you've earned it. I must warn you, they are quite far." "The further, the better." Turning on a fob, he analyzed the information. "Nobleman jumping bail, all the way in the oceanic ridge. That is as far as you could be." "I'll take it." Snatching it, he pushed himself up. "Excellent, I expect a good capture!" Turning his back to Greef, he closed his eyes. Xola.

"What do you think they'll do with her." "Her?" "The girl." "I didn't ask." Tone growing in severity, Greef eyed him warningly. "It's against the guild code." When he made no response, Greef motioned to the bar. "Buy a keg here. Go on your mission. By the time I see you again, you will have forgotten all about it." And that was his job, to forget. Forget everyone and everything he came into contact with. Marching onto his ship, he sat down, hurriedly flipping the switches. He couldn't stand being on the planet a moment more. As he pushed the controller forward, the handle top fell off to the floor with a loud thud. He had forgotten to screw the knob on securely last night. Reprimanding himself, he reached down to grab it, his gloved knuckles brushing against a paper. Pausing, he picked that up gently and turned it over in his hands. A common oily paper that was transformed into a paper bird, each line made neatly, precisely, and gracefully. Her eyes. Something he could not place. Not quite fear, and not quite giving up. A look of innocence, yet a wisdom that exceeded her years. Yet...still something."Sadly, we will never know the story." The droids words regurgitated in his head.

"No," he muttered. "I'm leaving."

Hand hovering over the initiator, he slammed it off.

"Damn it."

***

Rifle set up, he adjusted the listening fob, catching garbled words and feedback.

"I don't care what. You cannot manifest the energy. Harvest what you can. Once you get forty percent, that is all we need. Annihilate it straight afterward."

"But, no, we can still send her-"

"-There is not enough resource. I suggest you hurry, as I can no longer assure you safety. Afterward, burn the 'leftovers'."

Switching off the listening fob, he slid down the piping along the walls. He didn't have much time to listen to their schemes.

Brushing alongside the walls, the Mandalorian paused by the rubbish bin. Hand on the top of it, he peered inside, an all too familiar article of clothing laying amongst the metal scraps and bloody cloths. Picking it up, he turned it a few times. The yellow lilies were spattered in filth and a little blood. She was punched somewhere in the face, the cloak was pulled so hard it had ripped from her body. Feeling unappeasable anger that settled in his stomach, he slammed it back into the bin.

It didn't take him long to break inside the safehouse, and within minutes, he was shooting down the panel to the laboratory door.

Watching a droid approach her with a large needle, he shot it down, then aiming the blaster at the scientist who was cowering behind a barrel.

"Please, please don't hurt her! Xola never did anything wrong, please, she's done nothing, please leave her alone!"

Wearing a thin and terribly torn grey top, it was instantly obvious that she had struggled, dried blood and a nasty bruise over her right cheek, a grey metal strap securing her to the table.

Face an ashen color, he noticed a tube of some sort in her arm. Pulling it out, he looked at the bag that was feeding her body the vile liquid. A sedative.

"What did you do?" He asked, raising the blaster higher. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, nothing! I saved her! If it wasn't for me, she'd be in the dumpster by now, please don't hurt her! She-she is so precious to me!"

Precious? Brow furrowing, he felt disgust sweep over him.

As he muttered "please" over and over again, the Mandalorian pulled out his grey sack. He didn't have long. Scooping her inside it, he rushed out.

It was time to make their escape.

By three minutes, the distress signal would come, bringing all the hunters his way. As the beeping from the fobs echoed throughout the near-silent city, his hand drifted near his rifle, setting it to disintegrate. Make that one minute. As he reached the threshold of the landing bay, he watched Greef solemnly stand in the very center of his way, cronies flanking all sides. No clean escapes after all. "Let me pass," he warned. "You put the girl down, and I might let you." "She is coming with me." "No, she isn't Mando. Is that a real life for her, wandering around like a fugitive with a cold-blooded killer?" Intimidation through doubt. The Mandalorian knew this tactic well. Grip tightening slightly, he stood his ground. "She is coming with me." He repeated.

"If you truly care about her, you'll put her down. The New Republic will take her into custody, and she'll be fine." "How do I know I can trust you?" As if he ever could. "Because I am your only hope." Firing a shot, he tossed himself into the cart, pinning Xola to the ground. "Drive!" He snarled, aiming his blaster at the droid. When the droid shook back and forth, he loaded it. "Drive!" Driving forward, he fired shot after shot. When his luck ran out and the droid was destroyed, the Mandalorian ducked behind barrels. "Here's what's going to happen! I am walking onto the ship, with the girl, and you're going to let it happen!" He shouted. "No, here's what's happening. We will kill you, take the girl, and strip your body for parts!" When someone made a stabbing motion, he used the last of his fuel, shooting flames in their direction. When it ran out, he crawled further into the maze of crates. Blaster after blaster fired out, red lights bursting through the sky.

And so, they would not have made it out in the end. And, he could not save Xola. Lowering the grey cloth from her face, he lowered his head further, hand on the side of her neck. His hand curled around her head, as if that could shield her from the inevitable firing. Maybe if he had left left her, the scientist would have rescued her.

At the deep bruising on her cheek and swollen eye, he closed his eyes briefly. No.

No matter what the scientist had said, she was as good as dead there. As good as dead here. And now, they would die together.

All he wanted was to protect her. But now, they would die, just as his own parents had.

Eye-opening blearily, she dazedly groaned, the pain obvious in her features. "Mandalorian. You...came back?" "Yeah." He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Eye closing again, the sedation regained its fierce grip. Holding her close, his hand remained on his blaster as the movement grew closer and louder. Hearing a loud roaring from the air, he glanced up to see...helmets. His brethren and sisters had come, redeeming him from his errors. This was the way. Picking her up, he ran through the crossfire, trusting. They would not let him fall. Scrambling onto the ship, he heard a small creak. Watching Greef step into the limelight, he solemnly watched his old employer.

"I didn't want it to come to this, Mando. But you're leaving me with little choice." Without hesitation, he initiated the carbon freeze, a puff of dry ice coming loose. In the confusion, he shot Greef in the chest, watching his body tumble out. Hurriedly, he flipped the generators on, sending the ship in the air. And with that, they made their escape. Once they were out of immediate danger, he tentatively set it to autopilot. Climbing down the ladder once more, he opened the resting bay door. Setting Xola on the cot, he rummaged on the panel overhead for spare clothing. Finding a worn undershirt that he used for his armor, he tentatively sat her up, he head resting against his shoulder plate. Sliding the material over her head, he pulled her arms through the long sleeves, and laid her back down. He would need to provide more sufficient clothing later. Opening the carbon, he pulled an ice package from his extra carbon holder. Walking a few paces to her resting area, he placed it over her cheek.

At least it would help with relief and swelling, though he was near certain her nasal brone was broken. Tucking the thick creme blanket around her, he closed the panel door, returning to the pilot's deck. Turning to the control panel, he resumed the pilot status. What did he just do? What would he continue to do? He had no idea. Finding a quiet planet, for starters. But after that, what? Her entire life was displaced in the span of three days. Hearing the faint sound of the panel door opening, he returned it to pilot mode, scaling down the ladder. Feeling along the wall, the Mandalorian watched her look around in dazed confusion.

"Hello...?" "It's me." Lips parting, she swallowed thickly as she reached him, shivering in the cold ship. He had forgotten how cold other people felt on his ship. "I...thought I hallucinated that you had come back." "You didn't." "Why? Why help me?" "This is the Way." As she pondered his words, he put his hand on her shoulder. "You've lost a lot of strength, you should rest more." Guiding her back to the cot, he watched her settle uncertainly on the creaky cot. "Here, wipe your face." Handing her a dampened cloth, he watched her dab her face, flinching at the sharp pain from her nose. "What is your name?" She asked. Silent, he kept his eyes on their course. His name...it was not something he had uttered to even himself in many years. "Call me what you'd like."

"I'm not good with nicknames..." Sinking back on the cot, Xola seemed lost in thought. "Perhaps...just Mandalorian." "Fine by me." Feeling around, Xola gasped slightly. "What's wrong?" "My cloak...my cloak, where is it?" She asked, her voice raising slightly. "It's gone." Exhaling sharply, her fingers absently drifted to where the flowers once were. "Yes...it is, isn't it?" "Did you make it?" He asked, curiosity getting the better out of them. "Every petal." A bitterness in her eyes, Xola's hand moved to her side. "...What happens next?" "Quiet. We'll find a quiet planet to stretch our legs out for a few months. Sound good?" "Yeah. I'd like that." At the thought of rest, sleeping, and safety, Xola could not help but feel the stirring of something she had rarely had before. Hope.

"Mandalorian," She called out as his boots were fading away. "Thank you." When he began to nod, he chastised himself inwardly, replacing that motion with: "Yeah. I'll wake you for food." Leaning back, he looked at the chart. Low population density, unheard of, small. A nice backwater planet. "Then, Sorgan." Safety.

#mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #baby yoda #yoda #mandalorian #mandalorian x oc #starwars #fanfiction #fanfic #reader #love #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #mandalorian x you #mando #pedro pascal #blind character #blind reader #headcanon

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skeletorific · 4 years

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man i bet it's super odd for the ancestor trolls to be putting out pale feels on anyone, much less a human. I can just see the most frustrated lil ball of horns and teeth trying to figure out if theres, ya know, *room* in a human's life for moirailegence with this whole platonic structure called a family and the only-one-romance-a-hooman standard/stigma and. they need a pap just tryin to figure it out! If you wouldn't mind, i'd love to hear your take on how psiionic darkleer, n dualscar would do

Me skating the fuck in to answer Ancestors requests. (I’m assuming this is in reference to my Ancestors live on Earth C timeline, but the headcanons themselves will work for just a general human interaction, I promise)

So, a note about Earth C and quad: I really can’t imagine that troll, human, and carapacian concepts of romance wouldn’t start to mingle, at least to a certain extent. After all, the three species come up at the same time, right alongside each other.

Quadrants aren’t exactly the norms for humans even there. Our reproductive needs are different, for one-thing. Additionally, I have to imagine that even without the social coding of Earth-A, a good chunk of humans would probably still tend to be fairly monogamous, especially if one of the primary texts left behind was written by a human woman raised on human monogamy who took only one lover herself. However, there’s probably a healthy chunk of humans who go by quadrants, trolls who go by human romance, and some who mix and match (for instance, “This is Ben, my significant other, and this is Meryll, my kismesis”). Its something most people figure out as they get older.

However, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the ancestors have cottoned on to the nuances of it all. Getting the idea of human monogamy through their heads was hard enough, and once it happens, of course THEN they have to catch pale feelings for one of the squishy fucks!

The Psiionic: So, unlike the other two on this list, Captor has actually had some experience with relationships that are a little more....fluid. Vantas and Leijon’s relationship always fell squarely in the middle of the chart, borrowing elements from all and none. Hell, his OWN relationship with the two of them tiptoed pitch, pale, ashen, and flushed depending on the day of the week. So, while he does still broadly conceive of things like an Alternian, its not necessarily an insurmountable barrier for him.

How he proceeds depends a lot on whether or not the human already has an s/o. If you do, he ultimately just bites the bullet and asks to talk to both of you (bringing Vantas and Leijon along for emotional support). He doesn’t want to move in where he’s not welcome and he’s got no designs on your flushed relationship. He’s quiet and his voice is shaking a bit as he struggles to keep his nerves (and by extent, his psiionics) under controll. But he’s never seen the point in fucking around the pricklefrond. Either you feel the same, or you don’t.

If you don’t have an s/o, though, he just sort of carefully allows himself to become a feature in your life. He’s a little shakey socially but he puts the effort in to be around you. Captor’s never gonna be the most effusive emotionally, but he does make a point to give the occasional genuine compliment as to how he appreciates who you are, and what you do. When you’re having trouble he has a tendency to just sort of materialize in the background to offer his help. Pale flirting is all about trust, both engendering it, and demonstrating it for each other. No matter how oblivious you are, its hard not to notice that his walls are usually so high for others, yet they seem to come down around you.

Despite aforementioned not-fucking-around-the-pricklefrond, its possible he won’t ever use the word moirail for you unless you ask him about it. You’re human, and he doesn’t see the need to regale you with the complexities of troll romance if you’re both happy with the current arrangement. One way or another, though, Vantas runs at the mouth and spills the beans to you, and you have a good long talk about it.

Executor Darkleer: This guy, on the other hand, is a staunch traditionalist, paired with the fact that he ultimately thinks he’s somehow unworthy of love in any form.

Years of social conditioning don’t just fall away because you and your former empress shop for box wine at the same liquor store now. As an expatriate, Zahhak was literally forbidden from contributing to the filial slurry, and was far too isolated to acquire a moirail. The best he had was the occasional frustrated shoosh-pap from Mindfang just to snap him out of his moods for a bit. Now, the old empire may have fallen away, but he’s still to some extent punishing himself. As a result, as soon as he figures out he’s catching pale feelings for a human, he starts avoiding you at all costs. He can’t allow himself to fall into any kind of temptation. The very qualities that attract him to you are the same reason he’s convinced you deserve something better.

Fortunately, there was no way you were friends with Darkleer in the first place if you were the type to let social avoidance turn you off. After a couple of weeks of not hearing from him (and a few confusingly smug texts from Mindfang when you ask her if he’s doing alright and her only response was “Go find out. I’m sure he’ll 8e more than alr8 ;;;;)”), you show up at his hive and bang on the door until he finally lets you in.

If you were hoping for a big confession, you’ll probably be a little disappointed: he’s not the type. But he does let you chastise him for withdrawing like that, finally extracting a promise that he won’t do it again. All the while him thinking that this, too, could be part of his penance. To let the human stay with by your side....but not allow yourself the luxury of what you truly want....why its almost scandalous-

Yup. He’s pale edging himself, and will continue to do so until you finally break down and demand he explain why he’s being so weird. Or until Mindfang loses her patience and tells you herself, if only to get him to stop leaving soliloquies in her DMs. Either way.

Dualscar: Another traditionalist, but he’s never really been lucky enough in love to be that picky about the system he falls under. The last proper, long-lasting quadrant relationship he had was his kismesis with Mindfang, and well.....kind of a funny story how that one went, honestly.

Assuming you’re single, his way forward is pretty easy. He reads up on human romance for 48 hours straight and presumes he knows what the fuck is up. Honestly its not terribly different from moirallegiance in some respects. You’re supposed to uplift your partner, and plenty of sources recommend that your s/o should be your “best friend”. Conversations involving your feelings are a norm, and humans even have the concept of a “fated match”, something pretty integral to Alternian moirallegiance. As for the rest, well, he can lean into some of the redder aspects of his feelings, pull out the old Ampora charm, and leave the rest in Lady Luck’s hands, right?

Right?

Well....for the first few months it works fine. You’ve always been close with Dualscar, felt like you got each other on some level, and to some degree a romantic relationship felt like a natural extension of that. He can be sweet, showers you with gifts, and is good at listening to your problems and letting you bitch without making you feel like you’re burdening him. He’s funny, in a bitchy dad kind of way, and frankly kind of dashing.

But something’s off. You notice he seems to shrink down a little bit when you try to get a bit more physical with him. Not like he dislikes it, necessarily, more like he’s...confused. While you feel closer with him than ever, there’s none of those flowery declarations you find tucked in his journal, dedicated to great loves in his past. Even on your end, you feel like you still just think of him as like.....a best friend, but more so somehow? Being romantic with him as you would be with a human feels...wrong, You reflect each other so well and so closely that its like you’re a piece of each other, and calling him your boyfriend feels like trying to call yourself your own boyfriend.

The truth comes out when you try to break up with him and in a panic he explains himself to you. Running through a long (and somewhat incoherent) crash course on troll romance, with a special focus on moirallegiance. He’s stumbling over his words (unusual when he’s sober), half waiting for your eyes to widen in shock and for you to end things forever.

So imagine his shock when you blink a few times and say “why the hell didn’t you just say so?”

As Peixes would say later, “L-Eave it to an Ampora to mak-E s)(it way mor-E glubbin complicat-Ed t)(an it n-E-Eds to b-E.”

#homestuck #homestuck ancestors #hs ancestors #ancestors #the psiionic #executor darkleer #orphaner dualscar #human moirail #headcanon #long post askjfasdlkjfsa #Anonymous

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eternalcantarella · 4 years

Text

Entropy - Chapter 1: Siege - Joker/Reader

Entropy

Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 10.4k

A/N: First entry, just felt like contributing something to the Joker fandom. This fic is multi-chaptered, and the main pairing in this is Joker/Reader. TDK/Ledger Joker specifically. We follow the story of our reader who is a junior data analyst working in the corporate world, trying to expose Lau for the fraud he is. Of course, meddling with the dichotomy of lawful good and evil would naturally lead to her butting heads with the Joker sooner or later. Somewhere along the way, she is left questioning the validity of her moral code and ends up trading answers with the Joker himself. The goal, of course, is to prove each other wrong. I didn't feel like creating another original character, so I used John Blake from TDKR for her colleague. Apologies for the non-canon compliance regarding John Blake. Rated T for now, but will probably be escalated in future. Gonna be pretty slow burn with build-up, if you're into that. Enjoy!

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

“That is why I propose that we continue this joint venture between Lau Security Investments Holdings and Gotham Press Holdings.”

The lone presenter clasped his hands together, ending off his presentation.

“I firmly believe that it is in both our best interests to do so, and it is what’s best for business.”

Reservedly, a light smattering of applause pulsated through the board executive room. You looked pointedly towards the man to your right, typing furiously into his laptop. Chewing your rose-stained lips while you collected your thoughts, you knocked a pen absently against your coffee cup. Subdued murmurs and discussions could be heard as a low rumble across the room, not long before the presenter opened the floor up for a question and answer segment. Multiple hands shot up, competing for the attention of the corporate powerhouse.

The room smelled a mixture of two distinct smells, cologne and freshly ground coffee. You recalled that you had silently muttered a ‘thank you’ to no one in particular earlier this morning, when you found out the ancient coffee maker had been replaced. Perhaps the company was lucky enough to have bosses who listen to their employees’ caffeine needs and have no problem shelling out for a new and improved machine. The room was painted a bluish gray from top to bottom, with tall glass windows teetering on the edge of an unhindered view of Gotham City.

You sat round a large conference table with people whose suits probably cost more than your monthly rent. Board meeting perhaps would be the right name. Dress shoes, egos, no smiles that weren’t plastered on, or opinions unfiltered enough to contribute anything significant to the discussion. A conglomeration of people who almost deliberately attempt to create the most monotonous environment and experience for working possible.

“Eight percent annual growth, huh. A little too good to be true.”

You craned your head towards the young man beside you while maintaining your gaze on the data projections presented on your laptop screen. You received a hum of assent in response to your subdued remark. The sound of his dry hands rubbing contemplatively against his chin accompanied afterwards. The tapping of your pen got harsher and more deliberate, as you narrowed your gaze on the lone presenter, none other than the founder of Lau Holdings himself.

The data simply did not make sense. Even with the vast economic expansion of China, the numbers seemed at least a little bit inflated. Your hand tensed as you shifted forward in your seat, smoothing out your blue pencil skirt. Your partner seemed to have caught sight of this. His hand darted to press over yours in a flash. Slightly startled, you flashed him a look of annoyance.

“Now listen, we’re not here to change anyone’s minds, calm down.”

Seemingly easy-going, his soft words still conveyed an undertone of warning. Indignancy blossomed in your chest as you clenched your jaw shut. Your findings and suspicion over the past months were almost in fruition. How dare he tell you how to do your job. You gave one last defiant glare at your coworker and then whipped your head around, zoning your focus in towards Lau. You raised your other hand and caught Lau’s gaze, as he gestured an open palm towards you.

You regarded each other coldly, his eyes devoid of any signs of sincerity save for an icy smile for the sake of pleasantries. As you stood up, you could see from the corner of your eyes that your partner had so kindly sank back in his chair defeated, resting his elbows on the table with his head in his hands. A little too melodramatic for your tastes, even for someone like you.

“Thank you CEO Lau for the wonderful speech. I’m going to cut to the chase and raise an issue here. Frankly speaking, your powerful economic potential, while surely enticing to keep working with, is a little concerning.”

Lau’s smile showed cracks in its facade. Perhaps this was an unexpected little wrench in his plan. Somehow you took victory and pride in gaining a reaction, no matter how small, out of a cold and calculative man of his calibre, and it took all your will and strength to maintain a stoic composure without your lips curling into a slight smirk.

“Surely your company had to have had a hefty tax levied on this revenue you’ve raked in. Not to mention, upon further assessment it seems that Wayne Enterprises has yet to conclusively accept your business proposal to them. Not to throw insult to your endeavours, but is this as promising, or stable, as you make it out to be?”

Perhaps you are assimilating to become one of them, the beautiful people, what you called them. Perhaps you had let your ego show a little bit too much. But you’d be damned if you didn’t feel badass standing up to a multinational company giant like this, in front of other multinational company giants. It’s not every day you let an opportunity like this be passed.

You felt a collective shift of heads as you suddenly felt about ten pairs of eyes lock onto you, but it felt like ten thousand. Under the magnifying glasses of scrutiny, you felt like you were encapsulated in a glass display as you were studied and picked apart by higher forms of life. You were an alien. An alien who spoke a language they refused to understand and come to accept. A pregnant silence fell over the room and the stares were too much. It was as if they had a morbid fascination with you, patronisingly waiting to watch you fail. Incredulous smiles of pity and disbelief that they failed to hide were spotted on a few in the crowd and you felt the dread pool in your stomach. You tried to maintain the puff of your chest but your fidgets merely deflated it, as you kept your gaze straight on the presenter, unable to look him in the eye.

You could see a visible twitch of his neck as you stared at his grey dress suit, straining a smile on his face. His breath had seemingly gotten heavier and he tongued the side of his mouth, clasping his hands together. He cleared his throat, and only then had you mustered the courage to look him again in the eye. Subtle shades of malice roamed dangerously behind his onyx eyes.

“I will say this once and once alone. We are undoubtedly a legitimate business. And I will not stand for anyone questioning the integrity of my establishment.”

This was a threat. No doubt. You felt hot and humiliated, and nothing beats being shamed in front of the board of directors, speaking of whom, shared panicked glances shifting between each other before one of them dismissed the meeting. It was a walk of shame as you and your partner were singled out by a hand gesture to the front of the room, while everyone sashayed past you, their glances lingering far longer on you two than what was necessary, with the CEO of Gotham Press Holdings watching you reproachfully. A reprimanding was in order, you supposed. CEO Lau had been escorted out of the executive meeting room by other directors in hopes of coaxing him to calm down. You and your partner you’ve unintentionally dragged through the mud stilled in front of the man in control, CEO Loeb.

“Did I hire you to do something so incredibly stupid? For God’s sake you two are here to take care of our financial transactions and fill up board meeting spaces. Nothing more.”

The bite was stinging. It felt like you had been slapped across the face. The welling of tears could be felt behind your eyes but you refused to let them show. You stared at your chief executive officer’s forehead, with shallow lines that ran horizontally across them. His brows which resembled caterpillars were furrowed deeply as he found it difficult to find the right words to say to you without uttering a string of expletives, which you admittedly did deserve. You buried your gaze deep into his crown of white hair as a form of distraction and you hoped dearly that he would show just a shred of mercy.

“Financial Consultant Blake, I hope you understand your place and educate your little Junior Data Analyst lady friend.”

Your coworker clenched his fists and nodded.

“You young people always have an inflated sense of self-importance. Keep your mouths shut next time and this is the last warning. Keep treading on thin ice, both of you.”

With that, he stormed off, leaving you and your partner. The chestnut-haired man, at a loss for words, shifted his weight and looked at you. He tried to say something, but refrained from doing so upon seeing your pathetic state of emotions. You desperately tried to keep it all together, the rage of indignancy staining a crimson tint on your face and embarrassed mortification flushed against your neck hotly.

“Listen, John…”

He looked down and placed a hand on your shoulder, an obligatory act of comfort towards you despite feeling quite frustrated himself. Tears beaded at the corners of your eyes as you blinked them away. You will not cry. You were a strong woman. A mantra you meditated whenever you felt the urge to break down.

“I’m, uhm, just really sorry. Really sorry that I dragged you into this. I... I’m just so goddamned naive and selfish. And I don’t know why, but I just-”

You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, before reopening them, willing the constricting feeling back down your chest.

“I just felt the need to prove something.”

He let out a huge sigh and pat his hand two times soothingly on your shoulder. As if to tell you it was okay, but he was still mad. He brought his other hand to his temples and closed his eyes. His jaw shifted around absently, possibly to ease the tension that was there from clenching it too tightly. There was really nothing much he could say to you. After all, he did warn you, but he was nice enough not to say ‘I told you so’.

After getting the apology off your chest, the humiliation subsided slowly like a beach wave into a dull headache. You took your hand to his wrist and squeezed the top of it reassuringly, to let him know you would be okay eventually. He took this as a sign for you both to take your leave, away from the sterile walls of the meeting room that seemed to cave in on you.

As you turned round the corner of the large glass doors of the meeting room, you nearly bumped into the CEO of Lau Security Investment Holdings. It had seemed that he had left something behind in the room. You were face to face with him, widening your eyes and noting to yourself that he was a man of short stature. There was a brief moment where time seemed to slow down around the two of you and you two were the only ones on this plane of existence. There was nothing but a look of disdain on his face. A subtle twist and contortion of his face, the corner of his lips tightened and raised on one side of his face. His eyes were devoid of any spirit, seeming to look through you instead of looking at you. Nothing but pure unadulterated disrespect and contempt for you. Small and worthless you were, this was your standing in this world of beautiful people. You were fundamentally different from all of them. Fundamentally loathsome.

And you’d be damned if you didn’t confront this head on.

You hardened your gaze with eyes of defiance with lips suggesting the hint of a snarl. Something about the look he gave you re-ignited the flame within you snuffed by shame, and it showed through your eyes.

And just like that time sped up for you, and you were thrown back into the normalcy of the rush of office life. John Blake watched you and let out an audible groan.

“You really don’t know when to give in do you, kid?”

While visibly frustrated, a little smirk played at his lips, clearly amused at you and the turn of events in spite of himself.

“Always bursting in, castle crashing like the siege engine incarnate you are.”

Clicking your tongue in annoyance at this long-time God awful nickname bestowed upon you by none other, you hastened your speed with strong strides, having done nothing but prove that nickname to be characteristic of you today. He kept up the pace, noting to himself that you had gotten over yourself and more or less returned back to normal. You took the meeting card from today out of your pocket and bent it, snapped it into two halves and discarded them into the bin you walked past. You needed to forget this incident. Clipboard and laptop hooked onto an arm, you prodded at your updo then pulled at the hem of your white blazer. Gussying did help ground you back to reality in providing you with a sense of unfounded control.

“We aren’t going to take this lightly. We need to get to the bottom of this. Lau一Lau is going to ruin this place.”

Alarmed, John Blake grabbed your shoulder and wrenched your form to face him, stopping you in your tracks. He stared at your eyes scanning and darting his eyes around your face for any signs of whether you were serious or not. It dawned on him that dear god, you weren’t kidding at all. Before he could start on his tirade that the two of you couldn’t even dream of changing how things worked in this company, or the world for that matter, you shrugged yourself off his grip.

“Don’t you forget why you teamed up with me, John.” You raised your voice slightly.

“Don’t forget the reason you launched Blake Accounting Consultancy. Need I remind you of what you believe in?”

Jarred by your emotional declaration, he knew what you said were mere rhetorics. He noticed people were starting to stare at the commotion between the two of you, thus he resumed a slow walking pace with you. You kept observing his internal dilemma, noting the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and how his perpetually furrowed brows deepened even more. You needed his help. And he needed yours. As your walking speed hastened back to normal, the people at the reception area took fleeting glances at your gait but never longer than needed. You took a short glimpse at your watch and signed out of the register with Blake.

The self-assured clacking of the heels on your pumps down the descent of the stone steps, marking the entrance of the imperial office building, was a pleasant familiarity to you, as it signaled the end of an exhausting work day. It was especially empowering on a Friday, such as this one. At the base of the steps you awaited his answer. Clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, he stepped onto the same level as you.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. There’s no point in doing this,” he pointed between the two of you, “And our arrangement if we don’t do it right. You are my partner after all and you’re here to keep me from losing sight of what’s important. To the both of us.”

You smiled and felt the warmth blushing across your cheeks. Yes, he had hand picked you for this job and he was so confident you were the right one. You restrained your smile to revert back to a professional feminine composure and tilted your head coyly.

“Then I don’t need to tell you why we’re doing it the right way, do I?”

“For hope in the goodness of Gotham. This generation’s gotta do some cleaning up after our very thoughtful predecessors.”

The crinkle in his eye after he spoke was all the reassurance you needed. After being given a satisfactory answer, you gave him a knowing look and turned away from him as he began tapping hurriedly into his tablet. As undignified as John Blake could appear to be at times, you had to hand it to the man. He was worthy of your respect and had been nothing but an inspiration to you. The two of you shared more things in common than most and provided each other an intellectual challenge. Of course, mostly one thing was considered upon deciding on this mutually beneficial partnership in business. And it wasn’t because you two were sleeping with each other, despite common belief. Before you began walking again, you asked.

“What do you reckon our plan would be right now?”

Still fiddling with his tablet, he stalled on his answer for a few seconds. Clearly mapping something out in his head, you turned back to give him your full attention.

“We’re heading to Gotham National Bank. Let’s just say, there’s been minor speculation that it’s been involved in activities not short of... illicit. Yes, I suppose that’s how we’ll put it.”

He treaded carefully.

“Now, the companies we work for, both Gotham Press Holdings and Lau Holdings, have some shares in this bank. The catch is, it would be incredibly difficult to prove Lau’s activities as fraudulent.”

Seemingly defeated, Blake hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. However, he peeked his eyes at the building in front of him, a smugness quirking at the corner of his lips.

“Fortunately for us, they didn’t call me a forensic accountant for nothing.”

Beaming at him, you grabbed at his forearm shaking it a few times, giddiness bubbling inside of you, before letting it go. For you, there was nothing but a mischievous glee, the kind that feels like icing on cake and splashing at beaches. All this for one shared vision. The two of you were visionaries. To this, his smile was that of happiness blooming as a spring flower would. You could see it coming from inside of him to the light of his eyes, and spreading across his chest. He was happy to see you filled with hope, and you could feel it in the way he spoke and the way he relaxed. It was nothing short of genuine. You bubbled up and joked around with him.

“John, frankly speaking, is this even legal?”

“It depends.”

You felt the excitement die down a little bit as you realised the seriousness in his tone. It was replaced by an uncomfortable premonition pervading your senses. You gave him a look, pressing him to tell you more.

“I meanㅡTechnically we could do this. We have enough authority to access banking information. The problem is if they come to know we had been snooping around.”

“Oh my god John are you really sure about this-”

“You just have to trust me, we have to take a risk. Just as I have taken a gamble on you. I have a plan.”

Your eyes widened at his statement. He was right, he couldn’t gain anything else from working with a hothead like you. He had taken a chance on you. What else did you have to offer to him? It was a sobering statement. After all, you did prove to be a handful in the meeting today, it was a pretty big mess up. You two could only have trust or you would have nothing. And you would hate to be a liability to him.

The two of you stared ahead at the streets, bustling with the cacophony produced by the city at midday traffic. The winds picked up, with fallen leaves and litter on the semi-empty street dancing to their own choreography. A chill ran down your spine, signalling the approach of nightfall. You both had decided then that it was best you get a move on to the bank before rush hour traffic befalls upon you.

###

The buildings galloped up where your sights could reach, Gotham National Bank standing out as a nostalgic hue of ivory, marbled with contours of magnificent antiquated architecture. Small fragments crumbled from the pillars encircling it, exalting it to an unmatched quality of regality as if there stood an ancient and historic piece of post-American Renaissance. This unusual lavishness caught the eye in the heart of Gotham. You both sauntered up the stone steps with a comfortable rhythm. The wooden framed glass doors pushed to the side as you both turned round the bend. The confidence you two shared initially was faltering as you realised the danger behind the work you were going to do.

The place reeked of opulence, a feeling of vastness with high ceilings, yet you still felt suffocated by the scent of luxury vanilla tobacco perfume. The air felt still and frigid, despite its warm rustic tones and yellow ceiling lights. You would never fall for this false allure and fabrication of a cozy and comfortable environment. It lulls you into a false sense of security. A carefully crafted institute that tries to evoke trust is nothing but lies. Money, whether little or a lot, is a source of stress in the lives of people after all. How the bank could portray themselves as anything but was beyond you. Your lips tightened as you walked to the bank tellers. Surprisingly the foyer was not as crowded as you had expected. It is well enough that the people of this city did not understand the banking and monetary system, for if they did, there would be a revolution by the next morning.

There was no line at the counter where you two were expected. John Blake regarded the bank teller with a tightlipped smile and firm handshake. You noticed Blake’s calloused hands, they weren’t too big and certainly did not look fitting for that of a white-collar accountant. He flashed his identification card from the companies you two were liaised with and requested to be granted permission for a thorough evaluation of their financial statements. Fingers crossed, you and Blake shared a look as the young man behind the desk studied the card in its holder skittishly. Clearly, he wasn’t experienced at all.

“Sir, I’m sorry but I think I would have to check with my superiors if I could authorise your entry into our systems.”

He brought a hand to his collar and nervously adjusted his tie around his neck. Your heart sank as you prepared yourself for the worst. Multiple scenarios rang through your head. They could be notified. You could be fired for attempting unauthorised entry into confidential records. Blake hurriedly reached into his coat pocket in a last-ditch attempt, stopping the young man from approaching higher-ups.

“We are directly associated with Mr. Lau of Lau Security Investments Holdings, and as the official Financial Advisor of Gotham Press Holdings and part of the directorial meeting board, we are granted perfect autonomy in ensuring and cross referencing the accuracy of our financial statements.”

John Blake maintained a stone cold composure, not a single crack in his facade, presenting a separate placeholder card from today’s meeting with the company stamp embossed on its surface. Although, upon closer inspection you could see him grip the sleeves of his dark blue suit in his folded arms. He could fool a silly junior bank teller, but not you unfortunately. You held your breath. Upon hearing the name of the CEO roll off his tongue, the young man inspected the card and his shoulders slackened a considerable amount. He cleared his voice.

“Of course. I will access the statements for you in just a minute.”

He began keying into the laptop in front of him and dialing numbers into his keypad. You suddenly remembered how to breathe as you let out a puff of air held in your lungs. In a wash of relief, you brought your hand to John’s back and gripped onto his suit reassuringly. You could see that he had his eyes downcast, his tight hold on his sleeves loosening. His jaw was still tight and jutted forward. You looked him in the eyes as he was vulnerable for a moment, you softened your gaze as if telling him something.

You don’t have to be so strong anymore.

It was a tough call. You could tell he was scared out of his wits. He didn’t like to lie, he didn’t like to use deceit. You two had abused your positions after all. You had taken advantage of the inexperience of the young man behind the desk. You were surprised he had done it at all. Hell, he had been the one who spontaneously suggested the idea anyway. You understood though. He had infracted his moral code for something bigger and more important. All this went unnoticed by the bank teller who was so engrossed in fumbling about with card keys and entering the right code. You smiled at John encouragingly.

To signal he was done, the bank teller turned his laptop around to face you two. The two of you stared into the records presented on screen. This was your golden opportunity. Blake gave you a look and nodded, and immediately you knew what to do. For him, all signs of remorse had dissipated like cotton candy on a tongue and his senses were on overdrive. The impressive work ethic of Blake had begun to override his emotions and you saw his propensity for achieving results.

You loaded the data into a thumb drive and jammed it back into your laptop. You processed the data with Microsoft SQL. This allowed you to store, read or manipulate the data. Then you loaded the data into Tableau to start data visualisation. Concurrently, you fetched a code for a machine learning algorithm you had worked on and were familiar with. You looked over at Blake as your computer was processing, chewing on your lips as he loaded a graph on his screen. He had been analysing the datasets provided by your company which you had prior access to.

Well, as can be expected, most transactions are non-fraudulent. To find evidence was like finding a needle in a haystack. But you were an expert at detecting outliers. For an imbalanced dataset, you needed to think out of the box. If you projected the sets into a scatter plot, you could visualise the clusters of fraudulent and non-fraudulent transactions. Bingo. You could generate synthetic samples from then on. However, all this prediction was meaningless without insights from Blake. Your work could only substantiate what he was able to find. You tried to make sense of the data and tugged at your hair, nervously shaking a leg. Seemingly in a state of distress, he tugged his hand on his chin with pressure increasing by the second. He was onto something.

When he was done, he shifted your laptop over to his side of the desk and compared both of your graphs and excel tables. After a grating amount of time, he let out a burning stream of air that was searing the walls of his lungs. He looked over at you and nodded solemnly. That meant only one thing, this was it, you guys had done it. You had proven Lau’s fraudulence. He instinctively leaned over to you, voice nothing more than a raspy whisper.

“In more than a few accounts, extra digits were added to the fees recorded.”

He gesticulated towards the data and scrolled in.

“For example here, if the fee initially recorded by the clerk was $5,234, a five was added to the first position reporting the fee as $55,234. In that single month, production fees were overstated by several hundred thousands of dollars. This explains why they could evade taxes so easily.”

You narrowed your eyes. He added more discernment to the situation, a form of scum reading if you will. Of course, he did so in hushed tones, to prevent the bank teller from catching on.

“Not to mention, the dates of the frauds you identified tie in and correlate heavily with reports of organised crime in Gotham.”

Your eyebrows raised and you snapped your head to look at him in disbelief. Never had you imagined things to be this bad. This was a massive case you had uncovered. Blake chuckled lowly, a slender brow quirked incredulously at you with mixed amusement. He was always one to be tickled by your over-dramatically animated reactions to things.

“Always on the ball, aren’t ya kid? Like a true siege machine. I couldn’t have done this without you. Excellent work.”

You felt your face heating up at this statement. You suddenly felt awkward. Your actions suddenly, not within your control, became demure and coy. You even went as far as to attempt to hide your features behind your fingers, as you brought a hand to your face. You hated it when this happened. You could never admit this to yourself. You had always put on a tough front for John. Yet no amount of training could prepare you for moments like this. You thrived on being able to impress him, to prove yourself worthy. That you were no mistake he made.

This revelation was nothing but a testament to the remarkable teamwork and chemistry you two had. It was nothing short of an incredible feat. Your skill sets heavily complemented each other, and your lines of thoughts and cognition heavily resonated together. You truly felt invincible at times with him. You could do anything with him. You could build an empire. You tasted something akin to victory on your tongue, despite not really having won anything yet. It felt like snowflakes had settled on your tongue, except instead of icy coldness you felt a sugary golden warmth. Blake had reached his arm around and patted you on your shoulder reservedly, denoting the conveyance of commendation from a coworker. Shrugging his hands off you, you sent him a sidelong glare for daring to interact with you on such a formal basis, as if you hadn’t skirted past a professional connection long ago.

Your attention was caught on your screen as you realised the data visualisation for Gotham Press Holdings was also complete. You realised that movements of funds to Lau Holdings had increased 342 percent for the past month. This was definitely a suspicious transaction that had gone unreported in the official financial statements. You dug deeper and deeper and you cursed at the power Lau had, and resolved to bring this up to the higher-ups at some point. The ire in realising your company had been pulled into Lau’s heinous mess tore through your chest like a claymore blade, and thoughts raced through your mind. Anger coursed through your veins like a lifeforce in and of itself, tugging at your fingers like puppet strings as they twitched involuntarily. Blake noticed this and called out your name. It was futile. You can’t listen to him like this. You wrenched your attention away from the screen and onto Blake in an attempt to explain the situation and―

Gunshots ripped through splitting the still air, its sound piercing like that of blithe firecrackers, a bangarang seeming to come from nowhere as screams of terror rang. You blinked, hands haphazardly thrown in front of you in reaction, a dulled instinct of your body lost years ago. You blinked again, and you were on the floor all of a sudden, not really sure how you had ended up there. You searched around with your pupils, registering that Blake had an arm tugged around your shoulders and another pulling at your white sleeves. You peeked upwards furtively through the curtains of your hair framing your face, trembling with your chin strained against your sternum to watch men clad in suits with frightening clown masks run through the space.

“Alright everybody, heads down! I said hands up, I’m makin’ a withdrawal here!”

To you, the man had the most venomous voice you’ve heard, straight from the depths of hell. You squeezed your eyes shut, not daring to stare at them as if it were a mortal sin that would grant you the eternal punishment of death if you did. It was a long time ago when you had last been placed in such a compromising situation, since the Batman had taken to cleaning the streets. You forgot the feeling of fear. It was almost invigorating in a sense. This was life on the edge as you know it.

“Obviously we don’t want you doin’ anything with your hands, other than holdin’ on for dear life!”

These words didn’t really mean much to you. Just jumbled sloppy threats, obviously unplanned and entropic in nature. Perhaps they didn’t mean exactly what they were saying. Yet this frightened you so much more. Clowns were unpredictable. You thought back on the various cirques and circuses you had patronised in the past, remembering the many archetypal clown personas they assumed. Their traditional slapstick humour, mischief in demeanor always put you on edge. You never knew what tricks they might pull on you, they were masterful tricksters. You saw the clown pass what looked like a grenade-shaped time bomb to the man at the counter next to you. An epileptic meditation swept over you, foreshadowing the prelude of a nervous collapse. Blake pulled you closer into his form upon seeing the time bomb, caging his arms around you. You were unsure if he did this to comfort you or if it was for his self-reassurance.

“Nobody make a move! Nobody! Stay down!”

One of them lazily swung his gun around, uncaring as he pointed wherever a group of people clambered. You huffed. Clowns and their general nonchalance, clearly exaggerated in their movements. What is this little regard they had for human life? What is human life to them?

You continued watching a clown terrorise a blonde woman behind the counter. You heard an internal time bomb ticking, echoing away as the dissonance of razors on violin strings bled through your ears. The icy fingers of apprehension wrapped tightly around your spine, much like the way Blake held you, they tugged at your bones until they felt ready to tear past your flesh.

Bang!

You jerked your head and out of John Blake’s grasp. You saw an explosive shattering of glass from the main counter which was encircled by a glass and wood partition. The gunswinger had been taken down. A man in a grey suit, who you recognised as the head bank teller, wielded a powerful shotgun. You pressed your wrists together, you still had a fighting chance. This man was a glimmer of hope for the victims. He shot a couple more shells at another clown, but he missed all of them. He let out a yell. You bit down on your bottom lip, nails digging crescent shapes further into your palm. He exuded a sense of confidence and self-assuredness, with an upright posture and puff in his chest unbefitting for someone who has to sit the entire day for his job. He trudged onwards with his mighty steps with more pumps of his shotgun, a masculine energy that was striking enough. You felt a collective sense of relief from the other victims as you all rooted for him in silence.

“You have any idea who you’re stealin’ from? You and your friends are dead!”

You pondered this statement from the grey suited man. What kind of threat was this? It was a minor detail that you could be overthinking. It was definitely out of the ordinary for a generic banker to say something like this. But it all makes sense now, especially with everything Blake had led you to believe, and the realisation dawned upon you. This was indeed a mob bank. And believe that no one who robs a mob bank leaves alive. You started laughing at yourself internally, perhaps you were going insane. Oh how the tables have turned, the only salvation in this situation was that a member of the mob was your only hope in escaping this place alive. It was a bitter realisation, you cursed the irony in the situation. Perhaps Lau had indirectly saved your life, given his ties to organised crime.

You saw the two clowns regroup and discuss something. You noticed that one of them hadn’t spoken the whole time since their arrival, and simply nodded his head fervently at the other. He wore a clown mask that had a blue frown. You recognised him as the one who handed out and unhooked the time bombs. You narrowed your eyes at him. He was too quiet.

The man with the shotgun had missed his last shot as the other clown, the one with the spiked hair, stood up. It seemed that he had emptied the barrel of his shotgun, and fumbled with it within his hands. Oh no. Blake had sunken backwards further into the floor. In a split second, what hope you held onto swiftly dwindled down, you saw some of the other terrorised folks’ faces fall as you let go of your closed fists, the heat of the blood rushing through doing nothing to warm up your cold and clammy hands.

The clown with the blue frown took advantage of this and swiftly stood up, with a sort of careless grace that was strangely unique. Idiosyncratic even, how could that man possess a quirk so paradoxical and contradictory in every sense of the word? He fired a flurry of shots and the man wielding the shotgun shook violently, falling to the floor in an undignified manner with the clinking of bullets ringing onto the floor.

The clown quirked his head to the side with his eyes trained on the fallen man with mild intrigue, almost in lackadaisical amusement. It was patronising, frankly. A mockery of a quizzical look. It reminded you of the morbid fascination the beautiful people had shown you earlier today. Your face twisted into a snarl. Your gut was right about this man. He was dangerous, not your average goon. He looked like he did this on the regular for fun.

The clown with the spiked hair squabbled with him over something that seemed to be important. But he still said nothing. He stayed while the other clown left to head to where you presumed to be the vault. He walked down the aisles between desks with leisurely footsteps, and a relaxed hunch in his posture that looked feigned. He swung his arms around his body candidly, like how one would on a leisurely stroll when you were out on a boring trip with your family. His masked eyes swiped across every gentle shadow the room forged. He was extremely observant. More so than the rest, as he constantly took note of the surroundings and mapped the location out. However, he only gave passing glances to the people on the floor, as if they weren’t really there at all. He didn’t seem to care at all that he was, as a matter of fact, carrying out a godforsaken bank heist right this very moment. Was this a joke to him?

Nothing could dissipate this horrible feeling you had about this man, how gut-wrenching it felt to be in his presence. You tried to stare at John Blake covertly, trying to search if he had found out a way to get out of this mess alive. But he had his eyes trained forward and hands gripping at the floor tiles, seemingly paralysed with fear after the man with the mask walked past you two. The man looked at his watch, with an unreal sense of patience. You tried to get Blake’s attention, but it was no use. He was scared stiff. You dared not move as you were sure that the clown would have no qualms shooting you then and there. You observed as he turned his back to you, and you noticed he had messily dyed, faded green hair. You craned your head. What kind of twisted criminal was this...?

The spiked hair masked clown returned with many navy duffel bags, some on his shoulders and some dragged across the marble floor. The other clown lugged a couple bags along, pooling them at the center of the back entrance, in front of three wooden framed glass doors.

“That’s a lot of money!” The spiked hair clown jibed, clearly in greed. “If this Joker guy was so smart, he’d had us bring a bigger car!”

The clown with the blue frown turned his back to the other clown. Immediately when he did this, a heavy clicking noise was heard. You noticed a sort of hesitance in his movements, realising he had made a mistake. The other clown had turned on him, reloaded his handgun and pointed it straight at his back. The air was tense. He slowly turned his head to face him again, almost defensively so that he wouldn’t trigger the other clown to make any rash decisions.

“I’m bettin’ the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash.”

The hand holding the gun was quivering. Whatever game it was that they were playing, it was dangerous. You noticed the two of them were the only clowns left. Whoever this ‘Joker’ person they talked about was, he was calculative. He managed to turn them all on each other, and they weeded each other out. The man with the frown pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, and grumbled. His life was on the line and he was still playing games. Your brows tightened. Enough of this feigned indifference.

“No, no, no, no. I kill the bus... Driver.”

This was the first time he spoke this whole time. He sounded like how a real clown possibly would. A raspy timbre from years of smoking and a nasally tone in wry jest. At the corner of your eyes, you saw the fallen bank teller try to turn his body, but to no avail. He seemed affected by this statement, for reasons unknown. The clown side-stepped, out of the gun’s line of sight.

“Bus driver?”

The man holding the gun delayedly tracked him with his gun, stepping backwards tentatively in tandem with the other clown. The clown continued stepping to the side, acting defenseless with his hands in front of his waist as a gesture of nonaggression despite holding a gun, to cajole the other man. They kept at a distance apart and circled each other. The clown with the frown cocked his head to the side as he stepped, as though in confusion at the situation at hand. However, it felt unnatural to you. This simple act was definitely deliberate. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. Whatever it was, he was cold and calculated. Every one of his actions seemed carefully thought out and he did not do pointless things. He only spoke when absolutely necessary. Every move he has made thus far, he had done so with intention and purpose.

The air hung with uncertainty. Blake, seeming to have regained his senses with this distraction, turned his body to face you. The man with the gun grew impatient with this lack of an answer and he shook his head.

“What bus drive-”

In the blink of an eye, the wooden frames of the doors burst apart and glass flew everywhere. A yellow school bus had crashed through the gates like a battering ram. It drove directly into where the clown holding the gun stood and at break-neck speed, knocked him out cold. The bank was silent at that moment, not really knowing how to register or react to this turn of events. John Blake forced your attention on him and took full advantage of this distraction, whispering to you.

“Whatever happens, when this is over make a run for it. Through that hole in the wall.”

You gave a grunt of acknowledgement. The door slid open to reveal another goon with a clown mask.

“School’s out, time to go. That guy’s not gettin’ up, is he?”

Not one for small talk, the clown with the frown threw him the duffel bags to load them into the bus. The other clown continued jibing in excitement, especially after seeing how many filled bags of cash they had to toss into the bus. He threw the last duffel bag at him. Having just arrived, the talkative man clearly did not understand the circumstances that had led to this point. You felt bad for him as he seemed naive.

“What happened to the rest of the guys?”

Without even looking at him, the clown with the blue frown offhandedly shot him with a round of bullets. You squeezed your eyes shut. You could not get used to this nasty sound. He did not even give him the time of day. Not a single care in the world. He ambled past you again to pull the last duffel bag and tossed it into the bus. The question of why he always gave this impression of detachment from the reality in front of you remains unanswered.

“Think you’re smart huh?”

He pulled his hand onto the edges of the doorframe and was about to climb into the bus, but he turned around. Perhaps this was not a part of his calculations. He had one foot on the steps, but pulled his foot back down and adjusted his mask to stare at who it was daring enough to speak up to him. The bank teller struggled and floundered on the ground, coughing and sputtering. He curled into himself even more, much like a fetus would, looking absolutely pathetic. He was fighting back a grimace on his face.

“The kind that hired youseㅡThey’ll just do the same to you…”

The masked man’s interest was seemingly piqued by his speech of open defiance. He brought his arm behind his back into his back pocket and staggered across the floor. That couldn’t-care-less grace acted again, his attention wavering as his gaze flitted between the man on the floor and the surroundings. He pulled something out of his pocket. You could not recognise what the object was.

No, why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut?

“Oh, criminals in this town used to believe in things… Honour, respect.”

The bank teller spat. The masked man continued walking and stopped before him, imposing. There was a momentous promise in his gravity, a hint of catastrophe in the tilt of his head. He bent down and crouched to the fallen man’s level, bringing the object to his face.

“Look at you. What do you believe in huh? WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN?”

He shouted the last statement, blood-curdling and grinding around the edges. It seemed to be a last final effort display of dominance, his ego refusing to allow him to submit before he was stifled and his words fell off with a gagging noise. The man had shoved a black cylindrical device into his mouth. You felt the same internal razors on violins escalate in intensity, and your heart constricted with the crescendo.

“I believe,”

The masked man started, this time his voice different, sounding smooth like butter. It felt like a balmy breeze sending chills down your spine, wrapping around your neck with smooth fingers. It was laced with an anarchic menace.

“Whatever doesn’t kill you simply makes you,”

He removed his mask, and looked to the side. Then, he looked down at him again. No one amongst you could comprehend what they were looking at. The violins had reached its loudest forte, and in a thunderous roar it came crashing down. He gave a slight twist of his head.

“Stranger.”

His tone shifted and he uttered that last word with his nasally rasp instead. His eyebrows lifted a fraction off his face, in mock honesty. He smiled and withdrew quickly, vanishing away from the scene like a shadowy wraith.

“Kid, run.” Blake urged. You just stared at that spot where the apparition appeared.

You had just seen a ghost.

Silly little girl. Maybe there is a ghost, maybe... It’s only you.

“Hey, are ya listening? Get ready.”

He was a phantom. You could not scratch off this disturbing feeling about him. Thousands of spiders had crawled up your arms to reach your face, paralysing you in your wake as dread was siphoned into your head, numbing your brain. No matter how much you gouged and clawed at your skin, the arachnids could not be torn off. You thought back on his face. He was soaked in nothing but pure malice, doused as if an arsonist had poured gasoline on him. You saw him enter the bus and slid the door shut, a cord extending from the back of his pocket to the man still on the floor. Your eyes focused onto the black cylindrical gadget in his mouth

Alarmed, you snapped out of it.

It finally occurred to you, this man was about to die. This man who valiantly fought for you people and tried to save the bank. You didn’t care at this point if he was part of the Mafia or whatever blasted gang it was that ran about in Gotham. He was a citizen of Gotham, no less than you. You broke free of the grasps of the arachnids, and stood up and ran to the center of the back entrance, heels clicking sharply against the cold floor. Blake watched your back in horror, swapping glances between you and the yellow school bus which hadn’t left. You could feel gazes of scrutiny, all unsure of what to think of your spur-of-the-moment effort.

You had to do something about this. You made up your mind, there’s no convincing you out of this. Not even from Blake.

What about me?

The ghost flashed in your mind.

You ran so fast, when you stopped in front of him you felt the whiplash of inertia propelling you further. Snapping out of it, you bent down in front of him and tried to yank the butt of what was in his mouth. You looked him in the eyes, noticing how wide and blue they were, and they were close to watering. You frowned, tears threatening to break at the corner of your own eyes. You felt as helpless as he did as you were unable to pry the object out of his mouth.

You attempted again, trying to attack it from a different angle. You tried to ignore and dull the twinging sensation pricking your nose. Your brows pinched upwards bridging at a peak, your methods administered were to no avail. The man looked at you as if his life flashed before his eyes. You can’t give up on him. Not with the way he practically stared into your soul.

“Hey, listen to me alright. We will get you out.”

Your voice was shaky. You stared into his eyes with determination. You observed how his mouth curved around the object. His jaw was like a vice in a workshop space clamping on tightly to the object. A vice was made of metal however.

“Okay, this is going to hurt. But don’t you worry it will work.”

You used your fingers to pick up the drool lapping around his mouth. Then, with the warning you gave him prior, you forcefully jammed your lubricated fingers into the sides of the entrance of his mouth. He let out a long and drawn out moan of pain as you hooked your fingers around the foreign object, wrangling it out of his mouth, feeling the scrape of his teeth against your fingers and the smooth walls behind the hollows of his cheek.

At long last, you trawled the object. However, while you held it triumphantly in your hands, the bus had driven off with a force that pulled you backwards slightly. You felt the string dislodge and it released a noxious gas that bellowed columns like thickets around you and the bank teller. The small dose had proven to be debilitating, and you coughed and moved your hand to cover your nose. It burned. In a swift motion, you tossed the smoke bomb to the other end of the room, something you should have done long ago.

That’s too bad then. Maybe next time.

You collapsed onto the ground from the strong inhale of the gas that filled your lungs, finding it difficult to get back on your feet. It scorched your air passages. You heard the sound of hurried and loud footsteps frantically pounding against the floor tiles as the people were running towards the hole in the wall. You tried to grab onto the man to lug him as you crawled, but it soon proved to be difficult. You cursed as you lost your strength.

However, before you knew it, you were suddenly hoisted onto the shoulders of a man, your upper torso hanging down his back. Disoriented and sputtering in anguish, tears clouded your vision as you tried to spot the bank teller and you yelled.

“Someone-help the man who was shot!”

“Still worryin’ about him at a time like this? Not sure if that’s very smart of you.”

This voice was unfamiliar. You couldn’t recognize it. The man who carried you was running towards the entrance and you felt this in the bob of your torso. You knocked your arms frantically at his lower back, though it probably felt quite pathetic given your current state.

“Relax, relax. Someone else’s got him.”

You relented upon hearing that, and thanked him for telling you that. As you exited the building you looked forward and your vision was blurry, however you could make out Blake catching up to you. He held a stack of laptops and tablets. He was panting and when he made it, he caught your hand and clasped it in his. This reassured you. You felt a little safer.

The adrenaline was draining out of your system quickly. The lightheaded fatigue was settling in. You felt like you were in a bad dream. The sounds of traffic and sirens whirred past you in a blur, sounding louder than they should have. You felt the comings of a migraine swallow around your head. It almost felt like your world was spinning, and you just wanted to sit down.

The recoils in the steps were too much. Your stomach lurched, and you clutched at your mouth. You tried looking at Blake, but you couldn’t see him. He looked ghoulish. Like a creature of the underworld.

He lurked under a veil of alabaster, blotted onto his canvas were two black cavernous holes gouged in place of his eyes, deep like the plunge basins of a calamitous waterfall, one that roared with stygian ink. But this was perhaps not the most terrifying part about him.

You saw a bright spark in front of your eyes, unsure of what was happening. Blake squeezed your palm even tighter. It must’ve been the bombs from earlier going off.

His grin extended far beyond the realms of what would be normal, unsettling and sinister as a macabre smile was carved deep into his white flesh, dripping blood red over ridges and grooves that swirled and curved along the sides of his mouth, peaks pushed together and formed after millenniums of cataclysmic terrain shifts.

You gave Blake’s hand a crushing grip. Anything to snap out of this terror.

When he grinned he revealed a set of discoloured teeth, yellowed and rancid with dread, the earth no longer fertile and only bore fruits of death.

All of a sudden, you could see and you saw people gathered around, safe and sound. Blake had a concerned expression.

You sniggered inwardly, looks like that clown had a miscalculation in his steps. All the small victories mattered to you. The running had stopped and the feeling of vertigo had been alleviated slightly, but was not gone completely. The man set you down as you slumped heavily against the sidewalk. You looked around you and you were suffocated by the imposing high rise buildings of Gotham City.

“Hey, look―About that comment regardin’ the man who was shot…”

You steeled yourself to stare at the man who saved your life, pushing past how dizzy looking up made you feel.

“Look, I’m sorry about that alright. If you hadn’t done that… Then perhaps others like me wouldn’ta done what’s right.”

Still in a state of befuddlement, you stared at him blankly. Slowly, you registered the meaning of his statement and a blush crept over your cheeks.

“That’s really all I have to say. Uh, thank you, I guess.”

With that, your mystery saviour left you with Blake. You wished you had at least been in the right mind enough to ask for the man’s name. John Blake skirted around you and supported your weight as he sat beside you. He smirked at the ground, an unreadable look in his downcast eyes.

“You know kid, I really hate to admit this to you. And I’m only really saying this because you’re in this sorry state.”

He flicked your forehead with his fingers. You reeled backwards and patted your hand across the area where he inflicted his damage.

“That was pretty damn badass of you back there. But you could have died.”

Groggily, this barely registered in your head, and your head lolled about, the motion lulling you into a dream. You were out, and your head rested against Blake’s shoulder. Alarmed, he recalled that you had taken a direct hit from the smoke bomb. He had to act fast.

“Guess we have to drag your sorry ass to the hospital.”

He stared forward at the ambulances arriving, dragged your arm across his shoulders and tightened his grip on you, preparing to lift you over there. Before the ambulances stopped, he looked motionless at the ground. He felt an uneasy sense of discomfort build within his chest. What had he done in that whole debacle? Looked on at the sidelines like a sitting duck?

A word rang in his mind over and over again like the sirens coming close.

Coward.

He shook his head and rubbed his chin. He hated nothing more than the feeling of uselessness. He always wanted to contribute something, he shifted his gaze to look at you. He was stunned by the display of courage and compassion. You outdid him in your generosity. He couldn’t even do anything to save you, for crying out loud. The look in his eyes wavered, full of convoluted emotion. One thing’s for sure, he was clearly disappointed in himself.

You performed way better than he had expected in the data interpretation too. He had indeed found a diamond in the rough.

Kid, if you could realise your potential on your own…

He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He thought back on the words spoken by the man who saved you. Your kind act has unknowingly inspired others. Your compassion and spurred on further acts of compassion. He was right. This strengthened his hope and belief in the people of Gotham. This city was worth fighting for. Fighting the conflict that reigned over his emotions, he had to arrive at a resolve.

Sighing, he muttered a curse under his breath. Then, he hoisted you up and staggered over to the paramedics.

###

Flinging the mask to the side, he emptied his gloved hand and saw it lightly bounce against a cushioned bus seat. Then he turned around to wind the doors shut. He looked down to observe the duffel bags, roughly gauging if this heist alone was enough for him. He was hoping that he wouldn’t need to carry out another heist for a long time. He stared at the shotgun he held in his other glove. A very useful trinket he snatched from today’s heist. What a steal, he thought to himself. He was about to jump over the duffel bags to head to the driver’s seat but something caught his eye as he peered out the frosted glass pane.

A girl? What is she doing?

She bent down facing the wasted bank teller and tried pulling at the cylinder in his mouth. He observed with light boredom, unimpressed by her antics. He jammed the smoke bomb far too deep into the vice grip of his jaw. There was no use, really.

Foolish little girl.

She re-angled herself, to get a better grip on the smoke bomb. He could discern her appearance from this view. She wore a white coat and had her hair tied up in some type of bun? What did she think she was, some type of doctor? This ticked him off. He narrowed his eyes. While he was making a pretty baseless assumption about a random girl in a bank, it couldn’t change the fact that his first impression of her was that she was a healthcare worker.

He stretched his lips, jutting his jaw forward. For some reason, this made him irrationally annoyed. He never did like healthcare workers. Doctors and nurses are perhaps among some of the most prestigious jobs in society today, and have been for pretty much the entirety of history and human civilisation. As the front lines combating disease, they are often lauded and praised as heroes for their sacrifices, saving lives while putting their own lives on the line. They give up many things for their medical careers.

This was laughable. He gave a snort, how funny is it that everyone reveres and idolises the motivations of such people. As if they were actual messengers from the divine being, God himself. What they don’t realise is that people lie. They always do. They always say that they’re mainly doing it for altruistic purposes, because they feel fulfilled saving other people. As if prestige and money aren’t a thing. No one truly wants to be a pawn in war.

He licked his lips and peered down at the naive girl. There will come a time when she realises that helping others is asinine. The reasons for which she has to learn on her own. She will only be weak the more she believes her morals to be better than everyone else’s.

And weakness only disgusts him.

He rolled his eyes watching her fail yet again. This was a waste of his time, people really love doing pointless things. We live in an amusing world. He paid her no more heed.

“Doctors and nurses are not heroes.”

With that, he braced his hands on the seats lining both sides of the aisles, hoisting himself over the haphazardly strewn hoard of duffel bags to the other side. His cable extended further from his back pocket, the sound lightly scraping the shell of his ears. He clambered into the driver’s seat and landed unceremoniously as his limbs were thrown forward at the impact. He shifted forward, widened his palms and then scrunched his fingers as he searched around for the engine start. After pulling the knob, he smacked both of his hands carelessly on the steering wheel. He shook his head a few times and sighed.

“At the end of the day, they’ll always be martyred against their will.”

#joker #Heath Ledger Joker #ledger joker #ledger!joker x reader #the dark knight

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beautifully-tuan · 4 years

Text

1 - sorry not sorry

Jinyoung x musical criticRreader idolverse, smut, angst, eventual fluff Warning: reader is a kpop hater and a got7 anti at the beginning lol

requested by anon :)

Masterlist

a/n: hello and welcome to a brand new story with Jinyoung! i really really hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as you enjoyed my story with Mark that you can find here if you haven’t read it yet. also this chapter is kind short cause it’s a little bit of an introduction and like placing the context. i hope you’re looking forward to reading the rest :) enjoy!

Music and writing were what you loved the most, and your job was a perfect combination of the two. You were paid to go to different places across South Korea, discover new music and write about it afterwards. You honestly couldn’t have dreamed of a better job, or so you thought.

You had always made it clear that you only liked working in the underground and independent music field, but your boss had other plans for you. When he announced that you would have to write a series of articles about GOT7, JYP Entertainment’s top boy group, you wanted to refuse. Of all things, you avoided the K-Pop industry, with its almighty companies and untouchable idols. You didn’t want to work with your hands tied behind your back. Unfortunately, you weren’t really in a good place to refuse and not do your job. You sucked it up, repeating yourself that this would, at least, pay rent and afford food. Hopefully it would only happen once then never again.

You were integrated into GOT7’s lifestyle after signing a bunch of privacy contracts. When you started “hanging out” with them, you were nothing more than the girl with the notebook in the corner of the room, trying to make yourself as small as possible so that the boys would forget even your very presence. Things went smoothly for the first few days, a little bit too smoothly for your liking, actually. They were in mid-preparation of their comeback, so all you had to do was go with them to the studio and watch them record and work on the tracks with their producers. You were impressed at how good they were, but you weren’t too surprised about it. GOT7’s success must’ve come from somewhere, anyways. So, you spent most of your time finding out things you already knew, not having much to work with.

That was until, one day, the boys had a meeting with JYP himself to discuss the promotional part of the comeback. The overly commercial side of the K-Pop industry was what annoyed you the most, but you were ready to put your biased opinion aside and be professional about it. The meeting started out normally: the boys and their head producer listened to each track from the album, to which JYP made a few remarks and suggestions. When the last track titled ‘PAGE’ started playing, you saw the boys’ faces light up with pride at Jaebeom, their leader’s good work. Even you had to admit that the song was very well-written, had a good message, and the melody was catchy. The song itself had a fresh vibe to it that you particularly liked. After the song ended, BamBam whistled in admiration and said:

- “Wow, that’s gonna make an amazing title track.”

You had indeed heard the boys talk about ‘PAGE’ being their title track, mentioning that JYP had already let them promote songs they had produced themselves in the past. They were so confident about it that you only found it normal for BamBam to talk about ‘PAGE’ as if it was already the title track of the album.

- “Umm... I don’t agree with that.”

Silence fell upon the room as the head producer continued speaking.

- “It’s a really nice song, right? Really nice. JB, you did really well.” He scrunched his nose before continuing: “But I don’t think it fits as the title track. It doesn’t have that thing, that specific GOT7 color that people enjoy. It’s not what people are used to hearing from you guys. I think we should leave ‘PAGE’ as a b-side track and promote ‘Eclipse’ instead, what do you think?”

From the tone of his voice, you felt he was implicitly giving them a command rather than asking for their opinion. But apparently, you were the only one who seemed to notice, because everyone agreed quite enthusiastically. In the span of three minutes, while you were still processing what had just happened, ‘Eclipse’, the song that JYP himself had written and produced with JB’s participation, was definitively chosen as the title track of the album.

You were extremely disappointed. Music was supposed to be done for the music, not for the people. Why should there be some sort of market research around it? That was the exact thing you couldn’t stand about K-Pop. It was only ever exploited to make profit. The public’s opinion matters so much to the sales that idols renounce their own identity, only to fit the image that everyone is expecting them to give out. Their creativity was limited, their freedom was almost nonexistent, everything they did was managed by their company. And the worst part of it was that the boys did not even try and protest, simply accepting their fate being thrown into other people’s hands, as if that was the most normal thing on earth.

The only person who seemed a little upset about this situation was probably Jinyoung. After JYP spoke, he kept rubbing the back of his head every other minute. Maybe he was frustrated, maybe he was just tired, you didn’t know, and you didn’t need to know. He didn’t say anything against the company’s decision either. He was just as much of a puppet as the other members.

That night, you submitted your first article to your editor to put it on standby for publication. What you wrote was harsh, you conceded. But you only said the truth, the unbiased, too often silenced truth. Before submitting the article, youyour thoughts drifted to Jinyoung and you wondered, one last time, if he was really okay with his situation. Were any of the boys, actually? But Jinyoung in particular, since he was visibly having trouble hiding his discomfort during the meeting. Could it be that he found this industry just as unfair as you did? What would he think of your article if he read it?

You quickly brushed those thoughts off. You were internally convinced that Jinyoung and the boys didn’t even care about what you had to write about them. They were probably used to seeing people like you coming and going all the time and always saying different things. Little did you know that, soon enough, Jinyoung would become a way bigger part of your life... But most importantly, that article you wrote would come and resurface to turn everything upside down.

Part Two

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 3

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 1 Part 2

The Joker listens at the bedroom’s door, impatient to have a conversation with you. It seems you are engaged into a fervent phone call with Winston and figured he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Please, anything you can discover would be a great help! U-hum… U-hum… Thank you,” and you hang up, which queues your husband to walk into the room.

You completely ignore him, scrolling through the numerous text messages you sent to your connections; several are already answering back and hopefully you can get some news soon. The more people are involved into the project, the more chances to find Kase and untangle the mystery of what happened to him after he was removed from the car.

“You left me there,” The Joker sneaks in and closes the door behind him. “Luckily we had Wick with us so he gave me a ride.”

No reaction. He takes a deep breath, trying to get your awareness.

“I didn’t sleep with Evelyn; sex wasn’t the reason why I kept visiting her. I know how that asshole made it sound and he was totally out of line!”

You quickly glance at him, busy replying to Ares since you feel you’re going to explode soon.

“The only skill I was interested in is the fact that she is an excellent painter and a popular art smuggler, OK?” J raises his voice, sort of annoyed you neglect to participate into his monologue. “I did not cheat, alright?” he approaches his wife. “First of all: I’m VERY picky! Second of all: why would I want a woman everyone else had?! I don’t like used toys. Third: nobody’s been polishing my gun as you tastefully addressed the issue! I have one Queen and I married her!!”

A little bit of doubt in your eyes and he utilizes the opportunity.

“You said you saw me going to her house? I did! The Bowery King asked if it was for the last 6 months? Yeah, I did! You know why?!”

At least now The Joker got your attention: you play it cool but he guesses you’re torn apart by his confession.

Many unfortunate events crammed in lately and hating the man you love made life infinitely more unbearable.

“Why…?” you barely muster the strength to inquire and he sees it as a possibility to mend a few broken pieces; although you can hide your emotions well, J can still read between the lines.

Maybe that’s why he answers with another question:

“Do you realize there are just three Monet paintings in circulation on the black market in the entire world? You admire his work and it took a lot of effort and a substantial fortune to acquire The Water Lily Pond painting. Evelyn Black helped with the transaction, then I had her make some modifications to the original masterpiece.”

You keep staring at The King of Gotham, uncertain about the stuff being tossed your way: is he lying or telling the truth?... In your line of work translating feelings is a huge part of the job; ultimately you had the best mentor to teach you the ropes when you started with the organization: none other than the legendary Baba Yaga. Despite his reputation and to your own amazement, John was one of the few hitmen with integrity and perfectly mastered the aptitude of not being a jerk. Such a rare gem… And blissfully unaware of it himself.

On the opposite end, The Joker is a jerk and flawlessly acquainted with his own “captivating” personality that made you fall in love with him anyway.

Also, doesn’t appear to be deceitful for the moment.

And you despise yourself even more for wanting to believe him.

“What… modifications?...” you throw him a bone and J is definitely not going to pass on the alternative of explaining his actions.

“I wanted to surprise you so I took advantage of Miss Black’s capabilities in the art field; I had her add small images to the authentic canvas: an evolution of you being pregnant, the nine frames culminating with a tenth: the new mother holding our son. Similar to a timeline,” he emphasize and you look intrigued, which might be a positive sign. “Needless to say it was tedious, difficult work, especially because she had to apply special pigments you can’t find at every corner of the street. Apparently you can’t mix old paint with contemporary shades, thus I had to order aged, special colors from Italy, Spain and France. That’s why I went to her place so often: I had to supervise the long process and make sure it turns out astonishing. Then…” and The Joker pauses,”…Kase was gone and I didn’t know what to do with my gift: bring it home or not? Would you have loved it? Would it make you sadder? I continued to drive to Evelyn’s and glare at the stupid painting for hours, undecided on what to do…”

J watches you bite on your cheek, then straightens his shoulders as you utter the words:

“… … … You ruined a genuine Monet?”

Your spouse might be a smooth talker when needed, yet he’s not wasting his versatility on this statement:

“I didn’t ruin it; I made it better!”

Silence from both parties. A good or bad omen? Hard to decipher the riddle with two individuals tangled into a relationship that somehow worked despite countless peculiarities meant to keep them apart.

“I have to talk to Jonathan,” you finally mutter and The Joker steps in front of you.

“Talk to me!”

“Unless you know the exact location of the suitcase full of gold coins he’s been safekeeping for me, I really have to speak to him. Or do you want to hammer the whole basement searching for it?”

Y/N walks out of the bedroom and J lingers inside, evesdropping on the conversation happening downstairs. He can’t understand the chat, but you are probably notifying John about the details your husband left out.

Might as well join the party, therefore The Clown pops up in the living room with a plea impossible to refuse:

“Hey Wick, can I stay here? I don’t care if you say no, I’m not going to leave.”

Your friend crosses his arms on his chest, focusing on the random topic:

“How could I deny such a polite request? Of course you can stay Mister Joker; my house is your house.”

You’re watching the free show unamused; usually it would make you smile…now you lack the depth for such connotations.

“Don’t get smart with me, Wick!” J growls and Jonathan pushes for a tiny, unnecessary quarrel.

“I’m not; although generally speaking, I fancy considering myself a smart guy.”

The Joker opens his mouth and you’re not in the mood for whatever the heck they’re initiating:

“I’m going to pump, then after you dig out the suitcase I’ll take half to the Bowery King,” you announce your plans to them.

“You can do that and rest; I’ll deliver the coins,” John immediately offers. “I can stop by Aurelio’s car shop and ask for his collaboration: he has a lot of associates, doesn’t hurt to get him involved. You have plenty of gold.”

“I have two more suitcases in the Continental’s safe and two more at The Penthouse. It doesn’t matter if it’s all gone as long as I can find my son.”

“I know gold coins are preferred; don’t forget we have a lot of money too,” J reckons with spite.

Is he reminding you or Jonathan?...

*************

Your husband spent the last hour in the garden, talking and texting with a lot of people; needless to mention he’s capitalizing on his network also. Winston disclosed Stonneberg’s contract is still opened, meaning the son of a bitch is out there; you have to scoop him before anybody else does.

“Y/N…” The Joker tiptoes in your quarters. “I thought you were taking a nap,” he huffs when he sees you at the edge of the bed.

You glare at the vial on the nightstand, sharing your idea for a future you wish will come true:

“I didn’t have my medicine in two days; I won’t take it anymore because if we get Kase back… I will nurse him. It all goes in the milk and I want to be able to feed my baby… Do you think his little heart is still beating?...” you sniffle and J is currently debating on a clever response since his mind is blank; one could deduce messing up is encoded in his DNA, but on such a huge scale… well, it gives new interpretations to the term even for him.

The grieving woman seeking reassurance for their loss is trying to make sense of the pointless occurrences that lead to Kase being an innocent victim and The Joker can’t render clarification: he has no clue why he asked her to marry him and why she said yes, it’s not that he’s husband material or a family man. Perhaps Y/N thought he could be… just enough to get by, that’s why she accepted his proposal.

Most women would have cringed at the concept. Most women. Not Y/N.

Most women would have flinched at the notion of having his baby. Most women. Not his wife.

Above all, she trusted J with their son and he treated the three weeks old like a trinket: didn’t drive him home because he had an important meeting, didn’t bother to assign escorting cars nor extra security. The King of Gotham took his child’s safety lightly and it definitely had severe consequences. Too late now to fix past mistakes... but he can attempt.

“You’ll be able to nurse him, OK?” he sits by you and hands over his cell. “Can you enter your phone number in here? Or am I not allowed to have the present digits?”

You’re hesitant and he slides the screen while you hold the gadget.

“Lemme help you,” The Joker sarcastically mumbles. “It should be the first on my list, right where the old number you canceled was.”

You exhale and fulfill his demand out of pure frustration when he squeezes in a second innocent petition.

“Chose my avatar.”

You grunt at his rubbish, scrolling through his folders for a picture anyway; J hopes the largest file will get your attention and that’s the point. How could Y/N miss it?!

Entitled “Baby”, the humongous cluster of pics contains 5,723 items. You open it quite absorbed by its size; what’s more puzzling is the collection depicting Kase’s ultrasounds, hundreds of frames with you being pregnant taken without you knowing: there’s a few when your ankles were so swollen you had to sleep with your feet up on 4 pillows, others with you munching on strange food you craved, more with you in the shower focused on your bump, a decent amount of couple selfies when you were sleeping and J had to immortalize the moment without waking you up and approximately 1,500 images of the newborn.

“You didn’t gross me out when you were pregnant,” The Joker reminds a teary Y/N. “Not sure why you would believe such aberration...” he pulls you on his knees and yanks the phone away, tossing it on the nightstand. “I would also like to underline I didn’t have an affair with Miss Black, alright?”

J lifts your chin up, forcing to look at him.

“Let’s put it this way: why would I fuck around with another woman when I have a wife at home that wants to kill me on a regular basis, hm? Where would the fun be? I mean, she didn’t pull the trigger yet but it’s exciting to hope she might. You know me: I’m a sucker for thrills!”

“Do I?”

“Huh?” J steals a kiss and you frown at his sleekness.

“Know you?”

“Yeah,” the green haired Clown acts composed while in fact his feathers are ruffled. Before you catch onto it he has to ultimately admit: “I’m sorry I didn’t drive the car… I should have…”

The Joker holds in his breath when your arms go around his neck very tight.

“I’m suffocating…” he grumbles. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to hug me or choke me to death,” J keeps on caressing your hair, prepared to block your attack in case you’re actually in killing mode.

This is the excitement he was speaking about: with you, one could never know until it’s a done deal.

“I bumped into Magnus at the Continental,” you give him a bit of space to inhale much needed air and The Joker is surprised at your revelation. “I had no idea about his scheme, otherwise I would have skinned him alive right on the hotel grounds! I wouldn’t have cared about the consequences!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” J cuts you off and he can tell you’re getting mad; maybe you think he doesn’t give a damn but the reason is simple. “You would’ve been declared excommunicado for murder on neutral ground and I don’t want my wife to be the target of such punishment from the company she so proudly retired from. I need my partner!”

The King of Gotham touches your forehead with his as you whisper:

“I hate you!”

“Mmm, regarding this true love affirmation, I’m gonna need you to take a break from detesting me until we have Kase, then you can despise me full throttle again. Deal?” he extends the palm of his hand and you reluctantly shake it, not realizing you’re reacting to his nonsense. “Is that a smile?” J returns the favor with one of his creepy silver grins.

“No.”

“Liar,” he pecks your lips and can’t explain the weird feeling in his heart when you kiss him back.

*************

Jonathan enters the house and becomes suspicious after a few minutes: too much silence.

Omg! Did you and The Joker engaged into a brawling that ended up badly? Did you end each other?!

John frantically runs to the garage, nervous to see your car and J’s are still parked inside. Shit!

“Y/N?” he shouts, concerned about your fate; The Joker’s… irrelevant. Nobody in the garden, patio is empty also. Downstairs is deserted thus he rushes upstairs to your room. The door is not completely shut and he slowly pushes it, knocking.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The first thing he notices are clothes scattered on the floor, then he halts his movement at the sight of Y/N and her husband dozing off on the bed sideways: the naked bodies are covered with a blanket, but he can tell you’re snuggled in J’s arms.

Jonathan steps backwards, guilty of invading his guests’ privacy; he certainly didn’t expect to intrude in such a manner and softly closes the door, grateful it’s not what he feared.

You and The Joker are so worn out the sound of your phones vibrating on the nightstand doesn’t wake you from the deep sleep. Your numerous contacts keep replying back to the text messages, the most important one showing up on his cell: one of the people J reached to is Evelyn Black and the two sentence conversation lights up the screen.

“Let me know if you see Stonnenberg.”

“He’s here.”